About
Where it all began
Started by a beginner, built for beginners.
What the Hike didn’t start with a fitness plan. It started with one woman, one walk, and a feeling she wanted to share with every woman who needed it.

Where it all began
I didn’t start walking to get somewhere. I started walking to be somewhere. Here. Now. Present.
I spent most of my childhood outdoors. Climbing trees, scraping knees, coming home only when the streetlights came on. Those years planted something in me: a sense that being outside was where I belonged.
In 2014, I left Portugal. Not for a trip—for good. I didn’t know it then, but I was beginning a different kind of walk. One that would take me through Ibiza, London, and beyond. One that would ask me, every single day for over a decade: Are you sure? Is this still what you want?
Because here’s the thing about leaving home: you don’t just do it once. You do it every day. Every time you see a family photo from a celebration you missed. Every video call where someone looks a little older. Every time you return to Portugal and feel like both a local and a stranger.
I left, and I never moved back. I visit—for the people I love, for the food I crave, for the language that still dreams in me. But home became something I carried, not somewhere I lived.
“Home became something I carried, not somewhere I lived.”
The walk that changed everything
Fast forward to 2024. Two friends and I decided, on a whim that felt both terrifying and exciting, to walk the Camino de Santiago from Portugal into Spain. I wasn’t an experienced hiker. But I was someone who understood, deeply, what it meant to put one foot in front of the other and trust the path.
Somewhere between the first blisters and the first sunrise over a field I’d never seen before, something clicked. There was something about walking all day. Not rushing. Not checking a phone. Just walking. My eyes on the landscape, my feet on the path, my mind slowly, finally, quieting.
I fell in love with the little things: the way light hit a stone village at golden hour, the sound of my own breath matching my steps, the joy of stopping at a local café, dusty and tired, for coffee and a pastry I’d somehow earned. By the end of that trip, I made a pact with one of my friends: a walking holiday, every single year. Not because we’re experts. Because we’re human, and walking reminds us of that.

