Even when it’s slow. Even when it’s brutal. Even when no one sees it yet we build anyway. A reflection from the La Brea Tar Pits on truth, time, and leaving something behind.

The world feels loud. Work is slow. But I still walk. A reflection from the ground up about quiet resistance, freelance life, and movement as a way to stay alive.

Even as a Trojan, I couldn’t ignore the feeling that hit me while walking UCLA’s campus the future Olympic Village for LA28. Between statues of John Wooden and Jackie Robinson, and signs that said Walk Your Wheels, I felt a quiet invitation to witness something bigger than sport. The Olympics are coming to LA. The question is: what version of ourselves will we be showing the world?

Socks might seem like a small thing until you’re 7 miles in and ready to rip them off. Here’s how I choose my socks for races, trails, and training days, plus my non-negotiable foot prep routine.

Before FormaFit had a name, I packed a bottle of my preworkout Amplificador, and flew to London. I didn’t know exactly what I was building, but I brought it with me anyway. I snapped photos of it on public bike racks, park benches, and train station walls. I carried it through movement, across a map, through the fog of uncertainty and family drama. I didn’t get the Franklin photos but I had the bottle. That was the real story I was living. That was the signal: something was already amplifying.

Sometimes the signs don’t come with flashing lights. Sometimes, they just sit beside you in a waiting room with a feather in their hat. This is a true story about synchronicity, small moments, and the power of crossing paths with someone who's living the very message you’ve been walking.

Even when the curriculum is heartbreak and the final exam is faith, I’m still here. Still learning. Still showing up. This one’s for anyone walking it in real time.

The day started slow, no new payments, no new emails, and an aching body from the days before. But I laced up, adjusted, and moved anyway. This post shares how small actions like switching shoes, hydrating, and carrying a few cherries and trail fuel helped me stay in motion, because staying stuck isn’t an option.

After a long walk during a slow, tension-filled week, I stretched on my bed and something opened. My soreness disappeared, my mind cleared, and I felt something I didn’t know I was missing. Here's how it happened and how to try it yourself especially if you're carrying more than physical weight.

They called me relentless like that was supposed to sting. But silence and small moves are how I’ve rebuilt everything. If you knew how much power lived in every mindful step, you’d be relentless too.

When the work is slow and the path is quiet, I still lace up and go. One of the best moves I've made? Rotating my shoes. This trail-tested strategy keeps my feet fresh and my spirit moving forward. Here’s how it works and why it matters.

Some quotes don’t need context. Just clarity. This one is for the unbreakable, the misread, and the quietly powerful. I don’t fold and you don’t have to either.

The commercial divers exhibit at the Maritime Museum wasn’t just a display, it was a portal into a world of extraordinary strength, danger, and legacy. Seeing the gear they wore, the weights they carried, and the environments they worked in was humbling. It made me reflect on how the infrastructure we benefit from today was quite literally built under pressure.

These divers weren't just brave-they were foundational! Their contributions helped create underwater infrastructure that supports our daily lives. As a diver myself (nowhere near their level), I can only imagine the physical and mental strength it took to do what they did.

Their tools were heavy. Their risk was high. Their impact was lasting. And they reminded me: Work is honorable.

Sometimes coming back to movement isn’t about performance. It’s about remembering what you enjoy. From long walks to slow strength, here’s how I’ve been rebuilding from the ground up.

I saw a jellyfish imprinted in the concrete and it stopped me.
They don’t swim by force, they move with the current.
And maybe that’s the message: Even in the softest version of myself, I still carry light. Surrender isn’t weakness. It’s wisdom.