PCT • 2026 • THE RECEIPT
Team rosters are fun. The logistics are comforting. The why is what remains when the desert makes noise, your feet hate you, and motivation stops returning your calls.
Here’s the awkward part: Most walks don’t end because someone lacks courage. They end because history is broken. The why becomes vague. Excuses become specific.
In Pacific Crest TestsZach Davis presents three prompts that sound simple until you answer them honestly. I’m writing my answers now, while life is comfortable, so I can’t edit them later when it’s not.
Context: I am planning a 2026 northbound PCT attempt with a 120 day goal. This is my version of writing while it’s easy, so in the future I can’t rewrite the story when it’s hard.
Note: This is not an exaggerated post. This is the part that remains when the novelty dies.
1) I’m reviewing the PCT because…
Translation: This is what I defend when comfort begins to campaign.
I’m reviewing the PCT because I want a non-negotiable reset. In normal life, discipline is optional if you are willing to accept delayed consequences. Along the way, the consequences appear quickly.
I’ve been around long enough to know how quickly things change: Hurricane Katrina, family upheaval, and an experience in the Amazon rainforest. If something matters, don’t wait until life feels calm. You build the foundation and you leave.
The PCT is a clean environment to rebuild discipline: wake up, walk, eat, recover, repeat. When the contributions are simple, the excuses have nowhere to hide. I want to pay full attention to the weather, the body, and the small decisions that add up to the results.
I also want the kind of freedom that you can only feel outside. Responsibilities are reduced, but they become immediate and real: water, heat, calories, judgment. Less noise. More truth.
Pain removed the illusion that time is guaranteed. My parents died earlier than they should have and that reality changes the way I make decisions. I’m not assuming they give me extra years. I’m doing what I keep putting off.
Thoreau is the obvious reference and I’m fine with that. I read Walden and I felt the point landed: live deliberately, get rid of things, and stop letting the default life make your decisions for you.
Simple version: I am ascending the PCT to gain true freedom through true responsibility and to remove regret from the list of things I carry.
2) When I successfully complete the PCT, I will…
Be specific: A vague transformation is easy to assert. Measurable change is more difficult.
When I successfully pass the PCT, I will return home with proof. It’s not a feeling. It is not a fundamental speech. Proof that I can commit to a process for months, manage discomfort, adapt to setbacks, and continue moving forward without drama.
I also hope that the mental disorder disappears. When the only jobs are walking, eating, filtering water, and staying warm, your problems may be reduced or revealed in their true form.
And I want to carry forward a rule: preparation matters. Deliberate living is not a vibe. These are decisions that are made early, repeated daily, and respected when inconvenient.
3) If I quit the PCT, I will…
This is the part that people skip: The story you tell after you quit smoking becomes your default going forward.
If I quit the PCT, I will tell the truth about why. Cover stories make quitting smoking easier, but they also make it permanent.
If I go off track due to an injury or a legitimate safety call, that’s not a failure. They are data. It is a decision made respecting the long term.
But the line I will not cross is that of giving up before starting. If I don’t start because I’m not ready, then the problem is that I’m not ready. The problem is that I didn’t do the work to be prepared. That’s the version of repentance I refuse to accept.
If I fall short for preventable reasons, I will treat it as a system failure and do an honest audit: pacing, recovery, planning, decision making, and mindset. Then I will rebuild and return.
Hard line: I can accept a detour off the road. I will not accept a life where I never started.
A note for my future (read this on the worst day)
On a bad day, you will feel sluggish. Something will hurt. Someone will pass you. The desert will seem endless and the mountains, expensive. None of that changes the deal.
Live deliberately today. Keep it small: eat the food, drink the water, groom your feet, and make the conservative choice.
Then walk.
This should get interesting.
Am Sage.
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