The first couple days of walking across America was a blur of emotions, challenges, and unexpected connections. Setting out from Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, I stood in the Atlantic Ocean for the first time, letting the cold waves anchor me in the reality of what lay ahead. The sunrise that morning marked the start of something bigger than I fully understood.
The starting line was different from others I had crossed before. Typically, I knew the distance or obstacles ahead—13.1 miles for a half marathon, a set number of obstacles for a mud run. But this? This was something entirely different. I had no clue if my planning, prepping, and learning would actually pay off.
The cart and backpack I carried were filled to the brim with clothes, equipment, and everything I thought I’d need. But I carried much more than gear—I carried hope, self-doubt, and a very important question: Can I really do this?
Julie, my fiancée, walked the first half mile with me before we said goodbye so she could grab the rental car and meet me periodically throughout the day. A few minutes after she left, I recorded a TikTok video. “As of 7 o’clock this morning, I am officially walking across America.”
Every interaction that day felt monumental. A woman walking her dog showed me a better way across a bridge. Strangers stopped to ask questions or offer help. A nurse, just off her night shift, handed me $10. A man on a bike stopped to take a picture and cheer me on. At a coffee shop, the owners filled my water bottles and later sent me a message: “Our staff was privileged to serve you and support your mission.”
These moments of kindness fueled my next steps, even when the road tested me. Miles of highway with little to no shoulder forced me to trust passing drivers. Dirt and debris kicked up by cars became a constant reminder of the danger I’d put myself in. On one memorable occasion, I learned the hard way to close my mouth when a semi passed by, lest I wanted a mouthful of dirt.
By the end of the first day, I felt both energized and exhausted. I didn’t have any issues, despite forgetting to hydrate for the first half of the day, and every interaction had been positive. Julie picked me up at the end of my 21-mile day.
That night, we reviewed my gear, lessons learned, and plans for the next day. It would be the last day we’d see each other for a while, something we were both dreading. The week leading up to the walk had been filled with tearful conversations about how much we’d miss each other and the fears we had. I’d reassured her with contingency plans and “panic buttons” to stay safe.
The next morning, Julie dropped me off where I’d stopped the day before, in Conway, SC. After packing my gear into the cart, she took a picture of me that felt like a “first day of school” photo. Then the tears came.
We hugged, cried, and consoled each other. Through blurry eyes, we said goodbye. I reminded her we could meet for lunch if I kept pace, and I headed down the road.
I played I’m Gonna Be by Post Malone on repeat:
“Some people think I’m living wrong. We live this life, but not for long, so I’m gonna be what I want, what I want, what I want, yeah. I’m gonna do what I want, what I want, what I want, yeah.”
For the first few miles, I walked with tear-blurred eyes, repeating to myself, “No half measures.”
At a Dollar General, I stopped for lunch—tuna on bread with fruit and candy, a staple for the trip. A woman named Karen approached, smiling nervously. “Are you the guy that was on the news?” she asked. “Sure am!” We talked briefly, and she took a video and some pictures. It felt surreal to be treated like a “mini-celebrity.”
After Karen left, an older man with a small white dog stopped to talk. “What are you doing?” he asked. “I’m walking across America! My mission is to highlight, learn from, and work with people in the U.S. making a real difference in their community.” His tone shifted to skepticism. “So you think YOU can make the world a better place?” he asked. “I try to, a little every day,” I said, holding firm. “Do you really think that’s possible?” he pressed. “Sure do, as long as there are people willing to do the work.”
Julie arrived soon after, bringing lunch to share. She walked into the conversation with the man and his dog.
The man and I went back and forth for a moment before he told me to read the Book of John in the Bible. “Then you’ll see what’s really going on,” he said as he walked into the store with his dog.
“What was that all about?” Julie said. “I’m not really sure. I think he’s had a bit of a rough go. Everyone has their own beliefs. He told me to read the Bible. I don’t have one though, so I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do there,” I said.
We shared lunch and debriefed about the day. Afterward, we said our final goodbyes. She drove East toward the airport and I continued West toward home. Something told me she’d get there way before I would.
Further down the road, a young veteran named Dillan stopped to talk. I thanked him for his service. He thanked me for paying my taxes. We laughed.
He told me he’d always wanted to do something like this. I handed him my card and said, “When you decide to take the first step, let me know—I’d be honored to help.” He suggested a camping spot near Galivants Ferry, my destination for the night.
Further down the road, I was stopped by a gentleman in a Jeep, and he asked if I was the guy on the news. “Sure am!” I said. He asked if he could pray with me, and I said, “Of course!” After the prayer, he said he had a gift for me. He walked over with a proud expression on his face and handed me a Bible. “I’m not sure if you have enough space for this, but figured I’d gift you one.” I learned that he was a pastor and helped men through addiction recovery. I thought that was admirable. I also thought the timing was interesting.
I stopped in a McDonald’s for a drink, bathroom break, and to rest. As I was packing up, I saw a young boy watching in awe. I’d overheard his grandma telling him what I was doing. As I walked out, I waved, and he waved back. I hope he does his own “walk” someday. Whatever that means to him.
As the sun set, I set up camp in the spot Dillan had suggested. It was also when Julie was boarding her flight home. I called my family to let them know I was safe, made dinner, and crawled into my tent.
That night, I felt the full weight of my decision. I thought about home, the comforts I’d left behind, and the miles of uncertainty ahead. But I reminded myself, “There are good people out there.”
While thousands of miles separated me from the West Coast, I knew there were also thousands of opportunities to connect, grow, and learn along the way.
This was just the beginning. For now, I needed to drift off to sleep.
Well, try to, at least.