Holland Hall counselor scales Mt. Whitney

Have you ever done something on a whim — taken a chance on something unexpected — that ended up changing your life?

That’s exactly what happened when I applied to climb Mount Whitney with the Michael J. Fox Foundation. And then, spoiler alert: I actually did it. But there’s so much more to the story.

Most people know me as one of the school counselors at Holland Hall, a job I truly love. I care deeply about our school, our students, and our community. What many may not know is that my dad died from Parkinson’s Disease in 2018. Walking alongside him through that battle taught me a lot about resilience, fighting battles, and truly made me who I am. Since then, I’ve wanted to honor him and raise awareness for Parkinson’s — but struggled to figure out how.

Then in April 2024, while browsing the Michael J. Fox Foundation website, I stumbled upon their “Endurance Events.”

One in particular stopped me in my tracks: a summit of Mount Whitney — the tallest peak in the lower 48, standing at 14,505 feet. Team Fox was recruiting people to climb Mount Whitney to raise funds and awareness for Parkinson’s research. It felt like the stars had aligned because hiking is also one of my favorite hobbies and passions. Living in Oklahoma doesn’t make it easy, but that hasn’t stopped me from chasing summits. Every summer, I head to Colorado to hike, especially 14ers—mountains over 14,000 feet in elevation. I’ve set a goal to summit 40 of them before I turn 40. At 38, I’ve climbed 35. Therefore, this challenge seemed tailor-made for me: a way to honor my dad while doing what I love.

Fast forward through some interviews with the foundation, conversations with friends and family, and eventually being accepted—I was in and officially committed. Then came the hard part — logistics, training, and preparation. I’m used to long day hikes, but this would be four days and three nights, carrying everything I needed on my back. I trained in Colorado with a pack (we jokingly said it was bigger than a large toddler) and logged miles on my treadmill at home. I shared updates with friends and family, and from the moment I announced my climb, the support was overwhelming.

Labor Day weekend 2024, our climb began. It’s hard to put the experience into words. We hiked, we camped, we hauled our tents, food, water, clothes—everything. On Day 3, after a 13-hour effort, our team summited Mount Whitney. I was breathless, speechless, and filled with tears and all the emotions. At the summit, I stood with an incredible team — including two individuals living with Parkinson’s who tackled the mountain with resilience and courage. Watching them push forward through their own obstacles reminded me so much of my dad’s strength.

We were guided by two exceptional leaders. At one point, while clinging to the trail with only a couple of ropes between me and the edge, I admitted, “I’m scared.” One of our guides, Matt, gently responded, “It’s okay to be scared.” His words stuck with me. I knew I wouldn’t quit. I felt safe and cared for while also being pushed out of my comfort zone. Seeing my team summit Mount Whitney was a testament to the power of perseverance and the idea that one can truly LIVE with Parkinson’s, which unfortunately, I didn’t get to see with my dad’s experience.

That summit wasn’t just a physical high point — it was an emotional one. I had raised over $13,000 for Parkinson’s research thanks to the incredible generosity of so many. Every donation, every encouraging word, every step up that mountain felt like a tribute to my dad. I went into this climb hoping to honor him — and came away with something even greater.

A friend later described the experience as “life-giving,” and I couldn’t agree more. Yes, it was hard. Yes, it pushed me in ways I didn’t expect. But the shared determination, the cause we were climbing for, and the emotional and physical triumph made every grueling step worth it.

I left Mount Whitney with a renewed sense of purpose, deep gratitude, and a fire for whatever comes next — more 14ers, more hikes,  more moments of resilience, and more opportunities to remember and honor my dad.