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Category: Representation Matters

I’m a Latina Trail Runner

por Candace Gonzales

My love for the outdoors comes from my parents and my family. When I was a child, my parents took me camping in the summer. We camped at a beautiful reservoir where I learned to swim and play in the water. My tios and primos camped with us along with our close family friends, and it was a wonderful way to grow up. My family would also spend countless hours in the summer in my grandfather’s garden picking peas and strawberries to eat straight off the vine. Not to mention in the fall when we would all gather at my grandparents’ house to roast and peel green chilies. Those memories I cherish, and I believe fostered in me a love for the outdoors.

Although being outdoors and being in nature was something that I was fortunate to be exposed to as a child, as a young adult, especially in my twenties, I got away from the outdoors. The busy city life called to me, and my goals became getting into my career and enjoying the city’s night scene—the partying, the friendships, and just living that fast city life. Late work nights, crazy weekends, and I did not make the outdoors a priority.

However, one priority I have always had is running. I have run most of my adult life. Thanks to my love for running, it’s what brought me back into the outdoors. In 2018, I stumbled upon trail running by signing up for a part road/trail race, the Turquoise Lake 20K in beautiful Leadville, Colorado. After that race, I knew that exploring trails and being in nature on trails was my new calling as a runner.

Of course, I answered this call and immediately started trail running on the local trails in the Denver metro area. I was addicted, and it was so much fun. Not to mention there is something very spiritual and healing about being in the outdoors. It has this way of allowing you to see all the beauty in the world. Although it was so beautiful to be out on the trail, one thing that stood out to me, especially in a community like Denver, where the Latinx population is the second-largest population, was the lack of diversity on the trails. I found this to be challenging. Challenging in the sense that when you are new to a sport, it can be intimidating, and when you don’t see anyone who looks like you enjoying it can feel a bit unwelcoming.

The outdoors should be welcoming to everyone. All humans should have the opportunity to experience the pure joy you get from running, hiking, or walking the trails with the sun shining on you and the mountains as views. The beauty of being outdoors and discovering nature is an experience all should have regardless of gender, class, race, age, sexuality, and nationality. For me, I recognize that I have a role in making the outdoors feel welcoming and that when I pull up to the trailhead rocking my Spanish music on full blast, that’s me saying I’m here, I’m Latina, I’m a trail runner, and I love the outdoors too. When other gente come to experience the trail, I want them to feel welcomed, and I want to help inspire younger generations to get outdoors and experience the outdoors.

That is why Latino Outdoors is such an important nonprofit and one that is close to my heart. The work that Latino Outdoors does to make the outdoors welcoming, from education, conservation, and just teaching people to love the outdoors, is so important. That is why this fall, I have chosen to use the sport I love (trail running) to help raise funds for Latino Outdoors. Just as I was fortunate to enjoy nature as a child, and I want our future generation to also be that fortunate. I believe Latino Outdoors is doing the grassroots work to make this happen. ¡Andale!

Candace Gonzales lives in Colorado’s front range. She is an avid trail runner who has complete various trail marathons, 30K trail runs, and 50K trail runs. She loves being outside and is a passionate supporter of Latino Outdoors.

Finding Happiness in Solitude.

por Jessica Sánchez

Close your eyes for a second and think about being alone in the wild. How does that make you feel?

A while back, I decided to do what is sometimes not fully understood by my Hispanic family, go out and explore the wilderness. I wanted to take the leap and give myself an opportunity to step out of my comfort zone. I knew I was going to be dirty, I knew I was going to be tired, but most importantly, I knew I was going to be alone.

I grew up in a big Mexican family and can remember hearing the sound of my mothers’ laughter as she talked on the phone in one room while my father played Mexican folk songs on the guitar in the other. My childhood consisted of being surrounded by people and the noise that came from them. In the Mexican culture, this “noise” meant community. Community with people, food, music, and our culture. The noise brought a sense of comfort, and in the community, you were never alone.

One thing about the community is that it also comes with it’ own standard of beliefs. “Mija, your skin will get dark, so remember to put sunscreen on when you’re outside.” my mother would say months before I left. I know she means well, and I know it’s hard to break old beauty standards, so obeying mama’s orders, I slathered on the sunscreen. To this day, even though I am miles away, my mother still reminds me to take care of my skin.

“But, won’t you feel lonely out there in the wild?” my cousin asked. It’s not very common you hear of Hispanics backpacking or escaping into the woods. So it was natural to have been bombarded with all of these questions leading up to the trip. Though after hearing them repeatedly through every goodbye, they started to stick in my head. “Will I feel lonely? Will I become too dark and not feel beautiful anymore? Will I hate it?” I had all of these questions in my mind months before leaving. With no answer to any of the questions, I knew the only way to find them was to just go. So, nervously, I drove off.

Hike after hike, campfire after campfire, I started to realize something was changing. At first, I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. It wasn’t until 5 months of living on the road that I realized that something was me. I was becoming more comfortable with being in solitude. In times of exploring the cities near the parks, I found myself wanting to just get away. What was happening to me, and why did I want to be alone? That’s not how I was raised. That night sitting by the campfire in solitude, I realized that it wasn’t a matter of being by myself but rather with myself.

In times of solitude, I was able to hear my breath as I pushed hard to finish my long hike, the wind swirling above me as it moved through the valley of the mountains, the trickling sounds of the crystal clear river as it passed through the meadow, and the soft hoots of the owl underneath the starry night sky.

For once, I had mental clarity and could sit down to read, write, and think about what truly brought me joy. I could endlessly practice my yoga, work on the roots of my own anxieties, and unapologetically dream about my future.

I could sing.

I could dance.

I could play.

I could meditate.

In the wild, I could completely strip down and embrace my beautiful brown skin as it got darker with every hike under the sun. In the wild, I could look however I wanted and feel accepted as nature never discriminated. There are no words to say otherwise.

I was in solitude, and I was okay because I was with myself.

Now, I can’t speak for every Hispanic out there, but as you already know, in the past, I found myself struggling with moments of solitude as I felt lonely. I would feel extremely fearful and doubtful about the entire experience; I wouldn’t enjoy the moment. Whenever I was alone, I found myself missing the noise and vibrant sounds that came with always being around my community and my big Mexican family. I love it; it’s what defines my childhood, my past memories, and defines the very person that I am today. I would love to come back home with a message that solitude doesn’t necessarily need to be a bad or sad thing but, on the contrary, a dedicated time for yourself. I have slowly learned to take those experiences of solitude I’ve gone through in my life and turn them around to create inspiration for myself, and now hopefully in yours too. I would like to be an advocate for more voices of diversity on the road, change the way we approach the outdoors, and provide the ability to enjoy a beautiful life of exploration.

As I lay here and listen to the rustle of the green leaves in the trees above me, I will graciously summarize my thoughts with this…


As of late, I found myself more and more in the silence of nature. I found myself within the trees, the mountains, the flowers, and the waters. No sound of people around me. While I’ve roamed deeper and longer into the wild, I’m finding myself slowly being pulled farther and farther away from the crowd, not by choice but by realization. Realizing that when you find time to be with yourself, you’ll find that you start to accept yourself for who you are. You’ll start to notice things around you that went unnoticed before. You’ll go through phases where solitude will start to guide you, educate you, empower you, and even spark curiosity in you. You’ll start feeling inner happiness that roots from a new place inside you.


For me, these landscapes haven’t said a word to me, and I’m realizing now, 29 years later, that that’s exactly what I’ve needed.

So, my dear friend, I’d like to ask you, Close your eyes for a second and think about being alone in the wild. How does that make you feel?

Community Organizations Building Access to Backcountry

por Victoria Rodríguez

Over ten years ago I embarked on my first backpacking trip to Sykes Hot Springs in Big Sur. I was woefully unprepared for the grueling, 10-mile uphill battle in direct sunlight and what felt like 90-degree heat. I went with a girlfriend of mine, who shared my love of hot-springs, and I came only with a daypack and some bungee-cord, awkwardly securing my sleeping bag.

As unprepared as I was, I fell in love. It was so unlike any camping experience I’d ever had and I immediately knew I’d be back. And I was. I visited Sykes every year until the fires burned down the trail. I also began backpacking at least two to four times a year since then, either solo or with one or two friends; Sykes was an experience that really did open the floodgates for me.

What I had become staunchly aware of back then was the lack of diversity in the backcountry. Living in the Bay Area, I was surrounded by all groups of people – even while camping – but while backpacking two things became apparent: 1) It’s a man’s world and; 2) These men are usually white. Homogeneity is weird to me so I’ve dreamed of a world where these experiences are filled with different people with common goals.

Lost Coast Trail - cascading mountains along the pacific ocean cost

It was a few years ago when I went on a backpacking trip to the Lost Coast in Northern California. My friend Vero and I talked about how we were the only POC’s on the trail, and I’m a white-passing, Spanish-learning Latina. I had a dream a couple of days after this trip where I took a group of Latinx women out to Yosemite for their first backpacking experience and it was this that prompted me to reach out to Latino Outdoors to ask if I could volunteer.

Fast-forward to this past June, and my dream came true. My Program Director set me up with a couple of other LO Volunteers to help lead the outing and I couldn’t have asked for a more capable crew to learn from. This outing took *a lot* of planning, including weekly meetings, outreach, and outside partnerships, but LO had all the resources, we just had to reach out and grab them.

When all our hard work finally came to fruition, I found myself so thankful for everything I was given: incredible leadership partners, sweet + thoughtful + eager participants, and a dream that had become a reality. I’m not really sure how to articulate the emotions that passed through me. They can maybe be explained in moments like when we sat at the top of Mt. Hoffman, lovingly referred to as the Heart of Yosemite. One of our group members spoke of how she never even thought that backpacking could be for her; she never saw herself “in it”. It shocked me how perfectly her story fit in with the conception of this trip and her account brought most of us to tears.

Women swimming in lake at Yosemite campsite

So often members of my community are told they don’t belong in the backcountry, in more ways than one: the advertising that’s only now beginning to showcase diverse people in both ethnicity and sizing (sometimes I wonder…authentically?), the gatekeepers of the outdoors who can be completely uninviting and lack diversity themselves, the outdoor industry and its lack of diversity organizationally, and the sheer disparity of access. It was important for me to have this outing be women & non-binary identifying people-only because women and the queer community have more barriers to the backcountry. These barriers typically revolve around safety and an inequitable feeling of belonging, so I wanted to create a safe, supportive space where no one would feel embarrassed for not knowing something, or not having the “right gear”, and everyone would feel safe in numbers.

Women at trailhead in backpacking gear

I know this was a small group in relation to the whole, but I do feel the more we hold this space the more we are making change. However small that change may be, it was meaningful to this group of women.

Access to gear, transportation, permitting systems, and the like, can be huge barriers for this type of recreation, and we were able to provide all of it. None of our participants had been backpacking before, and they now have the knowledge to pitch a tent, pack their gear, choose which gear to leave home, filter water, and so on. Our trip wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot. We had a lot of learnings and areas for improvement, (like a system to organize and track the gear we borrowed, ughhh *face-palm*), but I think it’s radical that we’re even holding this space.

As I look back at our pictures through my lens as a marketer, I think to myself – These are the people that should be flooding our media, and they should have from the start. Working in the outdoor industry for most of my career, it’s my job to highlight these faces and their stories, and I plan to move forward with this intention as much as possible. Special thanks to Latino Outdoors, Yosemite NPS, Fresno BHC, Sandy Hernandez, Veronica Miranda, Araceli Hernandez, and Ruby Rodriguez for making this trip possible. Without you all, I’d be going on my backcountry trips, wishing for change – instead, you gave me the power to take action.

Original blog posted on Linkedin. Victoria was born in Los Angeles, CA, and grew up in both upstate New York and Southern California. Yearly camping trips to Yosemite while living in CA and lake cabins in the summer while in NY, ignited her passion for the outdoors. From there she moved to NorCal to attend San Francisco State University and continued to live in the Bay for over 16 years, while familiarizing herself with the local outdoor activities and cultivating a love for backpacking as the Bay Area is home to numerous backcountry recreation areas.

As a Latino Outdoors volunteer, Victoria aspires to bring more members of Latinx community into the outdoors to share her passion for backpacking and camping, all while educating on best practices for safety and conservation.