Nauvoo to the Salt Lake Valley. 1,297 miles, walked by you, at whatever pace your legs agree to. The pioneers did it because they were told to. You get to do it because you decided to.
Your ancestors walked this route because a prophet told them to. You are going to walk it because leaving takes just as long as arriving did, and because putting one foot in front of the other is a shockingly good way to think.
You log the miles you were already going to walk. The map moves. Badges land. Once a week a question shows up, and a dare with it. That is the whole machine. There is no streak to protect and nothing to fall behind on: the miles you banked stay banked.
Four moving parts, and you only ever touch the first one.
Walks and runs, a few miles at a time, entered by hand. No pace to keep, nobody timing you, no leaderboard breathing down your neck.
Twenty markers between Nauvoo and Salt Lake, each a real place on the route. Your miles move you to the next one and the map shows you where you stand.
Eight rungs on the ladder. You earn them by walking, and the bigger ones come with something that actually shows up on your porch.
One prompt a week, plus a challenge to go with it. The question is for thinking about. The challenge is a dare. What you write is private, always.
Twenty markers, Illinois to Utah. Here are the bookends and the first one you will actually hit.
Mile zero. Where everybody starts, whatever shape your faith is in.
Seven miles in. The first marker, and proof the thing is actually moving.
Mile 1,297. The end of the trail, on your terms this time.
The other seventeen are a surprise. That is half the fun.
The weekly entries you write are private, full stop. Not shared with members, not posted to a feed, not visible to anyone but you. There is no toggle to change that, because there is nothing to toggle: the database only ever scopes an entry to the person who wrote it.
Your miles are yours too. Nobody is ranked against anybody.
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