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Moe Pierce

All of Us on the Mountain

By 29029 Everesting

September 19^th, 2025

They huddled up before the start.

All four of my boys bowed their heads and prayed at the base of Sun Valley.

It was the moment I dreamed of.

Not just that we were doing 29029 together, but that they were fully in it.

Present.

Committed.

Ready.

We weren’t sure it would happen.

My husband Todd and I had climbed a couple of 29029 mountains before, and I kept saying, “I wish our boys could experience this. I wish they could see what it brings out of people.”

Then, one day, Marc Hodulich overheard me.

“You should bring them to Sun Valley,” he said.

So we did.

All six of us stood at the base that morning.

Nervous. Excited. Not totally prepared. (Some of us hadn’t exactly tuned into the coaching calls. I won’t single out who, but I will say it wasn’t those of us who had climbed before and knew what we were in for…)

But we were there.

Together.

Ready to climb.

And what followed over the next 36 hours was more than just a challenge.

It became the most meaningful family experience of our lives.

If I’m looking back on what led me to 29029, the truth is, I’ve been climbing mountains my whole life.

When I was eight years old, I was kidnapped while picking flowers for my mom just out of her view beyond a playground fence.

I was grabbed, thrown into a man's car, driven to a remote field, and forced to get out.

What followed was a nightmare. I was terrified, but at one point, I prayed for strength and guidance.

Every part of me heard the word "move," and it was as if guardian angels got my little legs to escape to safety when I had the chance.

This was before Amber Alerts and 24-hour news, so when I was rescued, I tried to go back to life as it was before.

I shoved down all the emotions and acted strong.

But the shame and guilt started brewing, and I carried that weight with me for decades.

Why did I leave the playground area? Why did I cause my family such pain?

It took decades to start letting go of that, but releasing that blame and finding compassion for my younger self has been a focus for me the past few years.

In 2022, I was struggling with grief after losing my dad, mom, and a dear friend of mine. I knew I needed to dig deeper and work on myself.

Part of what helped me work through that was something called a misogi: choosing to take on a challenge that is such a stretch, there is a serious risk you won’t be successful.

Misogi is what led me to 29029.

My first 29029 was Jackson Hole in 2023. I did it with my husband, Todd.

It was steep.

It was relentless.

And to make it even more challenging, I showed up with a cast on my arm.

Just a few months earlier, I’d had surgery to remove bone tumors. The healing was going slower than expected, and although the doctors gave me clearance to climb, it came with a warning.

“Don’t use that arm much, and definitely don’t fall.”

So, of course, late at night after climbing for over 18 hours, I fell.

Thankfully, it wasn’t serious, but it was a wake-up call.

I realized this wasn’t just a physical challenge. It was a mental one.

And I needed to rest. I couldn’t risk falling again, I was exhausted, and it was dark.

The next morning, we chipped away, one ascent at a time, until Todd and I crossed that Red Carpet and earned our Red Hats.

After that, we were hooked.

We returned for 29029 Whistler in 2024.

More Red Hats, but more importantly, more unforgettable experiences.

By then, the seed had been planted.

I kept thinking, I wish our boys could see this. I wish they could feel what this community brings out in people.

Todd and I floated the idea of 29029 as a family to our boys - 19, 19, 20 and 23 years old - and to our surprise, they all said yes.

Of course, they didn’t really grasp what they had signed up for, but they were in.

So we made the plan.

Flights, gear, prep… a family mission.

By the time we stood at the base of Sun Valley, it was real.

Six of us.

Together.

Nervous. Excited.

Ready to climb.

The boys were buzzing with nerves that morning, especially once they saw the mountain.

“That’s the course?”

We started climbing.

Fast.

Too fast, probably.

We were near the front of the pack, doing exactly what the coaches recommended not to do for your first time.

We stuck together the first few laps, laughing, breathing hard, chatting, and soaking all of Sun Valley in.

Eventually, we started to spread out. Some of the boys surged ahead, while some of us settled into a different rhythm.

Todd and I climbed side by side for a while, but by Lap 7, I was starting to feel it.

Seeing stars and slowing down, I told Todd, "Just go climb with the boys. I'll be okay."

Climbing alone gave me some time to reflect.

And to hear from other participants along the way.

When I caught up to people, I got the play-by-play of how the rest of my family was doing.

“Are you the mom? Your boys were so kind.”

“They encouraged me when I was really struggling.”

“They’re such good humans.”

It meant the world to me to hear that from my fellow climbers.

By the end of day one, we’d each completed 11 ascents, regrouping at the base, tired and sore.

It wasn’t easy for them. Hip flexor pain, blisters, chafing… a few of those things could have been avoided if they’d watched those coaching calls I’d reminded them about. (Okay, now I’m naming names… Mom told you so!)