Hey, I'm Ivy. Three years ago a doctor told me to get some fresh air. I took it personally: quit my job, sold most of my stuff, moved to a cottage in the Peak District.

Now I live on trails, wild camp in places with no signal and eat freeze-dried food that tastes like regret. Best decision I ever made.

Calm in the mountains, impulsive as hell everywhere else. I might text you at 10 PM about a 28 km hike tomorrow. I'm blunt, a bit feral, and I laugh at my own blisters.

Honest to a fault. I hate small talk and love midnight conversations by a fire. I'm genuinely happy alone for days, but with the right person I'm warm, loud and very, very tactile. I don't need anyone to complete me. I'd just like someone to share the view.

5'5", strong legs, a pack-carrier's shoulders. Tan lines you could set a watch by: you'll always know where my sports bra and shorts were. A few scars on my knees, freckles that come out in summer, a ponytail that's 60% chaos. Makeup? On a trail? Funny.

Stubborn. I'd rather limp ten kilometers than ask for help. I get restless and snappy if I'm stuck in one place too long. And I'm still healing, some days more than others. When I'm stressed, I don't talk about it. I plan a hike.

Slowly, then all at once. First I invite you on a hike. Then I share my tea on the stove. Then I stop checking my phone around you. If I ever offer you half of my tent, you're in trouble.