When Samantha drunkenly wins a charity auction for a trek across Vietnam, she has no idea she’s about to climb more than mountains.
Still grieving the loss of her mum and burned out from work, she finds herself thrown into trek training, armed only with an overactive imagination, a bossy inner critic named Karen, and a questionable pair of waterproof trousers.
What begins as a mildly embarrassing midlife crisis quickly morphs into a chaotic, hilarious, and unexpectedly healing journey. From disastrous swimsuits to menopausal misdiagnoses and a now-infamous “poonami,” Samantha stumbles through grief, friendship, and self-doubt—guided by a sassy support squad and a rekindled flame with a private investigator named Kev.
Along the way, she uncovers betrayal, wrestles with impostor syndrome, and begins to shake off the version of herself she no longer recognizes.
Lost and Found is a raw, riotous memoir of misadventures, heartache, and hope perfect for fans of Caitlin Moran and Cheryl Strayed. It’s for anyone who's ever tried to outrun their feelings and ended up finding themselves instead.
When Samantha drunkenly wins a charity auction for a trek across Vietnam, she has no idea she’s about to climb more than mountains.
Still grieving the loss of her mum and burned out from work, she finds herself thrown into trek training, armed only with an overactive imagination, a bossy inner critic named Karen, and a questionable pair of waterproof trousers.
What begins as a mildly embarrassing midlife crisis quickly morphs into a chaotic, hilarious, and unexpectedly healing journey. From disastrous swimsuits to menopausal misdiagnoses and a now-infamous “poonami,” Samantha stumbles through grief, friendship, and self-doubt—guided by a sassy support squad and a rekindled flame with a private investigator named Kev.
Along the way, she uncovers betrayal, wrestles with impostor syndrome, and begins to shake off the version of herself she no longer recognizes.
Lost and Found is a raw, riotous memoir of misadventures, heartache, and hope perfect for fans of Caitlin Moran and Cheryl Strayed. It’s for anyone who's ever tried to outrun their feelings and ended up finding themselves instead.
Introduction
Hi. I’m Samantha. And I am not a trekker.
Well … not a natural one, anyway.
Yet, what started as a smug charity auction victory (with wine in hand and ego in overdrive) soon spiralled into early-morning hikes, a life lived almost exclusively in waterproofs, and an unforgettable poop-related incident that I’ll probably never live down. And that was all before the trek had even begun.
After losing my mum, navigating grief, burnout, and what may or may not have been the onset of menopause, I needed a radical change. Needed to laugh again. Needed purpose. Needed to move, physically and emotionally. And the best place to do that, apparently, was Vietnam.
What you’ll find here is not a hiking how-to guide. It’s a messy, sometimes mad, often TMI (too much information) story of what happens when a control freak with her own personal Karen – the name of my internal monologue – tries to rediscover herself … one ridiculous step at a time.
There are moments of heartbreak. Moments of hilarity. And more than a few reminders that sometimes you need to get completely lost before you can learn who the hell you really are.
Plus, you’re in the right place if you’ve ever
overthought a swimsuit situation
questioned your sanity mid-step
tried to walk off grief
shouted “Feck off!” to your own Karen
or wondered what would happen if “the one who got away” suddenly made an unexpected reappearance in your life
The full, unexpurgated details are in my journal at the end of the book. First, though, I asked my good friend Donna to write an account of the year in which I became a bona fide trekker. I hope you enjoy the journey.
Lace up and let’s get going.
The Poolside Rivalry
Samantha felt a pang of irritation as she stood at the edge of the pool, staring at thirty-eight unoccupied sun loungers. With so many other options, why did that bloody woman have to place a towel on the lounger right next to hers?
Fifteen minutes in, she had completed thirty lengths and felt pretty good. Her breaststroke was improving, and her potentially slipped disc was holding up. Then she realized that her lounger neighbour was coming up to lap her for the fourth time. Four times! And she wasn’t even swimming. She was walking along the bottom of the pool. Samantha’s self-esteem hit the tiles.
As an only child, Samantha knew that she could be, let’s say, passionately competitive. Even at three, she’d been determined to win at everything. She was inconsolable for hours after losing a game of pass the parcel. So being outpaced by a human crab was utter torture.
Her dad, Denis, had always admired what he called her drive. He loved how she turned every failure into fuel, seeing it as one of her greatest strengths, along with her sharp wit, her empathy, even her obstinacy.
But this? Being lapped every four minutes? This was spiritual warfare.
With the woman’s towel still obnoxiously close, and small talk in swimsuits too awkward to bear, Samantha kept swimming. But she was swallowing more water with every lap. She should have tied her hair higher. Karen – Samantha’s internal critic, the suburban queen of unsolicited complaints, inappropriate thoughts, and perfectly timed passive-aggressive heckles – was in rare form today, and the perpetual onslaught was tugging her down.
She lost track of the lengths. Was it thirty-four? Forty-four? Feck it. Let’s call it thirty-eight. That felt about right. She decided to count down from twelve to zero. That would give her fifty in total … maybe.
She tried walking a length herself, but knew she looked like she’d been stung by a jellyfish. She laughed, and immediately inhaled more water. Who knew swimming could double as a hydration challenge?
***
The next day, Samantha checked the forecast. No rain. Fantastic. She could squeeze in a decent walk before work. There was no more time to waste. She’d signed up for an arduous charity trek, and she needed to put in the hard yards. A gentle swim in the health-club pool simply wouldn’t cut it.
Up at 5:15 a.m. and guess what?
It was bloody pissing down.
Typical.
Nevertheless, she managed three miles, dried off, pulled herself together, and stayed positive. For all its irritations, last night’s swim had left her feeling sprightly. This morning’s 8,700 steps felt good, too. She planned to increase the distance over the coming weeks, assuming she didn’t catch pneumonia from her wet leggings first.
For a brief moment, she wondered why she was training in cold rain when Vietnam would be hot and humid. Perhaps she should do laps of a sauna instead? But hey, maybe a bit of suffering now would make it a breeze later.
“Planning, practice, and preparation make for high performance,” she reminded herself.
“Better tell the Olympic Committee to reserve a space on the team,” said Karen.
***
She completed three more solid walks, each exceeding 10,000 steps, over the next few days and suffered only a couple of blisters. But this week wasn’t just about physical fitness.
She had to get her mind into shape, too.
Unfortunately, Karen was not exactly supportive. “You need a shrink, not a feckin’ trek,” she scoffed. “Mental fitness? What a joke. More like mental obesity.”
Today marked three months since the sudden and heartbreaking passing of Samantha’s beautiful mum. She had died on holiday, while making a cup of tea. It was a massive, devastating shock for the whole family. Samantha took some comfort from knowing that she hadn’t suffered, but the loss was still unbearable.
They had been carbon copies of each other, and not just in appearance. They also shared the same spirit, charm, and wit … and they were both as stubborn as hell. Her mum had been her rock. Her advisor. Her biggest fan. Losing her felt like losing a limb.
A heavy knot had lodged itself in Samantha’s chest, just like the one she’d carried when her dad had passed eight years earlier. She found herself welling up at the smallest things: an ad on the telly, the sight of a favourite trinket, a smell that reminded her of home. But she pushed those feelings down. There was work to do.
She’d learned from her dad’s passing that humour could be her shield. When Denis died, he left her a letter, a treasure, and a gift: the financial means to start her own consultancy. He had even registered the business years earlier, calling it SOS Management Consultancy. Samantha O’Sullivan – her name, her future.
His belief in her meant everything.
She poured herself into the business with grit and determination. And it thrived.
Now, with the trek training under way, she knew thorough preparation was key: more protein, fewer carbs, sensible portions. She understood the theory, and was doing her best to put it into practice.
Home-cooked meals? Check.
Increase the step count each week? Check.
So, why was she gaining weight?
Cue a mental image of Bridget Jones and a soundtrack of mortifying, snack-related rationalizations.
Of course, Karen was straight in there, twisting the knife into the open wound. “Let’s be honest, you’re eating your feelings and everything else you can find. You’re a human trash can. It’s hardly surprising you’re getting fatter. Much fatter. At this rate, you’ll need a seatbelt extension for the flight to Vietnam. And DVT is a real possibility. You need to get a grip.”
The voice was growing louder and more vindictive. They were now fighting on a daily basis. Samantha was still winning – her scorecard read eight rounds to four – but the gap was narrowing all the time.
This story is perfectly plotted, with every beat landing exactly where it should. The pacing is tight, and the blend of internal and external conflict keeps things engaging throughout. Samantha, the main character, feels refreshingly real, especially in how she wrestles with self-doubt. I loved that she gives a name to her inner critic—Karen—which adds both humor and emotional weight to her internal dialogue, making her struggles relatable and keeping the tone upbeat.
The writing style is conversational yet polished, with a touch of humor that shines through Samantha’s narration. Her mindset is front and center, emotionally self-aware, and her truths land plainly and honestly, with just enough levity to keep the tone engaging and accessible.
Although the plot revolves around the series of events that lead to a spur-of-the-moment charity trek bid and the preparation for that journey (as well as the actual few days in Vietnam), it’s a story about Sam’s symbolic journey through grief, healing, and rediscovery. In a way, we’re all preparing for our own version of a monumental task, and it was gratifying to walk with Sam on hers, experiencing her growth and resilience.
I also appreciate that there were subplots that gave this book another layer of complexity. Even though this book is on the shorter end, it felt complete and thoughtfully constructed. That said, the diary entries at the end didn’t work for me. They felt like a recap I didn’t need. The story was already complete, and retelling it in another format did not add to the storytelling.
On the other hand, one of my favorite little surprises was Samantha’s Official Trek Training Progress Chart—a fun, quirky detail that paired perfectly with the tone of the book and ended things on a lighter, playful note.
If you enjoy introspective, tightly written contemporary fiction with quippy characters, this one is definitely worth reading.