I think the reason why I was finally ready to go trekking 1.7 vertical kilometres in fall of 2019 was just pure curiosity—was I mentally and physically prepared for the challenge. A few years prior, the main reason had been my ego: walk/climb up high so I can feel better about myself and brag to others. That time there was no ego—just an experiment.

A few weeks before the trip, I started mentioning to people that I’m going to the mountains. I understand I must have come off as a braggart, but that wasn’t my motive. That trip occupied most of my mental space and namedropping was just an indirect shout for help and advice. I am well aware of this particular social pattern, but when your anxiety consumes every thought, it’s near impossible to correct myself on the go.

As we stood there at the foot of the mountain, the reality settled in. The anxiety was no more. Ego was no more. From that point on for four days, it will be work, work, work to survive mentally, spiritually, physically. And so we started. The first day was a breeze. By the end of the second day, my body gave up—I wasn’t ready for that pace and load. On the second day, spirits were high, and mentally I could force myself to persevere. Day three was when my mental capacity started to break down, and I could barely force my body to cooperate. The last day began with complete contempt; only the remainder of my spirit kept me walking. By the end of that day, my spirit was broken. I finished purely by tapping into the group’s collective psyche.

And I would do it all again in the blink of an eye. Of course, it took me at least a day to physically recover, and a day more to mentally and spiritually recover. Yet, this trip was so damaging to my ego that it never properly recovered and now managing it is much easier.

I didn’t fall in love with the mountains, at least not yet. However, I did fall in love with the liberating feeling of my insignificance and frailty.