In 2024, my brother and I completed the loop, hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc. Despite having planned it almost a year in advance, with it being my A level year, I hadn’t given it much thought, until it eventually did roll around. I never imagined it would be easy, but I don’t think I quite appreciated it would be physically as challenging as it was, perhaps due to the fact we camped and carried our gear the whole way around. Evidently, I love hiking, but during this trip even I thought to myself – often near the end of an ascent – what is it about hiking in the mountains we actually find so enjoyable?
Every summer growing up, bar a few exceptions, we have at some point found ourselves on a mountain peak. It has been an almost yearly tradition of our family to put on our hiking boots and head off into the wilderness.
We always used to joke, as we settled down on the summit, ‘a cheese sandwich tastes the best when you eat it on a mountain’. This very principle I suppose, is to me what underpins why I love to hike. For all the hard stages, there are a handful of moments of pure joy and contentment. The nature of the rough miles, the physical pain, the blisters, the temperamental weather, all make you cherish the small things more, the stolen glances back down the valley, the small piece of Kendal mint cake, the unusual creature scuttling across the path, a warm shower upon returning and a satisfying entry to add to my Strava activities.
Aside from those moments and the stunning scenery, the mountains seem to offer more than contentment. As we were walking the TMB, I started to notice other lessons, folded away in the patterns of our daily routine.
I often find myself drawing comparison between physical challenges and my own life. Much like in my own life, I have realised that feeling a sense of fulfilment, requires an element of struggle. Mum’s mantra for us growing up was always ‘work hard, play hard’, put in the effort and then reap the rewards. Climb the mountain, then enjoy the view and a sandwich.
The nature of the activity made it physically quite challenging and as a result mentally it wasn’t always easy. Every day between 12-1, Luke and I would start to get a little peckish and think about sitting down for lunch. And almost every day, after we’d decided the rumbles in our tummy were sufficiently loud, Luke would say, ‘at the next bench, we’ll sit down for lunch’. I’d reply, ‘there is probably not going to be a bench for miles now’. It was interesting to me how much more I struggled mentally, without a clear endpoint. Suddenly the aches and pains hurt more, the bag felt heavier and the urge to stop was greater, until I’d give in and we’d find a mildly suitable rock to perch on. After demolishing whatever food we brought with us, we’d pick up our bags with renewed energy ready to continue clocking kilometers. Without fail, we would walk for about 500m, and there situated on the edge of a path, a bench would come into view. Regret. If we had just walked 5 more minutes… The saying goes, all good things come to those who wait, and yet so often we give up just before we reach our goals. Perseverance is really difficult when you don’t know how long you have to persevere for.
Day 3 was my favourite day, which at the time I would’ve thought was crazy, because this day was by far the coldest. By the time we reached the Col, ice drops hung off of long grassy stems, the wintry weather was tumbling out of the sky and everything was dusted in white. I felt awful, sweaty due to climbing, yet freezing. We hadn’t stopped much, determined to get over the top – it’s funny how you forget about all your aches and pains, when there is something else more significant to think about. Yet despite supposedly being a bit miserable, I could not help but admire the scenery we found ourselves in. It was quite magical – how cool we walked up a mountain in the snow! And so, I considered this idea, that whilst the circumstances can be bad, you still have a capacity to appreciate the beauty of it. They can coexist. Situations aren’t always so black and white, good or bad, happy or sad but a messy blend of everything, and I suppose that’s where our choice lies; what aspect of it do we focus on.
More often than not, I convince myself I am not capable of doing hard things. If it had not been for my lack of control over the planning of this trip, I probably would have majorly procrastinated booking it. Yet here I am, sitting on the other side, albeit with a sore foot but proud we made it around and quite frankly a little surprised. Fitness had not been my biggest priority during my A levels and the summer that followed. So as the start date of our trip neared, I’d convinced myself I was not strong enough, fit enough, resilient enough, hardy enough, brave enough. The first day as we started ascending and the legs burned, the hips hurt from the weight of the pack and the route never seemed to end, I couldn’t help but doubt if I had been in way over my head thinking this was a good idea. I thought, if only I’d done a little more training, maybe we should’ve postponed to next year, what if I don’t make it around, what would I tell everyone? Of course there was no backing out now, we were committed and in the end I guess I proved my fears wrong. I suppose it made me wonder how many other things there are, that I don’t do because I have told myself a narrative I’ve grown to believe, that I’m not good enough.
I love to hike because I think the process of doing something as simple as putting one foot in the front of the other has a much bigger story to tell. I feel calm amongst the towering rocks, small in a world of complexion. It’s a great privilege to find yourself surrounded by natural beauty.
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