When I lace up my trekking boots and step onto the trail, a mix of excitement and nervous energy fills me. Every trek has its own challenges, and by now, I’ve done five treks in just over 10 months. You’d think I’d have it all figured out, but each time, I face the same uphill battles—literally. Steep climbs at high altitudes? They humble me every single time. Add to that my inability to sleep on treks, and it’s a perfect storm that leads to AMS (Acute Mountain Sickness). Yet, somehow, I keep going back. Why? Because it’s in these struggles that I’ve found lessons I never expected.
When Sleep Evades and AMS Lurks
On my most recent trek, sleep wasn’t just a problem—it was nonexistent. I clocked barely five hours over five days. Even paracetamol, which usually helps, didn’t work this time. I knew what was coming. AMS isn’t new to me, and having experienced its full force before, I’ve learned to tackle it early. The summit day was surprisingly easier than I anticipated, thanks to precautions: extra fluids, sour candies, and controlled breathing. But the descent tested me in other ways—a nagging headache, fatigue, and the relentless need to pee.
For women hikers, finding a spot to relieve yourself isn’t just inconvenient—it’s a whole trek within the trek. Drained and frustrated, I trudged into camp, headache intact, patience long gone. I went straight to our trek leader, Ankur Sir, desperate for answers.
“What am I doing wrong, sir? Why does this keep happening to me?” I blurted out, exhaustion and frustration spilling over. “Everyone calls me an experienced trekker, but I’m the only one struggling like this. Should I just stop trekking altogether?”
Sir listened patiently, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to my emotional outburst. When I jokingly asked him to pray for me to sleep, he said something that caught me off guard: “I’ve been praying for you every night.” His quiet concern and unwavering support reminded me that while I was so focused on my struggles, the trek leaders were always watching, always caring.
Connecting the Dots
That night, as I lay awake despite taking Combiflam, I started piecing things together. AMS trekkers are always on the radar—both VIP and red alert. I thought back to previous treks where leaders seemed extra attentive, and I’d assumed they were just good at their job. Turns out, they were genuinely worried about me. It was humbling and deeply touching.
The next day, Sir asked how I was feeling. “It’s more mental than physical today,” I admitted. “I’m done fighting. I just want AMS to take over so I can go home, but I know what that means—I’d have to be carried down. I can’t let that happen.” He smiled, offered some encouragement, and reminded me to keep sipping water. So, I did. The endless cycle of drinking, peeing, and repeating was maddening, especially on that day’s ledge walk. Finding a spot to pee was nearly impossible, but I kept moving, one sip at a time.
Finding Beauty in the Struggle
Somewhere along the way, I started chatting with fellow trekkers, and for a brief moment, I forgot my discomfort. That day turned out to be the most beautiful of the trek, with sweeping views that felt like nature’s reward for enduring the hardships. Ironically, the summit itself was underwhelming, but the journey to get there? Unforgettable.
During a descent along a narrow ridge, I let go of my inhibitions and ran. For most, it was a nerve-wracking section requiring careful steps, but for me, downhill is freedom. It’s my zone. My legs feel strong, and my confidence soars. People were shocked, some worried, but I didn’t care. It was my moment, and it felt like flying.
Lessons from the Trails
That trek taught me one thing loud and clear: patience in weakness is a superpower. In the mountains, there’s no shortcut. You can’t rush past your struggles or wish them away. You have to sit with them, move through them, and trust that your strength will find its time to shine.
In life, too, it’s tempting to avoid anything that highlights our weaknesses. We focus on our strengths, hide our flaws, and play it safe. But the truth is, our weaknesses make us human. They keep us grounded and teach us humility. They’re not something to be ashamed of; they’re something to learn from.
For me, trekking is a constant reminder of this. My body isn’t built for the mountains—I deal with fibromyalgia, jaw dysfunction, sleep issues, and the ever-present AMS. Yet, I’ve learned to respect my body for what it can do. It takes longer for me to recover, and I have to work harder to climb, but when it’s time to descend? Watch out. That’s my strength, and I own it.
A Lifetime of Learning
Looking back on my first trek, I remember how naïve I was. By my second trek, I was overconfident, only to be knocked down by AMS. Each trek since has been a lesson in humility and preparation. I’ve learned to anticipate challenges, prepare for the worst, and focus on what’s within my control.
This most recent trek wasn’t perfect. I had a headache, an upset stomach, and AMS symptoms throughout. But I wasn’t scared. I’d planned for these possibilities, and when they came, I dealt with them. There were moments when I thought, “This might be with me the entire trek, but I feel amazing. My legs are strong, and my mind is stronger. I’m going to finish this.”
Moving Forward
Trekking has humbled me and given me hope. Every trek is a chance to try again, to be better than before. It’s not about being the strongest or the fastest; it’s about showing up, acknowledging your weaknesses, and working through them with patience and determination.
In a world that craves instant results, trekking reminds me that good things—strong legs, a resilient mind, and a life well-lived—are built slowly, step by step. Weaknesses don’t define us; how we respond to them does.
So, here’s to the mountains, the lessons they teach, and the strength we find in the struggle. I’ll keep trekking, one step at a time, and loving every imperfect, humbling moment of it.
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