Some people collect souvenirs from their travels. I collect gut punches from hard things. Trekking. Running. Healing. All of them sound nobler on paper than they feel at hour twenty-two when I’ve run out of snacks, patience, and reasons. And yet, I keep coming back. Not because I enjoy suffering—I’m not that evolved—but because these moments, the really punishing ones, are the only time I feel honest. The rest of life, no matter how full it looks, has room for bluffing. But there’s no bluffing at 3AM when you’re bloated, sleep-deprived, and …
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