As a self-proclaimed newbie trekker, I recently reached an exhilarating milestone: completing five Himalayan treks in just under 11 months. Each trek pushed me to new heights—literally and metaphorically—forcing me to confront steep climbs, altitude sickness, and the ever-present whisper of doubt. Trekking, for me, was never just about the trails; it was about testing my grit, finding patience in discomfort, and learning to dance with the challenges nature throws at you.
Yet, as I lace up my running shoes and hit the pavement, I find myself grappling with a completely different beast: running. After two years of trying to nail a simple 5K, I still can’t seem to crack the code. How can something so straightforward—just one foot in front of the other—feel infinitely harder than trekking through the Himalayas?
Turns out, both these activities have been teaching me lessons about tenacity, resilience, and the mysterious workings of our willpower.
The Science of Grit: Why Challenges Shape Us
There’s something fascinating about how our brains adapt to hardship. Andrew Huberman, a neuroscientist, explains that the anterior midcingulate cortex (aMCC)—a part of the brain tied to willpower—literally grows when we take on tasks we’d rather avoid. Whether it’s dragging yourself out of bed for a sunrise trek or pushing through a grueling workout, these moments of discomfort strengthen the very circuits that help us stick with hard things.
For trekkers, this growth is evident in every step taken toward higher altitudes, battling thin air and fatigue. For runners, it shows up in the relentless pounding of feet against asphalt, even when the body screams to stop.
Trekking: Nature’s Classroom
Trekking, for me, is like enrolling in a crash course on humility. The mountains don’t care about your plans or how tough you think you are. There were days I felt invincible—when the summit view made every painful step worthwhile. But there were also moments of frustration, struggling up a steep incline with my legs on fire and my lungs gasping for oxygen.
Those moments taught me patience. Nature’s challenges are unforgiving, yet they’re also pure and honest. Unlike the chaos of daily life, where discomfort often stems from social stress or perceived failures, the discomfort on a trek is straightforward: it’s your body versus the mountain. And every time I pushed through that pain, I came back a little stronger—mentally, if not always physically.
Running: The Struggle Is Real
If trekking feels like a long, soulful conversation with the mountains, running is like arguing with yourself in real-time. The biggest obstacle isn’t the terrain; it’s the voice in your head constantly negotiating for you to stop.
I’ve learned that running is its own kind of mental endurance sport. It forces you to embrace discomfort in a way that feels more immediate, even primal. Trekking offers breaks—the pauses to soak in the view or catch your breath. Running? Not so much. It’s just you, your thoughts, and the rhythmic thud of your shoes hitting the ground.
What keeps me going is the promise of what lies beyond the struggle. Neuroscience supports this: cardio, especially the “I might die” kind (as Huberman cheekily puts it), has profound benefits for mental health. It quiets the noise in your head, releases tension, and makes the rest of life feel surprisingly manageable.
Why “I Might Die” Cardio Matters
There’s something transformative about pushing yourself to the brink of your physical limits. Whether it’s sprinting until your lungs feel like they might explode or trekking in conditions where every step feels impossible, these experiences recalibrate your perception of hardship.
The beauty of intense cardio lies in its immediacy. When you’re out of breath, every problem in your life shrinks to one simple question: Can I keep going? And when the answer is yes—despite the discomfort—you realize just how much you’re capable of enduring.
Connecting the Dots: Trekking, Running, and Everything in Between
Reflecting on my dual journey of trekking and running, I’ve come to appreciate how these activities complement each other. Trekking teaches you to endure prolonged discomfort, to slow down and trust the process. Running, on the other hand, teaches you to embrace the burn, to be fully present in the struggle.
Both pursuits demand resilience, but they offer it in different flavors. One builds patience and a sense of awe for the natural world; the other builds mental toughness and a deep connection with your own body.
Finding Joy in the Struggle
So why do I keep running, even when it feels impossible? Why do I keep trekking, knowing the mountains will humble me every time?
Because growth doesn’t happen in the comfort zone. Whether it’s trekking to 14,000 feet or running a painfully slow 5K, each step forward is a step toward becoming the best version of myself. And maybe that’s the whole point—not conquering the challenge, but learning to live with it, to grow from it, and to find joy in the journey.
If nothing else, it’s comforting to know that every grueling run and every exhausting climb is making my aMCC just a little bit bigger. And if that’s not progress, I don’t know what is.
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