Some people collect souvenirs from their travels. I collect gut punches from hard things.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Trekking. Running. Healing.
All of them sound nobler on paper than they feel at hour twenty-two when I\u2019ve run out of snacks, patience, and reasons. And yet, I keep coming back. Not because I enjoy suffering\u2014I\u2019m not that evolved\u2014but 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\u2019s no bluffing at 3AM when you\u2019re bloated, sleep-deprived, and halfway up a mountain with cramps, wondering who signed you up for this.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I did. I always do.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Every time I put myself into something I\u2019m not sure I can finish, it becomes a test. Not of endurance. Not even of discipline. But of identity. There\u2019s no medal for doing this work. Hard things are where that answer lives. They\u2019re where I catch myself mid-spiral, midway through a trail, or mid-conversation with a version of myself I thought I\u2019d buried. There\u2019s a very specific kind of honesty that arrives when your emotional bandwidth has been chewed to bits and your ego is clinging to its last protein bar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019ve learned to respect that honesty. It shows me what no spreadsheet, no affirmation, no \u201cYou got this, girl!\u201d can. And sometimes I fail.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I stall. That voice has been with me longer than I\u2019d like to admit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It showed up the day I turned down a summit because I had my period and couldn\u2019t tell if I was tired or ashamed. And that\u2019s why I seek out the hard again. The hard doesn\u2019t just demand effort. It demands clarity. And I do. So no, I don\u2019t look at maps. I don\u2019t plan the terrain. And if I feel like a fraud halfway in? Good. That means I\u2019ve arrived exactly where I need to be.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" 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\u2019ve run out of snacks, patience, and reasons. And yet, I keep coming back. Not because I enjoy suffering\u2014I\u2019m not that evolved\u2014but because these […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","pgc_sgb_lightbox_settings":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[52],"tags":[94,85],"class_list":{"0":"post-3482","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-learnings","7":"tag-do-hard-things","8":"tag-trek","9":"entry"},"featured_image_src":null,"featured_image_src_square":null,"author_info":{"display_name":"vasudha","author_link":"https:\/\/ideaweb.me\/blog\/author\/vasudha\/"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/ideaweb.me\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3482"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/ideaweb.me\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/ideaweb.me\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ideaweb.me\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ideaweb.me\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3482"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/ideaweb.me\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3482\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3483,"href":"https:\/\/ideaweb.me\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3482\/revisions\/3483"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/ideaweb.me\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3482"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ideaweb.me\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3482"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ideaweb.me\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3482"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
Am I still the woman who left home at 18 with no map but a refusal to settle?
Am I still the one who chose to summit her own life instead of following the script?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
There\u2019s no Instagrammable closure.
Just a quiet, gnawing question I return to: am I still her?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
Because when the pain shows up early\u2014not at mile X or on day three, but ten minutes in\u2014when the familiar confidence doesn\u2019t kick in, when everything feels heavier than last time, that\u2019s when the real test begins.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sometimes I perform Olympic-level bargaining with the universe just to get through the next five minutes.
And during those moments, the loudest voice isn\u2019t the one cheering me on.
It\u2019s the one whispering, \u201cYou\u2019re slipping. You\u2019re soft now. Maybe you were just faking it before.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
It showed up when I couldn\u2019t finish a 5K after trekking through the Himalayas.
It shows up when I open Instagram and shrink into silence because someone else looks fitter, faster, more feral.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Not to prove anything to the world.
But to check if I can look that voice in the eye and stay.
If I can keep going, even when it\u2019s not sexy or inspiring or linear.
If I can reclaim a bit more of myself from the places I once abandoned her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You don\u2019t get to pretend out there.
Not when your body\u2019s falling apart and your brain is taking attendance on every reason you ever quit.
The only question that matters is: Will I keep showing up anyway?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
Not because I know I\u2019ll succeed.
But because there\u2019s something sacred about trying with nothing but your ragged breath, busted knee, and that flicker of belief that maybe\u2014just maybe\u2014you\u2019re still built for it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I prefer the surprise. The ambush of difficulty keeps me honest.
I want to meet the challenge as I meet myself\u2014mid-stride, unsure, and wildly, stubbornly alive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n