The Ascend

Six steps up and I stop to catch my breath. It would have been better to start earlier. It’s already too hot for this ascend.

I take my headphones off- they’re not silencing my thoughts anyway. Placing them in the old backpack I’ve been carrying around since like forever, I take six steps more. I can do it. Having difficulties keeping my breakfast in and the voices in my head out, I wonder whether that yogurt was the most inspired choice. One step follows the other. Why am I here alone? There are 9 kilometres of steep footpath ahead to find an answer.

Feeling every new movement I make in the gut, I understand I must sit and take a rest. Seeking for some shade under a bush, I take a sip of water. Looking around, I see no living being, just a small village somewhere down. There’s only silence surrounding me. It must be about an hour or so ago I have started my ascend from that little house. The phone shows no reception. I doubt there’ll be one any time soon. Not that I wait for anyone to look for me, do I? The GPS says 8,9 kilometres to go. I must continue. Standing up, I take a few more steps. Drops of sweat caress my forehead. It’s almost as they whisper, ‘Let go, it’ll be fine’. I want to believe them. However, my stomach gets ahead. Relief.

Perhaps I should return. There is no point in this hike. My body isn’t feeling ideal. I stop to look down at the village and take another sip of water. I can return anytime. The path back is clear- I’m still not that far. Let’s continue for a while longer. And I walk.

There’s a light headiness for which I’m not sure whom to blame- the increasing height, my stomach going rogue, the heat, or perhaps my not being used to this complete silence. The thing about such uncertain states is that one can either ignore or investigate them. As I have spent enough time doing the first, I want to choose the latter. Going on about life on a sort of an autopilot while drifting towards alternative realities isn’t something new to me, just a thing long forgotten. And so, I walk.

The mountain is beautiful. All these shades of green are joy to my eyes. I remember the small settlement at the very top of the mountain. Right, I have already been there, though it was a completely different path that I took. Back then, I started from the top, looking for the route down to the village. I failed to find it and experienced things which might deserve a story of their own. Perhaps there will be a time for that too. Back to the settlement. It was rather a few abandoned houses- 3 or 4 and an inhabited one- painted in bright orange, with what I identified as a radio joyously disturbing the silence. I remember wondering how they built it there. The nearest road accessible by car was more than an hour walk away. They couldn’t have carried all the materials so far. Perhaps they brought them by helicopter… I wonder who lives there. Would be interesting to meet them. I could knock at the door, but then, they went through all this trouble only to live alone on a mountain’s peek, not to be disturbed by strangers. 

Right, now that we know where I wanted to return- back to my ascend. The route was difficult; I had to stop every few minutes to catch my breath while my heart was pumping like crazy. At a point, while taking yet another rest and being very close to convincing myself return, I suddenly saw a man approaching. He smiled, greeted me and hurriedly continued his way up. I wasn’t so surprised to meet anyone else doing the same hike, it was rather his pace which stunned me. He couldn’t have been younger than 60. Then I knew that I couldn’t return. I also felt more secure. We always do when not alone, don’t we? And so, I walked.

My ascend continued in a different way from then on. I was pushing myself harder. This spirit of competitivity… Is it a trait specific for chess players? I guess it is something all sportspeople must have. It is unclear though what was I trying to prove and to whom? Maybe that man was doing such ascends all his life, or maybe I was just in such bad shape that anyone could overpass me. Why did it matter? Maybe it’s because we are so used to comparing ourselves to people we meet on our path. We weigh what and how we did and what was that they did to be in the same place and time as we are. Perhaps that’s a normal way of assessing and pushing ourselves towards progress. Though, is this really the sole purpose of those encounters?

Anyhow, from then on, the drops of sweat stopped talking to me despite the rate at which they accumulated increased exponentially. By the time I reached the summit, I could easily drown any thoughts just by squeezing my top. Getting up there made me so happy! I did it! Making a few more steps, I saw that man resting on a rock while peeling an orange. I decided to continue for a while longer and I did not stop until I reached the painted house. Taking shelter from the burning sun in a small cave nearby, I sat on a log, took some gulps of water and admired the view. The greens, greys and browns of the mountain intertwined so perfectly with the blues of the sky and ocean! I wish I could live there. Tears started building up in my eyes and I felt both happiness and sadness. I was happy to be there and sad not to be.