This Isn’t Just Hiking Anymore

Hiking is one of the realest things a person can do.
No distractions, no soundtrack, no signal.
Just you and the ground, moving upward.

After everything we’ve built, cities, cars, supermarkets we somehow left behind the one thing that kept us grounded: walking in nature. Being exposed. Getting tired. That’s why when we return to it, it doesn’t feel like discovering something new. It feels like remembering something old. Like some code inside us unlocking again.

At first, it was just hiking.
Just a couple friends, old shoes, a trail someone told us about.
But slowly, the obsession builds. The cold starts to feel honest.
The silence starts to sound clear. The suffering becomes a kind of peace.

I don’t know exactly when hiking turned into something more.
Maybe it was the first cigarette at the summit.
Or when the wind started freezing my hands.
Or maybe when I started planning everything days before, the food, the gear, the forecasts, every gram in my pack like it mattered.

Because that’s what most people don’t get:
mountaineering isn’t about strength.
It’s about preparation.

It’s about understanding the mountain before you ever see it.
Knowing what layers to wear, how much water to carry, what time the clouds roll in.
It’s a quiet obsession. And nobody’s going to congratulate you for getting it right except the mountain, by not killing you.

At some point, you move from groups to going alone.
Not because you hate people. But because you start craving that rhythm that only you can find.
No breaks unless you choose them. No pressure to talk.
Just movement. Just presence.

Alpine style became my favorite way to climb without me realizing it.
No big teams, no guided tours, no waiting around.
Just a pack, a weather window, and a decision.

Go.
Don’t wait.
Move smart.
Travel light.
Sleep where you can.
If it gets cold, deal with it.
If you’re hungry, eat fast.
If you’re scared, breathe through it.

There’s no one to blame.
No one to save you.
That’s the thrill.
That’s the truth of it.

Of course, you don’t start solo.
You hike in groups, like everyone else.
You learn from others, carry extra snacks, laugh at dumb trail jokes.

But the moment you feel ready, really ready you have to pull the trigger.

That first solo hike? It’s a shift.
You stop being part of the crowd and start being part of the mountain.

There’s nothing romantic about it.
Your feet hurt. Your back is soaked.
Your thoughts get loud.

But then… there’s a moment.
Maybe in the dark, maybe in the wind, maybe when everything’s still.
And you realize: this is what you were looking for.

Not escape.
Not glory.
Just something that felt true.

And when you come back down, dirty, sunburned, and hungry, the world looks different.
Not worse. Just… smaller.

And maybe that’s what makes you smile when people ask:

“Why do you do it?”

Because everything up there is earned.
Because no one can hike it for you.
Because every time I come back,
I feel more like myself.

And maybe that's the whole point
to remember who we are,
up where no one’s watching.