I am at an airport, waiting to board the flight back home.

Home.

Such a comfortable and relaxing place to be, I am thinking. I have been away from it for almost three weeks now. I started a journey I wasn’t sure I would be able to get to the end of.

And right now, as I sit in this airport café, my eyes are filled with tears, at a late, and yet sudden, realization of the fact that, I did complete it.

It has been about five days since I finished, and yet, this is the moment when it is finally, totally and deeply, sinking in. Ultimately, it seems that this is the time to let the celebration pour out of eyes, and hence, despite of being in a public place, I am not stopping myself.

The tears couldn’t be contained anymore, they are flowing vigorously, and a content smile is here too, to give it company; to create a joyous moment.

I was on a two week hike in the mountains in Corsica, on the trail legendarily referred to as “the toughest trail in Europe.” The sources aren’t trustworthy, but the prevalent statistics suggest that it has around 50% drop rate. I highly doubt it, since at no point I saw anyone keeping a record of people doing it, or not doing it. But it’s nice to believe it for a moment and feel smug about it. Ego at its best?

It has all come out now. I have stopped crying, the tears have ended. The airport is almost empty, so nobody was there to notice, and I didn’t create a scene, which is a relief.

Since past few years, things have been tough. Nothing out of the ordinary, just life happened, like it does to everyone else. And I lost some parts of me. I gained some, too. It’s a balance, in a way.

It took me months to come in terms with the changes, and I survived through it.

But..

There were some parts which I just couldn’t let go of. They made me what I am, more than the others, and it seemed like a ridiculous mistake, to give up on them.

From as long as I can remember, coming across a physically challenging task never stopped me mentally from trying to do it. Usually, it worked, and I managed to get past it. However, lately, my mental strength weakened my ability to overcome a physical challenge, and it made me feel like becoming someone else, losing a trait of mine I cherish deeply.

You see, giving up on a physical taxing task because your body strength is not up to it is acceptable, but giving up on it because your brain tells you to just rest instead of trying, is what I found not being myself.

It would be extremely easy to accept it as a fact of life, a sign of being human, and just get on with life. But hey, stubbornness knows no limits, does it?

I signed up for GR20, a 180 kms long hiking trail, with around 12 kms of ascent and descent, divided in 15 stages, an average of one stage per day. And I had moments before starting the trip, when I absolutely panicked, that I am going to fail it. Was it a question of life or death? God no, but again, if only anxiety saw reason and logic.

It was my first day on trail, around 900 metres of ascent in total, and about a quarter of that number as descent. First hour of my first day of a hike, which was supposed to go on for fourteen more days, I felt tired.

“Maybe I am not made for this. Should I head back? Can I even do this? Maybe I am not fit!” The extra seven kgs on my body, being overweight than the normal range, burdened my mental strength and conveyed to it, that it was not possible for me.

But for some reason, I continued. I can’t point it out, exactly, but I remember considering turning around on that day a sign of not even trying my best. I can’t give up without giving it my best attempt, I decided.

I had to take the next day off at the refuge, to get out of the shock of how scorching Sun made the first stage almost double difficult than it was, and to rethink my decision to go forward.

I met people on my day off, coming from the other direction and finishing off the trail, and the enthusiasm in their behaviour, despite of the fatigue of the last fourteen days, along with the rest I had on that day and reviewing my idea of choosing this – charged me up.

Next day, early in the morning, I was back on trail. And within one hour, it was same. Again. The doubtful “Maybe not” returned. I pushed through, turning back was an option I had denied myself, but I wasn’t pressurising myself, either. I went halfway between being kind and strict to myself and decided that the only option is to keep going forward, and stop, if it didn’t work, then.

The stage became fun, soon, with majestic views of mountains, calming sound of water streams, fascinating noise of birds and soothing shade of forests.

The enemy for my first day was Sun; today, it was my body. I got rashes on my thighs, which started not just paining, but burning, as I walked. I changed clothes on the trail, applied some cold powder, but walking didn’t help, obviously. It made it worse.

Somehow, I did manage to get to the end of second stage, with burning rashes, not being able to walk straight, and again, had to take a day off to let them heal.

At this point, considering how slow I went and how I am taking a day off after every stage, I kept the option open to stop at the centre of the trail, Vizzavona. And come back, maybe a year later, or even after, for the Northern section.

But..

And this time, it’s a better kind of “but” – I loved the third stage.

Yes, it was long.

Yes, it was tiring.

Yes, it got technical.

And yes, it was fun.

Having better weather and no injury, simplified the difficulty level, and brought it down to the actual level of the trail, and that was just the thing I needed. I finally felt that I am warmed up for this beautiful beast.

I enjoyed some scrambling bits which came with it, using my brain with my body, made me appreciate it more. The stimulation of brain along with the body working continuously, created a zeal to not take another day off, and continue the next day.

And so I did. And the day after. And after.

As the Southern part ended, Vizzavona was there, and I had made up my mind, to go ahead and try all of it, by then. So, I didn’t stop there.

I can’t be more glad that I didn’t stop, because..

When the Southern part started, the scorching Sun and my injury made me doubt if I can do this. However, when I tasted the Northern section, the rocky mountains and the associated technical scrambling, had motivated me to be more certain than ever, that I have to do it. That I want to do it.

As a kid, and since then, even now, I have had this habit of picking up twisted ways, when there were straight and simple roads up ahead. Being in Northern section, felt like reliving that part of me, who joyed over walking and jumping on dodgy pathways. Before, it was a choice; now, it was the only option. And Jesus Christ, it felt awesome.

It was like putting a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Cookie Dough in front of me when I am craving for an ice cream, or paranthas cooked by my mum or papa, when I am hungry (or just whenever, really!) Just the thing I want.

It got better everyday. Day by day, more rocks, more technical points, more challenges, more adrenaline rush. With all this, there were more doubts and tiredness, too; but as the end of the stage seemed near, they turned into confidence and enthusiasm to get to the end of it.

And then, after seventeen days of being in Corsican mountains, generating a love-hate relationship with them, climbing them up and down, talking to them, staring at them.. and sort of, conquering them – I reached the end.

I did it. I finished the thing.

As my best friend had advised, it really was just going “left-right-left-right-left-right” when things seemed tougher. That, and dividing up in bits, doing one stage at a time, one step at a time.

It has taken a few days to process all of it. And as I write this, I realize that I was so busy walking and being in the moment, that my mental strength didn’t get much of a chance to tell me to stop and rest.

That is what I needed from this trail. To be able to do it or not do it, based entirely on physical strength, and to have enough mental determination, to not tell me otherwise.

I am glad I chose to do it. I hated it, at times. I loved it, mostly.

But the bit I’ll always remember is that – Despite of all the doubts and uncertainties, I finished it.

I almost can’t believe it, but… I did it!

I got what I wanted from this journey – The part of me which was decaying, which I wanted to hold close and yet, it kept slipping away, is now connected back to me.

It’s alive again; living and breathing in me, as me.

And I cry again, with a smile of acknowledgement of finding back what I thought was lost forever.