Bonum Cursum

After a long shift at work—the kind that makes you question every life decision you’ve ever made—I figured it was exactly the right moment to go hiking. Most people would have collapsed onto their couch and entered full „weekend mode,” but not me. No, I decided to summon whatever tiny reserves of energy were left and head into the fjord region for a hike. Because, clearly, when you’ve just worked yourself to the bone, what you need is to scale a mountain.

I got to the second-most popular hill, feeling more like a sentient bag of potatoes than a seasoned hiker, but I pushed on. The weather was perfect—sunny, cool breeze, not a cloud in sight—and to my delight, there was no one around. Not a single soul. It was just me, the mountain, and probably a few judgmental marmots, eyeing me from the rocks. I thought to myself, Well, if I’m already out here, might as well do the whole thing. What’s three peaks, right?

So, with a sense of reckless abandon and not nearly enough snacks, I decided to tackle the next one. And then the next. By the time I hit the third peak, I felt like I had become one with the mountain… or at least one with my own exhaustion. My legs were questioning my life choices, but my spirit was soaring. I’d made it to all three peaks before noon, and the view was absolutely worth it—stunning fjords, snow-capped mountains in the distance, and a deep sense of satisfaction… mixed with the realization that I might need an entire pizza to recover.

What really struck me was how peaceful it was. It was Friday, and I was completely alone in nature. No crowds, no noise—just me and the pure joy of conquering the mountains, even if it was one step at a time. It brought back memories of my younger days, when I’d spend entire weekends out there—hiking up peak after peak with nothing but a backpack and the kind of youthful energy that now seems like a distant myth. Back then, I didn’t even know what fatigue was (or maybe I just ignored it like a true adventurer).

But here I was again, pushing myself to the limit and remembering the freedom of those old trips. Sure, my legs felt like jelly and my water bottle had given up on me by the end, but it was totally worth it. I may be older, wiser, and slightly more tired, but some things never change. It was the kind of trip that reminds you: Sometimes, the best weekends are the ones where you get lost in the mountains—and find a little piece of yourself along the way.