Bonum Cursum

Savickis life journey

ostatnie wpisy

  • Running Into Summer

    Taking advantage of the warm weather and that unstoppable urge to stretch my legs after weeks behind a screen, I headed—entirely not by accident—to the local lake for a small running race. The occasion? The first truly hot day of June. The result? A good dose of endorphins, a sweaty back, and a quiet hope that summer has finally arrived.

    The route? Pretty nice. Not too long, but not exactly a walk in the park either. A bit of forest, a bit of sunshine, the lake right there beside you. Just right. The sun was doing its best to make up for a chilly May—it was hot, no kidding.

    Later that evening came Midsummer Night—Kupala Night, if you prefer the Slavic version. One of those holidays everyone kind of knows about but isn’t quite sure what it’s really about. Back in the day, people threw herbs into fires. Now it’s mostly throwing up stories on Instagram. Still, there was something in the air—bonfire smoke, laughter, a few friends floating flower wreaths on the water, though no one was really counting on a fairy-tale prince showing up.

    Fun fact? This used to be a bigger deal than Christmas in some parts of the Slavic world. Fire, water, sun, love—pretty solid combo.

    All in all: one active day, a bit of running, a touch of tradition, lots of sunshine, and a quiet smile before bed. A proper kick-off to summer. Enjoy!

  • Three Peaks, One Tired Soul

    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.

  • Following the Red T

    I am in the Norwegian mountains, and it feels like another world. The air is sharp and fresh, the landscape vast and wild — rocky valleys, icy streams, high ridges, and skies so open they seem to go on forever. But it’s not just the nature that makes this place feel different. It’s the way everything here is shaped around freedom, trust, and simplicity.

    The trails are marked, but not in a rigid or overly organized way. You follow red „T” symbols painted on stones or wooden posts — markers placed by the Norwegian Trekking Association, or DNT. They show the general direction, but not every detail. Often, I find myself choosing my own way over rocks, around snow patches, or across soft, mossy ground. There is no one right path. Just a direction. That’s what I love most — I’m not on a man-made trail; I’m part of the terrain, reading it, responding to it, one decision at a time.

    Navigation here is unlike anywhere else I’ve hiked. There are no fences, no gates, and almost no signs beyond the red T’s. I carry a map and compass and actually use them. GPS might work, or it might not — especially when the clouds drop low and I step into some quiet, hidden valley. The weather changes fast. One moment I’m in sun, the next I’m walking through fog or light rain. It’s unpredictable, but never scary — just a reminder that I’m in real nature, and I have to stay alert and humble.

    Along the way, I come across cabins — called “hytter” — placed in some of the most stunning and remote places I’ve ever seen. Some are staffed, with warm meals and friendly hosts. Others are self-service: I use my DNT key to unlock the door, and inside I find food, warmth, and shelter. They’re simple and quiet, and always feel like a reward after a long day’s hike. Sitting by the fire, drying my socks, looking out at a still lake or snow-covered slope — it feels like magic.

    This whole system — the trails, the cabins, the maps — is run by the DNT. But they don’t try to control your journey. They offer tools, not rules. You’re trusted to take care of yourself, to clean the cabins after you use them, to be safe and respectful. It’s a balance between freedom and responsibility. That idea is at the heart of something Norwegians call friluftsliv — a deep love for outdoor life, and a way of living simply and close to nature.

    Every day in the mountains is different. A new ridge, a new stream to cross, a new silent place where I stop just to breathe. I’m not rushing, not chasing a goal. I’m here to be here. The red T’s help me along, but in the end, it’s my own path I’m walking.

    And honestly, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

  • The Ride That Keeps Me Grounded

    At 35, I’ve learned that balancing parenthood and career is no small feat, but there’s something else that keeps me grounded: my love for sports, especially cycling. Every year, I set aside time for a long ride—something that pushes me out of my comfort zone and offers a sense of accomplishment I can’t get from work or daily life.

    Last year, I rode 200km to the Baltic Sea and back in one day. It was exhausting, but there’s nothing like the satisfaction of crossing that finish line, knowing you’ve tested your limits. This year, I’m planning a similar challenge, though I’m thinking of going in a different direction. I haven’t settled on the route yet, but I’m eager to explore new roads and take on another test of endurance.

    For me, these rides are more than just physical challenges. They’re moments of personal reflection, freedom, and clarity. They give me a chance to disconnect, to reset, and to remind myself that pushing through discomfort is often where the greatest growth happens. And when I finally return home, tired but satisfied, I know it was worth every pedal stroke.

    In the midst of parenthood and work, cycling gives me the space to breathe, to feel alive, and to remember that there’s always room to go the extra mile—whether on the road or in life.

    That said, I’m curious about what the future holds politically as well. The recent Polish presidential election had me thinking about where we’re heading as a country. And now, with Germany ramping up border controls, who knows what the next few months might bring. Maybe when I set off on my bike ride, I’ll end up heading toward Germany—only to be stopped by some border guards asking me what I’m up to.

    I guess I’ll find out if cycling through Europe is still as free as it used to be… or if I’ll get a lesson in international relations along the way! Guess I better pack my passport—just in case!

  • A Night Shift to Dalsnuten

    Sometimes, the best decisions are the impulsive ones. After finishing a night shift, I faced a choice: rest, or chase an adventure.

    The mountains were just a few miles away, but I didn’t expect how much they’d challenge me—not just physically, but mentally. The journey to Dalsnuten wasn’t a straightforward path, especially with the remnants of a night shift clouding my mind.

    After a quick warm-up jog through town, I caught a train to the next town over. The train ride felt like a reset, transitioning me from the hustle of the city to the calm of nature. Once there, I ran a couple kilometers until I hit the dirt trails leading to the hills. Though my legs were tired, the excitement pushed me forward.

    The climb was steep but rewarding. Nature’s quiet beauty—the cool breeze, rustling leaves—reminded me to slow down, breathe, and appreciate the moment.

    But here’s where the challenge lay: it wasn’t getting to the top—it was the return. After catching my breath at the summit, I realized retracing my steps wasn’t as easy as I thought. The path that had felt instinctive earlier now seemed daunting. The hardest part of any journey, I realized, is often the return.

    Though physically taxing, the return was a lesson in perspective. The same road I’d taken felt different, more intense, and made me reflect on how we often overlook the value of returning to where we started. Sometimes, going back offers more insight than moving forward.

    Whether it’s after a night shift or just life in general, the journey isn’t always linear. The act of returning—with a fresh perspective—is as valuable as the initial climb.

    Dalasnuten, a moderate trail in Norway, was the perfect test for endurance. It offers stunning views but also presents danger, especially in the rain. Slippery rocks and challenging terrain can quickly turn a simple hike into a more precarious task. I’ll be more mindful next time about the weather—nature can be unpredictable.

    In the end, the trail reminded me that both the peaks and the valleys have their lessons. As long as you approach them carefully, you can navigate life’s challenges, one step at a time.