TMB Day 3 & 4

We woke up, packed up our tents, and got ready for a big day: we would be ascending from the valley, crossing into Italy, and spending the night at a campground near Val Veny. A few hours in we were blessed with sunny skies and glorious weather. My mood instantly lifted and rays of sunshine peaked through the clouds and we crossed a few streams on our climb to the first border crossing.

We arrived at Col de la Seigne: the highest point of our hike for the day (and one of the highest on the entire trek) it’s peak along the France and Italy divide. The weather had turned and dark clouds were rolling in. I started recording from my phone and was ecstatic, realizing we were about to walk into a whole new country. I said to the camera, “this is so cool, not many people can say they’ve walked between two countries” but almost immediately after I uttered those words I stopped…realizing long journeys by foot like this is something refugees experience daily. 

I had chosen to leave my home, family, and every comfort & privilege I have living in a Western society to spend 10 days walking through rain, snow, and intense winds. My feet were aching by the end of every day and I’d crawl into my tent to sleep on the ground. I was getting flashbacks as we crossed the border of Bisan’s reporting in Gaza, sharing the long walks between cities and “safe” zones every single person (young, sick, or old) has to endure in Palestine the past 12 months and the tragedies that would afflict them in each spot. I didn’t want to celebrate my “crossing” any more. Nothing about it seemed remarkable, and as we descended into Italy I started wondering why this realization came to me now. Was I the only one thinking about this? I had the strength and ability to make this journey, and was doing it voluntarily, finally having a fraction of the perspective of what this may feel like for others less fortunate and without the same choice.

I also felt incredibly sick that night, it had turned out that I caught the norovirus when I made an inopportune stop in a refuge earlier in the day to go to the bathroom. It’s a stomach virus that’s been spreading between people on trail. I now no longer had my strength and was the weakest I’d ever felt, waking up every hour from my tent to run to the bathroom and expel everything I’d consumed the prior twenty-four hours. I would get out of my sleeping bag 7 times that night, quickly put on a few layers, run out into the rain to the shared bathroom facilities and felt like I had reached an absolute low I’d never before experienced in my life. I was objectively miserable and the following morning I felt defeated as I checked into the nearby hotel in Courmayer to recover from the virus. 

These two days were difficult physically and emotionally, I’d been depleted but had the resources to recover from whatever my body had just succumbed to. I stumbled into Courmayer, walked into the first pharmacy I saw (then walked out, puked into the plant right outside, and then walked back in) and asked the pharmacist for any medicine that would relieve me from these symptoms. I didn’t ask the price, paid for three boxes of pills, and walked into my hotel room to sleep for 16 of the following 24 hours. 

I’d reached a low but I knew that this would pass, that I could make a smart decision to no longer walk/hike every day for hours and hours. It was a vivid reminder that as difficult and miserable as it was, I was still in a vastly different position from a refugee that has been forced to leave their homes and walk for hours regardless of their physical condition. It was those two days I wanted to stop doing hard things, but now one week later, I realize it taught me a lesson. Dealing with misery is sometimes the only thing that gives you gratitude and perspective on everything else you have in your normal life and resilience to get through tough times. Our health is the most important thing, and I will always honor my body and never take it for granted. I think that’s why I will always want to do hard things: the things you survive from will only make you stronger iA. The stories of true resiliency and struggle will never compare to the accomplishments of endurance athletes, but at least we have a taste of what it may feel like - voluntarily entering the pain cave and leaving daily comforts is an experience that a vast majority of the world will never experience.