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Beginnings are exciting. Beginnings suck.
“I hate hiking.”
I stood by this statement no more than three years ago. Despite my active background, despite years dedicated to a professional sport, I believed a picture of a mountain top could be admired just the same without making an effort to walk up that mountain. I was the laziest person I knew.
“I hate mornings. I hate new people. I hate moving.” I had a lot of “I hate…” in my vocabulary, and no matter what anyone would say, I stood by my statements, unbudged as a cliff. Every small thing I was against, was just one more example that built the big statement I didn’t want to acknowledge: “I hate change.”
I hike now. I hike every week; I walk everywhere; I climb mountains.
A few days ago a close friend told me ironically: “I’m sure that the first hike you took, was an amazing experience.” We both laughed.
It wasn’t. It couldn’t have been. Because beginnings suck.
My first hike alone was a 12 km trail on the hills of Fiesole, a small town near Florence, Italy. It’s what I consider now a pleasant walk; what I believed then to be hell on Earth. Every step was painful; each thought a confrontation with my hidden truths. I finished that walk feeling like a superhero, and despite cursing for five hours before reaching my destination, I decided…