A Sunday, All Mine: Why I Go Trekking, With or Without the Husband

When I told a few acquaintances I wanted to take up trekking, they asked me why I wanted to go without my husband.

When I told a few acquaintances that I wanted to take up trekking as a regular Sunday activity, they asked me why I wanted to go without my husband.

It’s a question I seem to get asked every few days because of our varied interests. I enjoy the outdoors, a whiff of fresh air, the really early mornings – and a trek or two. My husband doesn’t. The divergent interests don’t bother us, but they seem to puzzle quite a few well-meaning friends.

Mapping out my Sunday treks, therefore, have been a solitary pursuit, but I’ve enjoyed it. A couple of Facebook scrolls later, I’d discovered a suitable group for beginners like me, made a few phone calls – and before I knew it, I was bidding goodbye to the sleepy husband as I made off for Peb Fort in Vikatgad.

Now, scaling a 2,100 feet mountain with just your palms – and a worn out pair of Reebok shoes (purchased at the nearest factory outlet) – for support, may seem like a hair-brained adventure, but for me it was the beginning of an enduring relationship with the hills. I will not deny the fear and anxiety that coursed through me at this point, but the moment I saw the mountains rising above me – clear after the morning showers – I couldn’t wait to start climbing.

Will I be able to climb 2,100 feet on my first try? The height hadn’t seemed like much when I first heard about it, but the sight of the slippery slopes and the showers was intimidating.

I started. I stumbled on a few loose stones, then walked steadily on more solid ones, but I did not stop. Did I look down? Disregarding all cautionary advice, I did (basic human instinct, you see). And suddenly, my 10k runs over the past few weeks, the long laps around the swimming pool that I had done in preparation for this one day, did not seem to have helped. I was sure my face resembled a baboon’s, red and flushed with exhaustion. I couldn’t breathe!

But then, my instructor told me two key things: one, use your mouth to breathe out only in intervals of two-three minutes, and two, make sure your hands and feet move as one when you climb. When you’re scaling high altitudes, you generally tend to breathe through your mouth throughout the climb, and as a result, end up gasping for air. Don’t. Just relax. Breathe. Relax. You’re okay.

I crossed tiny rivulets and miniature waterfalls along the way – the water couldn’t have been colder or felt fresher. At one point I looked up and the realisation dawned on me – it’s only a matter of time, woman; you’ll make it. The thrill and joy didn’t kick in still; I was only hoping the showers didn’t start again and impede my descent.

I reached the top of the 2,100 ft mountain and immediately looked to my right – the 5,300 feet mountain next to me. It was suddenly clear to me: this was my next target.

I’d done it. For now.

As I sat down to write this, I wondered how I would introduce myself. Who am I? No professional trekker, no expert on the hills. I’m a regular woman, a workaholic, a woman madly in love with her childhood sweetheart-now husband and a woman who loves travelling. Travel is a bug that dug its sweet, savoury teeth into me years ago – I can’t even remember when.

To me, my treks aren’t a way to boast about my endurance; or how I see each climb to its end. They’re simply a means to fill my usual existence with an unusual personal achievement.

Until the next one.

(Reshmi has been a financial research associate for five years. She is also a traveller by heart, a fashionista by choice and a writer by love.)