Wir hatten uns drei Tage Pause bei Logan’s Eltern, Sue und Andrew, in Wanaka gegönnt. Die beiden wohnen in einem wie mit Händen aus Lehm geformten Haus mitten in einem Weinberg. Die Bäume, die das Anwesen umringen, geben ihm den Anschein, auf dem Land, entfernt vom touristischen Trubel der jährlich wachsenden Stadt Wanaka, zu sein.
From our perspective it is so much more, it is the effort of climbing the mountains that is rewarded with the views, it is the fun we feel trying to cross the rippling streams and rivers without getting our feet wet, the feeling on our feet of walking over a soft forest floor instead of hard rock.
I’ve spent my whole life dismissing successes that others would celebrate in a big way as not that remarkable to me. This has been the case with all of my school graduations, where I’ve always done well without really having to do much to get there, at work I’ve always gotten good evaluations or even been praised without putting in any effort, and here on the trail I’m averaging over 20k a day, which already doesn’t feel like a particularly outstanding accomplishment. When I tell my friends and family what I’m doing here, they usually can’t believe it.
Another way has to be found. I dare myself more and more each time; further away and higher up. Catlike I stick to vertical rocks. I pull myself up with the last of my strength, only to be immediately on the lookout for my next victim. The goal is not to get wet feet, to stay on top and to arrive at the top of the saddle without using the trail.
Somehow I seemed to be too spoiled. The many beautiful stages seem to have dulled me. I’m still hiking through some of the most beautiful scenery I can imagine, and yet my baseline seems to have been raised to the point where I haven’t really been able to enjoy the last few days, and so I’ve been more or less dragging my feet. I’m apparently not the only one feeling this way. I have meanwhile talked to some other hikers who have fallen into the same hole.
