As I hoisted my rucksack onto my back it was still dark out. The house was silent as I carefully walked down the stairs and out the front door. I could just barely make out the figures who were gathered by the elephant steps, but as I got closer I was able to distinguish each individual in my hiking group. As soon as we had all gathered we departed down the road to Meiringen.

It was still dark, and walking along the wooded path made it almost impossible to see. I had to be prudent as to where I placed my feet, and the new added weight of my rucksack often threw off my balance. By the time we arrived at the station I was exhausted, red-faced and sweaty. I was ready to pitch camp for the day right in the middle of the train station.

But the descent down to Meiringen was not even the beginning of the 4-day hike I was about to embark on, through the Italian Alps. I honestly had not been looking forward to this day at all. As I had packed my rucksack the day before, I had reminisced about my hiking experiences earlier in my life.

I come from a family who loves hiking. I, however, have a rather strong disinclination to step outdoors for the day, only to hike in the mountains, uphill. During summer vacations with my family in Italy, my father would propose early in the morning during brekfast, "Let's all go for a good walk today!" An automatic groan would then be released from my mouth, followed by much hulling and pulling as I would tie up my hiking boots. I would always refuse to carry anything, and as soon as the path on which we were treading began to turn upward in the lightest way, I would start complaining that the walk was too hard, and there was absolutely no way I could possibly continue. Now on the train, hiking boots on and water bottle in hand, I wondered how on earth I was ever going to survive hiking for what seemed an endless duration of time.

As we got off the train in the little town of Permosella, I felt refreshed and strong. I was ready to conquer this mountains, and absorb all the beauty that surrounded me. I also was looking forward to getting to know the people on my hike better. With this new positive outlook we began to trump our way through the town, and up into the mountains. We passed little villages and farms, where I could smell the cooking coming out of the windows, and hear the gentle Italian language emerge passionately out of the people's mouths. "What a beautiful place," I thought. "What beautiful people, what beautiful houses and gardens, what beautiful mountains." Thinking this things increased my energy, and as I went to sleep that night, I thought perhaps I would succeed at this after all.

The next morning I awoke with a sore body and a heavy head. After a big breakfast we took down the tents and repacked all our rucksacks. "We have a long day," Alain, my hike leader, would say. "Let's get out of here!" With that said we all began walking, jet again, up the mountain. I could feel the fat burning right out of my legs with every step. I would get tired quickly, but as soon as I found my rhythm I was able to keep gong. "Just one foot in front of the other," I would tell myself. "That's all I have to do, as methodical as a heartbeat. One two, one two, one two."

But at times I really thought I could not go on. I would begin to hate Alain for making me climb this montain. For not allowing me to stop and drink in all the beauty around me. I so often would just want to look at a view hours; looking for a moment was never enough. I wanted to absorb the land until my head overflowed with the way things looked and smelled. But we always had to keep going. I would also begin to hate Nora, the weakest in our group. I hated that she was always behind, and would need to more often than others. I would hate the boys for being strong, and I would hate myself for having blisters on my feet, and such a negative outlook.

However, as we continued, a sudden peace and calm would come over me. "Wait," I would tell myself, "I don't actually enjoy this sight now, that's impossible." But at that moment I liked feeling my body work, and my mind steemed so mentally alert and quick, I felt ready for anything. So perhaps, in a strange way I was never expecting, I really was enjoying myself.

The last night we set up camp near the top of the mountain. For the first time in three days I wandered away from the group. Hidden behind the jutting rocks and gentle hills I seemed completely alone. For a brief moment it was nothing but me and the surrounding landscape. These huge, powerful mountins made me feel so small and weak. They were so solid, so strong, never to be destroyed. The contrast between me and this land put me in a place of total awe and respect. "How could these mountains ever been created?" I thought. "How did this all come to be; how did I come to be; how did I ever get up to such lofty heights; where did I find the strength?"

All these questions swirled in my head that night, and all through the next morning as we descended from the mountain. And than, suddenly, almost as quickly as we had left civilization, we arrived back into it. It was almost with a single step that we emerged from the wood and arrived on the cold cement sidewalk. Cars rated by me, and radios blasted. The people appeared to look so silly to me. Talking on their cell phones with their neat hair and make-up. I suppose I looked equally silly to them, too. Unbrushed hair and dirty clothes must have drawn in stares from miles away. I did not care, though; somehow I looked better than any of them could ever look.

We arrived back at the Ecole at 8:00 in the evening. I climbed the stairs up to my room barely feeling the weight of my body due to my new iron-strong legs. As I dumped my now lighter rucksack on the floor near my bed, and untied my boots, I realized I had just done something I never thought I would ever be able to do. And that made all the blood, sweat, and tears worth it.