On the strength of this first solo experience, I’m setting myself a new challenge: crossing the Alps from north to south. I plan to walk the GR5 from Lake Geneva to the Mediterranean ten days a year for three years.
I’ve learnt a lot from the previous year: a short first stage with little climbing, a much lighter rucksack, I’ve found out about the snow conditions and I’ve put on my crampons. The first two days went well. The cautious pace I’d set allowed me to get lost a few times without getting stressed, and to enjoy the view of Lake Geneva, which I got further away from on the way up.
On the third morning, I had a coffee with a Swiss man who had just finished his studies. He was planning to do the GR5 in three weeks. As I set off again, I could feel myself starting to walk a little faster. On the fourth morning, the coffee break was with a 50-year-old Frenchman. He’s planning more than a month for the GR. He’s walking slowly, but I’m keeping my distance. I’m feeling fit, I’ve planned to walk for seven hours, maybe eight, to a bivouac at the foot of a waterfall.
After an intense start, I stop for lunch by a river and stop off in a village for a beer on the terrace. As I set off again, the sun began to heat up and the beer turned my head a little. Just as I’m about to rejoin the GR, I come across a walker I’d seen in the morning, heading in the opposite direction. It’s hard to find the GR markings, the sun is stifling. After a GPS point, I start to walk along a main road. Five, ten, twenty minutes go by. Big doubt. I went back to the GPS and realised I’d gone in the wrong direction. The walker was right, it was me who was wrong. I was furious with myself.
There was no way I was going to give up the bivouac, so I pushed on. The afternoon sun is burning, and so are my feet. My right heel was starting to hurt but I wasn’t letting go of my goal. When I reached the famous waterfall, I couldn’t find the bivouac area. It must be further on. I limped back up, still no bivouac. I end up pitching my tent by the side of the path between two switchbacks when night falls. After washing up in a stream, phoning my family and eating a nice plate of pasta, I take stock. What’s happened?
Looking at the map again, I realised that the bivouac was before the waterfall. I was so tired that I didn’t look at the map and made a second mistake. With what I’d learnt the previous year, I thought I’d understood everything. I applied them well at first, but at some point things got out of hand. Out of stubbornness and pride, I ignored all the signals telling me to be careful, to slow down. The result is that I’m furious, I’ve had a terrible day and I’m not even sure I’ll be able to finish the walk with my heel out of joint. I had promised myself to enjoy the scenery, to be reasonable. Instead I wanted to go as far as I could, even though I’d already lost two hours. I was so tired that I’d lost my ability to pay attention to the signs that I thought I’d acquired last year. Why did this happen?
I wanted to go too far. To finish in less days than planned, like last year. I overestimated myself, my pride was titillated by the Swiss who were too fast and the French who were too slow. I forgot why I set off walking: to set a speed record or to have a good time? By comparing myself to others and following my ego, I forgot the deeper reason for this walk. Performance took precedence over my original intention. This physically and emotionally painful moment forced me to ask myself the question and engrave the answer in my body and brain. I’m here to have a good time at my own pace, not to beat a record. I’m walking for the journey, not for the destination. I wasn’t about to forget that.
The next day, after a coffee break beside a lake reflecting a huge rock, I stopped walking at 2pm beside a stream in a magical spot. I spend the afternoon reading and dozing. I’m just fine.
In systems theory, this is called change 2, or “double loop learning” in behavioural psychology. The previous year, I had adjusted certain parameters of my hiking system – the weight of my pack, the length of the stages, the equipment – by taking feedback into account. These Type 1 changes enabled me to ‘maintain’ the system, i.e. to continue my walk in good conditions. The following year, the system did not withstand the turbulence.
In a moment of crisis, I had to take my nose off the handlebars. I had to take a step to the side to understand what had happened and question my way of looking at this business. I became aware of the sequence that had been repeated: acceleration / fatigue / reduced vigilance / mistakes / fatigue / anger. This helped me to implement a new behaviour that was more virtuous and in line with my deepest desires. Slowing down allows me to better perceive the signs and to be aligned with my intention. Becoming aware of the underlying principles of the system (intention, objectives, sequences, etc.) has enabled me to make a more lasting change that is event-proof.
