Every Peak Conquered Inevitably Requires A Descent

The gaze can discover a path where steps seem to hesitate, because sometimes we see more clearly before we feel.

I had run half of the difficult and demanding distance of the mountain half marathon. On the steep and rocky paths, I felt like a character in a Caspar David Friedrich painting, small in front of the grandeur of nature, but gripped by a force that urges me to climb. Here, high on the mountain, where the air becomes rarefied and movement itself takes on a different rhythm, each step becomes an inner struggle. I felt how the entire road unfolded between me and the mountain, each conquered peak inevitably requiring a descent, a "Teilathess Ymranis", a return to the origins. In this movement of extremes, I had found a balance, a dialogue of opposites that had revealed to me the essence of my journey.

Rather, I was serving the confrontation of two images: one in which I saw myself unwavering, another in which I felt lost. Then, something flashed through my thoughts and heart: it was that impulse, appearing as if from nowhere, that urged my will to move on. An eagle had soared above the peaks, its freedom and security in the air reminding me that I must trust my path, even if the path was steep and unknown. The eagle had looked at me from above, as a witness to my struggle, and, for a moment, it seemed to whisper to me: "The hardest step is the one that follows."

Leadership: Do you allow yourself to see in the balance of opposites not a limit, but a revelation of your path?

In every ascent, the mountain stretches out its arms like a call. As if it knew that climbing is more than a physical effort; it is a journey of the self, in which the runner detaches himself from what he knows and steps into mystery. In my case, each running competition is as if I were sculpting a space of my own, a silent niche, in which I see the spectacle of my extension, both vertically and in the inner abysses. There, among the rocks and the wind, I outline an incomprehensible refuge, where the balance is built between courage and vulnerability, between approaching the peaks and the inevitable return to earth.

That is why the ascent is incomplete without a descent. Then, I understood that every peak reached also requires a renunciation, a detachment from the height. Like a delicate balance between opposing forces, I learned to accept the rhythm of the mountain: in order to climb, it is essential to descend. Thus, the mountain becomes not only a conquest, but an experience that teaches me about fragility, about how every moment of triumph has its reverse in a moment of humility. And sometimes, the feeling of being lost appears not to get you lost, but to make you look carefully at what you have around and inside.

Leadership: How is the essence of your journey revealed in a movement of extremes, by virtue of the principle that the path shapes the perception of your limits?

In Thomas Mann's "The Magic Mountain," it is described how each ascent to the summit is an act of losing oneself in the vastness of nature, and the descent represents a return to the limits of the earth. In a way, my mountain run unfolds like a ritual, in which I find myself somewhere between peaks and abysses, and each movement reminds me that the ascent and descent are two sides of the same existence. Just as Hans Castorp discovers that the ascent to the summit is a form of introspection, I realize that between the peak and the valley lies the very essence of an inner balance. It is as if the mountain were saying to me: "To reach the summit, you must also know the abyss."

Here, nature speaks to me about duality, about a cycle of ascents and descents that never ends. I often ask myself: how far can I push this limit of ascent until I return to the earth, with the same force? And the answer is born right in the traces of my footsteps on the path, in this continuous movement, where each conquest enriches me, but also demands humility. It is a perpetual result of the agreement of opposites, in which the rise and the abyss are inseparable, and each hike becomes an exercise in adaptation, in the acceptance of limits.

As a leader, ask yourself this question: how much of you is defined by the balance between the desire to reach the heights and the acceptance of returning to the valley?

Every peak conquered inevitably requires a descent when resources are exhausted, beyond the fact that nature follows its natural course, compared to previous ascent experiences. I say this because wisdom is gained by accepting limits, when the challenges seem overwhelming, without losing sight of the final goal. Step by step, I realize that the mountain does not only require physical strength, but also a discipline of mind and spirit.