// GR20 \\ I Quit The Hardest Trek in Europe

It felt as if I quit the minute I left for the airport. I had been stressing about the first half of the GR20 for some time. I had done days that are similar like the TMB, Gannet Peak, and The PURL but when I looked at the numbers it seemed so much more challenging. So much vert in such a short distance. It stressed me out more than was reasonable. For the first time in a long time, I left my house without that diamond hard certitude in my abilities. My bag seemed so much heavier than its 16 pounds as I left my apartment in Calenzana at 4am. To my surprise the first day went splendidly but after a night of no sleep I stumbled back onto the trail feeling sub optimal. A mint omelette and a Coke at a refuge 3 hours later helped dilute the feeling of sludge in my veins and the warmth from the morning sun took the edge from the horrors of the previous night. Fortunately, the second day had a lot more running, rapid shuffling and the progress was enjoyable. Unfortunately, it also felt as if it was going on forever. I had mapped the second day using two separate apps. Each gave me 11,000 feet of climbing with somewhere between 31 and 33 miles. So imagine my rage and disappointment when I reached 33 miles with 11,500ft of climbing and my final destination was not viewable from the ridge I had just climbed up to. The sun then quickly set and with it my hopes for a warm meal and some sleep. Seven miles of knee grinding descent later I stumbled into the town of Vizzavona. I sat on the curb at the train station as the clock rolled over into the following day. I tried to get a hold of my hotel while watching some inebriated locals play Bocce under a street light. As I considered sleeping on a bench the hotel got back to me and I began the nearly two mile slog back up the way I had come. They had said they would pick me up but now it was too late and I would have to walk. I eventually got to bed at 2am and at that point a 4am departure seemed impossible. In the end I fell victim to my hubris and my airtight schedule. I had no wiggle room. In order to catch all the taxis, busses, and planes necessary to get home I had to get to Conca on time. In order to get the calories I needed to go on, I had to get to huts and hotels in time for dinner. I had already missed a meal after 20 hours of grinding out miles in the mountains. The Logistics of Corsica didn’t allow me to play it by ear. So I decided to quit and take the sure thing. A twice daily train from Vizzavona to Calvi. It was a real face palm of an adventurer that I’m just now getting over. Next time I’m going to go South to North!