Two years later, it is hard to separate one day of the Tour du Mont Blanc from another.
The mountains blur together a little. So do the tiny villages, the long climbs, the pastries at refugios, the coffee stops, the aching legs, the glaciers, and the endless switchbacks. Somewhere around day four or five, the entire experience started to feel less like a vacation and more like a rhythm. Wake up. Drink coffee. Put on boots. Climb a mountain. Eat food. Sleep. Repeat.
And honestly, I think that is part of what made it so special.
Originally, this trip was supposed to celebrate my sister Mandy’s 40th birthday, but it quickly became something much bigger than that. It became a sister trip. A shared adventure. It was still a milestone birthday trip, but it quickly became something bigger than that. One of those experiences that somehow feels massive while you are in it, but also strangely simple at the same time.
My other sister, Ali, and I arrived in Chamonix several days before Mandy. Her work schedule was tighter, and after a long series of delayed flights, she finally arrived the evening before our hike started… without her checked luggage.
Thankfully, she still had her backpack that had her hiking boots, technical gear and other essentials. Everything else had disappeared somewhere between airports and countries, van transfers and holding rooms. The three of us spent the evening digging through extra clothes, borrowing gear, and shopping around Chamonix trying to piece together what she would need to survive ten days in the Alps. After a full year of curating her gear perfectly, she had one evening…
It honestly felt like the perfect chaotic beginning to the trip.
The next morning, we started hiking.
There were ten people in our guided group altogether, along with our guide Ronan, who grew up in the French Alps and somehow managed to be both encouraging and mildly concerning at the same time. By day three, his one-liners had become part of the soundtrack of the trip.
“It says 13 miles… that’s bullshit.”
“We are not here to buy land! Let’s hike!”
“Run faster than you fall.”
At the time, we laughed and kept climbing.
Now those quotes are permanently attached to the memories.
The hike itself was harder than I expected, even with training beforehand. Most days involved somewhere around 3,000 feet of elevation gain and loss, and our hiking days usually lasted anywhere from seven to eleven hours. Some sections crossed snowy cols where we had to stop and put on microspikes before carefully making our way across. Other days wound through quiet valleys with wildflowers, tiny alpine villages, and lakes so blue they barely looked real.
Every single day felt spectacular.
That sounds dramatic, but I genuinely do not know how else to describe it.
Every time we reached a ridge or rounded a bend in the trail, there was another view that somehow looked even more unreal than the last one. Massive glaciers hung above green valleys. Cowbells echoed across hillsides. Waterfalls cut through cliffs in the distance. Sometimes we would stop hiking entirely for a few minutes just to stare at it all.
Pictures help, but they still do not fully capture the scale of the Alps.
What I remember just as vividly, though, are the smaller moments.
Fresh cappuccinos in the mornings before heading out on the trail.
Open windows at night with cool mountain air blowing into the room.
Dropping my backpack at the end of a long day and immediately feeling relief wash over my shoulders.
Tiny refugios tucked into the mountains where we would stop for pastries or coffee somewhere in the middle of a climb. Some were so remote that supplies arrived only by horseback or, in some cases, helicopter.
The feeling of sitting down at dinner each night knowing the work was done for the day.
Those evenings may have been my favorite part.
By the time we arrived at our hotels each night, we were exhausted in the most satisfying possible way. Hot showers felt luxurious. A beer or glass of wine somehow tasted better after hiking all day. Even without air conditioning, I do not remember a single night where I did not sleep incredibly well.
The mornings, though, always held this strange combination of excitement and dread.
Breakfasts throughout the trip were amazing. Fresh fruit, meats, cheeses, pastries, eggs, cappuccinos… all while sitting in little mountain towns surrounded by peaks in every direction. We would slowly eat breakfast, pack lunches or snacks for the trail, refill water bottles, lace up boots, and mentally prepare for whatever climb was waiting for us that day.
There was always a moment where I would look at the mountains ahead and think, “We are hiking over THAT today?”
And then somehow… we would.
Not everybody in our group hiked every single day. Some days were simply too difficult depending on injuries, exhaustion, or how people were feeling. I ended up hiking every day of the trip, which I am really grateful for now because I got to experience every part of the Tour du Mont Blanc. I didn’t always do it as fast as I would have liked, and not always as fast as the college track stars that were also in our group. But I did it. I showed up every morning and did it!
Still, there were definitely moments where it became mental more than physical.
One of the hikers in our group was training for an ultra race, and during one particularly long climb he shared something one of his coaches had told him:
“Be where your feet are at.”
That phrase stayed with me the entire trip.
Especially on the hard days.
When there were still six hours of hiking ahead of us.
When my legs were tired.
When the climb seemed endless.
Instead of focusing on the entire mountain, you just focused on the next step. The next section of trail. The exact place where your feet were right now.
Honestly, I think there is probably a bigger life lesson in that than just hiking.
And maybe that is part of why this trip still sticks with me so strongly two years later.
The Tour du Mont Blanc was physically difficult, yes. But it also stripped life down into something incredibly simple. Wake up. Eat good food. Move your body. Spend time outside. Laugh with people you love. Drink coffee. Climb mountains. Sleep deeply.
That was it.
No constant notifications. No rushing between obligations. No endless multitasking.
Just the trail in front of us.
The days eventually started blending together in the best possible way. At this point, I honestly cannot perfectly separate day three from day seven. But I remember exactly how the entire experience felt.
Beautiful. Hard. Simple. Exhausting. Peaceful.
I cannot wait to do it again someday with Tavis and Aiden when Aiden is a little older.
And when I do, I have a feeling I will still hear Ronan yelling somewhere behind us:
“We are not here to buy land! Hikers, let’s hike!”
More posts to come on Mont Blanc. Once published, I’ll make sure to link them here.
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