u/tommm123456

After a tough medical experience – in 2017 I survived a stroke with an intracerebral hemorrhage –, when almost everything was largely out of my control, I wanted to see after a long rehabilitation what could still be achieved with good preparation, strict discipline, and respect for my own body.

​Last weekend, I set off on the Slovenian Camino from Ljubljana to the Italian border (Opčine) in a "fast-packing" style – all gear in a backpack under 5 kg, completely self-supported.

​3-Day Breakdown:

​Day 1: Ljubljana ➔ Logatec (40 km)

​Day 2: Logatec ➔ Razdrto / (40 km over Mt. Nanos)

​Day 3: Razdrto ➔ Opčine Italian border crossing (37 km across Karst hills)

​Total: ~117 km and over 2,200 m of elevation gain.

​The key to success wasn't sheer stubbornness, but strict pace control – I walked the entire route in a calm aerobic zone with an average heart rate of just 98 bpm. As darkness set in at Opčine and my legs had done their job after all the climbs, calling it a day at the border was the only sensible choice.

​I'm not sharing this as any kind of "miracle," but as proof that with a stroke of luck regarding the aftermath of a major stroke, along with proper adaptation, thoughtfulness, and discipline, you can still cover some really great distances.

Yesterday’s evening run was one of those where everything felt effortless. The warm air, a steady pace, and a simple sense of peace by the river. But a single sight instantly brought me back to reality.

​I crossed paths with a gentleman—clearly a stroke survivor—with stitches on his head and crutches, whose wife was helping him take each step with incredible love and patience.

​In that split second, my own story flashed before my eyes. In 2017, I survived a severe subarachnoid brain hemorrhage. Difficult complications followed, and I had to fight just to regain basic movements and steps. Just when the worst was behind me, I had to undergo another major neurosurgical brain operation in 2023.

​I know exactly what it feels like to be helpless and entirely dependent on the love of those closest to you.

​The contrast between my effortless stride yesterday and his heavy struggle was so overwhelming that the tears just flowed. They were tears of deep empathy and immense gratitude.

​Sometimes I worry if I am demanding too much from my body given my medical history. But yesterday, I realized once again that every single step we can take in freedom is not a given. It is a gift.

​This run wasn’t about miles or pace. It was a reminder to be grateful for every breath, for every step, and for the people who stand by us when we cannot walk on our own.

​Take care of yourselves. Nothing is taken for granted.

If you have managed to forgive, then it probably becomes easier to hope that others have forgiven you, too. You wait with gratitude for the moment of truth in relationships. But, at least for me, the hardest thing is to forgive myself.

​Reading a story about salmon journeying upstream, I wondered how they manage it, time and time again. They travel through the river where the current is strongest, and therefore the effort is immense. Why there? Because that is where there are no rocks to block their swim.

​The lesson I draw from this is that when I face my greatest external and internal struggles, the force of truth hits me with its maximum power. My choices are down to two: swim through it, or surrender and wash up on the riverbank.

​Most of the time, we humans dislike conflict. We avoid threshold challenges, choosing instead to crash into static obstacles rather than seeing the passage through these roaring, rushing insights.

​Consider the warriors of old. Before Native Americans went into battle to preserve their tribe, they listened to the spirits through their medicine men.

Today, instead of listening to the needs of our soul, we pick up the first spear suggested by our esteemed mind, wounding everyone around us—even though, so often, they are the ones closest to us.

If you have managed to forgive, then it probably becomes easier to hope that others have forgiven you, too. You wait with gratitude for the moment of truth in relationships. But, at least for me, the hardest thing is to forgive myself.

​Reading a story about salmon journeying upstream, I wondered how they manage it, time and time again. They travel through the river where the current is strongest, and therefore the effort is immense. Why there? Because that is where there are no rocks to block their swim.

​The lesson I draw from this is that when I face my greatest external and internal struggles, the force of truth hits me with its maximum power. My choices are down to two: swim through it, or surrender and wash up on the riverbank.

​Most of the time, we humans dislike conflict. We avoid threshold challenges, choosing instead to crash into static obstacles rather than seeing the passage through these roaring, rushing insights.

​Consider the warriors of old. Before Native Americans went into battle to preserve their tribe, they listened to the spirits through their medicine men.

Today, instead of listening to the needs of our soul, we pick up the first spear suggested by our esteemed mind, wounding everyone around us—even though, so often, they are the ones closest to us.