I woke up with the sound of glacial runoff on the outskirts of my store. The sky was gray, the stable wind and the air in the upper 40s, without rain, just the morning type that felt purely island. I moved slowly, not pain, but to hold on to every moment.
It was the last day on the Laugavegur path. I missed dry shoes and hot showers, but was not ready to put aside the rhythm of walking, breathing and becoming.
Now, take medications, apply the «blue magic», prepare breakfast, organize the equipment, go to the bathroom, get water, pack and walk.
In the ridges
The day began with a series of climbs: Big and small. After crossing the first crest, I fell into a valley carved in glacier, just to go out again. Then came another crest, where the world became surreal. The green and the blacks painted the earth as a pastel oil that was drawn under a sky without sun. Somehow, the lack of light caused everything to be more vivid, as if the landscape turned out from inside out.
Soon, I descended abruptly to another valley, without changing, just loose rocks and black sand. In the background, a glacial river roared, wide and fast. There was a bridge that took me through the furious waters to a path that was only for the brave. An iron chain to the right and a 75 feet fall to the left.
.
So beauty broke me
Finally, the path opened again. The cliffs gave way to glacier -covered ridges, green velvet hills and skies that extended in all directions.
And yet I had no words left. Each path of the path revealed a new masterpiece: surrealist colors, irregular ice and a silence.
When I finally arrived at the top of a crest, I threw my arms torque and shout, not because of exhaustion, but for pure joy. He had done it. Almost.
«I will end,» I told myself. This was my first time. I had won every centimeter.
6.3 miles for the end: the ugly cry
When I spent the 10K score, only 6.3 miles until the end, I began to rehearse a video that I wanted to record for my children at the end of this trip.
«Hi Bralyn and Brevin, I love you»
But before I could finish, I broke.
Tears arrived as a flood.
I missed them. Then my mind changed to the pain of the past: divorce, movement, pain. I saw my daughter’s face the day I told her. His anguish still resonated inside me.
Clearly, I hadn’t let it go.
Then I cried, out loud, ugly and raw.
The path was not just to walk. It was healing.
On the left 5 miles: the sun breaks
There were only five miles left.
As soon as I captured a signal, I sent a message to all who imported:
«5 remaining miles. I’m going to finish!»
Just after hitting the shipment, the clouds separated. The sunlight spilled along the path, warming my face as the universe had just offered a stop.
Of course, my blood sugar crashed at this point, so I stopped to eat two of my three remaining glucose eyelashes. While resting, I saw two family faces from day 2: Savings and Nate of California. Only then, Trail Magic returned.
So, as if the path was orchestrating a meeting, Josh and Kelly appeared. We had joked online about finding ourselves here. And now we had it.
At that moment, I knew: I would.
At the remaining 2.5 miles: sheep!
Soon, the landscape softened. The grass extends from par. Lava rocks splashed the ground. The sheep grazed without care. And finally, the trees appeared.
However, peace did not last.
Then came a gorge, followed by an steep crest. And then the air changed. Something was going to come.
I climbed, and at the top of the crest I saw it, a wall of clouds. They did not move. They were waiting.
2.3 Miles: Man vs Nature
Iceland’s geography is nothing more than unpredictable. The storms here do not simply pass: they can float, trapped between colliding wind currents, waiting for the right moment. He had clearly expected.
Suddenly, a wind wall crashed into me from the left. My hat flew back. The cover of my package globalized like a candle. In an instant, I was no longer walking, I was fighting. Man against nature.
I fell to the ground. The gravel got into my knees as I dragged me into the only refuge in sight: an individual rock. The sand hit my face as I curled up behind him, pressing my cheek to the ground. The wind screamed as something alive. My mouth was filled with sand. My eyes burned. The path that had empowered me all week felt that I wanted me to go.
For a moment, I honestly believed that I could not continue. But then, I began to sing a Cherokee song for protection against my ancestors. Little by little, the wind was relieved, enough for me to move.
2.3 miles (part 2): The warrior inside
Shaking, I stood up. Then something opened in par.
«Is that all you have?» I shouted in the clouds, the arms spread like a deranged Nordic warrior. «I’m going to cross this crest, you like it or not!» Then came a tribal cry, loudly, challenging, primary.
It was ridiculous. It was dramatic. But it worked.
Well … almost.
While I turned my backpack again, another burst hit, rather, as a blow from Njord himself. The weight and wind combo knocked me down. Standing it was no longer an option. So I tell myself a package hanging freely from my body, back along the path until I reached the quieter air. Only then could I tie it correctly. I was scraped, burned and shaken, but not broken.
I still had a fight in me.
2.3 Miles (Final): The French couple
Just when I thought I was alone, I saw them.
Two figures walking directly to me: calm, stable. A French couple. There are no words exchanged. Only an assent.
And I continued.
Because with them, fear shrunk. Although the wind still shouted, it was no longer alone.
On the left 1.5 miles: Go ahead
Finally, I reached a last obstacle: an ice cream and wide river. My camp shoes were destroyed, so I crossed barefoot. The water stabbed. But I don’t fell. I don’t stop.
Then, Thórsmörk appeared as a dream. The families laughed. The world felt normal again. However, within me, everything had changed.
I thought about each training race, each meal full of fuel, each plank and walkdown walk. Without a doubt, everything had been worth it.
1 mile to go: quiet survival
In the final stretch, my blood sugar had fallen dangerously low. I was completely out of the sandwiches, with only one glucose tablet. Two meals remained in my backpack, but none could help me now. My brain felt fog. My legs barely responded. My body staggered under me, insecure, hollow and weak.
I did not finish this walk with a high note. I ended up in a quiet and invisible battle, a fight every day. Diabetes does not care how much you have trained or how prepared she thinks it is. He had not explained how constant movement would accelerate my metabolism. I did not contact the physical toll that a wind storm would take my body. When I realized, I was too far away.
The end: Survival on the celebration
From there, my memories come in pieces. I remember uploading a stairs game and spending a family that smelled of fresh ivory soap. I heard someone say they couldn’t wait to get to the restaurant. I saw a cabin and tents, and maybe even family faces, but the fog in my head was too thick to make sense of anything.
Suddenly, I was on the sign marking the end of the path, asking someone to take my photo. I could not be straight. I tried to smile, but my body collapsed. The photo was horrible.
The version you see?
I created it on my phone.
When I finally got to my bunk, I collapsed. Shaking my hands, I opened my last lunch and ate without trying it. So me alone … sitting. Looking at the wall. My face was numb, my lips anticipating and my ears were playing. He could hear voices around me, but none of that was recorded. I was there, but not really.
This was not the triumphant ending he had imagined. There were no arms of victory in the air. Without tears of joy. Without laughter or smiles. Only the quiet reality of survival. To do it. To give everything he had: body, mind and spirit.
I completed the Laugavegur path at approximately 2:00 pm (GMT) on Thursday, July 24, 2025.
Final reflection: this was more than a walk
Now it’s 9:48 pm, and I’m sitting still. My body is destroyed, but my heart is full.
I need to honor the people I met, because they weren’t just hikers. They were part of my story.
There was the Icelandic guide that survived an avalanche. Gloria of Italy, who talked about trails as a fortune teller. The Pennsylvania, Barbara, Shirley, Laurie, Stacey, Tanya, Shercy and Tracy tribe felt like a family.
Then came the solo hiker of San Diego who was connected again with his mother’s roots. Gus and Jon of Belgium, walking 300 miles due to a drunk night. The Hungarian hiker who let me load my phone so that I could call my children. A Czech couple. A Danish family.
Brad and Caitlyn, who helped me on day 2. Kiel, only 22, brave and free, exactly who I want to become. Josh and Kelly of Arizona, who turned tea into friendship.
And finally, Katya and Todd. Lives.
When I hugged them goodbye, I knew: this was weird.
Because this was not just a walk.
It was a statement, who I am.
And tomorrow, I will continue to be a backpack.
