Kilian Jornet – the best trail runner in the world, record holder of the legendary ultramarathons, conqueror of Everest. He constantly challenges himself: not just to climb a mountain, but to do it faster than anyone on the planet. Not just to reach the highest peak of the world of Everest, but to do it alone and without oxygen. In his book, “Nothing is Impossible,” Kilian talks about what internal attitudes put him at risk.
History of the Conqueror of Everest
I grew up in a rural area where there were few people and went to school, where both teachers and parents of other children were typical hippies. I went to high school in a small town – but large enough so that social stereotypes were more pronounced, and the differences less acceptable. Until that moment, I did not even know that I was a shy child, an introvert who rarely understood other children; they, in turn, did not understand me. I saw a contrast between what was considered normal and abnormal. I belonged to the second group. The only interest I showed was my passion for mountain sports. At school, a song became very popular, which other students began to sing when they saw me approaching: “No, no, no, jumping from mountain to mountain, jumping over valleys, Kilian is already here, la-la-la-la-l- aaaaaa! ” They took the melody from the series, which seems to have been a television hit of those years.
I suspect that I started participating in competitions as a teenager because I needed recognition and was in search of myself. I had to navigate the map of life in order to understand who I was, and so that others would also understand it. Since I didn’t like to lose from childhood, shyness didn’t interfere – it even became an advantage in the fight, when I had to work hard.Competition was my way of saying: “Hey, I’m here! It’s me!”
In the early years, every victory came as a surprise and brought me inner satisfaction, because no one expected anything from me, and trying to compete here and there, I was just having fun. I myself did not notice how they began to invite me to the competition and ask me to progress. This is no longer a game. Fortunately, although my mother, who accompanied me everywhere, and my coaches rejoiced when I won the race, they practically did not attach importance to the results and did not build expectations. I think that was precisely their approach that saved me.
When I left adolescence, the need for recognition disappeared. I could stop competing because I already noticed how I dislike the aesthetics of the catwalks, the hierarchy of results, mythologization … But when you win relatively easily, it’s hard to refuse. It is rightly said: every victory feeds your euphoria, you feel strong and necessary. Who, having the opportunity to choose euphoria, will be content with simple happiness?
Finally, if I get down from the wave of sentiment, I see that they really give me the competition: they always set the task, make me doubt my abilities, and ask me if I am in good shape. I never know if I train hard enough; since I want to be the best version of myself, I search and analyze every little detail in order to progress, to push the limits of the possible further and further. When other famous athletes are waiting for you, it is easier to motivate yourself in hard training. What really stimulates me is an attempt to win competitions, in which I doubt as much as possible to win. Yes, of course, I like to win, but I like to lose.
I love being with new athletes, more motivated than me, better trained, more eager to get to know the world. Competing alongside them is recharging my batteries. I would like to know more about them, so that if I can, give them the heat in the fight. In general, competitions partly become a checklist, according to which I check whether I can maintain my level and whether my training and their changes bring the fruits that I expect. And one more detail: does anyone know a better way to practice wear and tear than participation in the World Cup, UTMB or Sierra Zenal?
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