por Richard “Flaco” Flores
My doctor looked at me and said: “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go on this trip.”
It was 2023. I had spent months planning the Walker’s Haute Route (WHR), a 130-mile hike from Chamonix to Zermatt through the Swiss Alps. I’d booked the huts, mapped the route, trained for it. And just like that, I had to cancel everything. You can’t plan for when health issues may pop up. It was devastating. And it planted a question in my head that wouldn’t go away: Am I running out of time for the big adventures?
I came to hiking late. I grew up in Los Angeles and the outdoors wasn’t exactly part of the world I grew up in. It wasn’t until I moved to Portland, Oregon that nature became part of my life. And once it did, I was drawn immediately to the mountains. The big views. The hikes that make you feel like you earned something hard. The Tour du Mont Blanc (TMB) in 2021 opened a door and the WHR was waiting on the other side.
It took three years of mental and physical work to get back on track. In 2026, even though it was five years after I had set my sights on the WHR, I felt ready.
My start was amazing. Great weather, good views, and the anticipation and excitement carried me through. On Day 3, I stood at the top of the Fenêtre d’Arpette, a pass I’d skipped on the TMB and had been waiting years to do. The views were endless. I felt elated in a way I had not in a while. This was also one of the hardest passes on the entire route, so my confidence was back on high again.
But then on Day 5, my ankle and foot started acting up. The big pass and the endless views were not totally free. Out of nowhere, mid-morning, a pain I couldn’t ignore. The questions and doubts came back louder: Can I still do this?
But from my experience on the trail, when the body struggles, nature steps in. I pulled energy from the mountains, the wildflowers, the streams, and I pushed. You put your head down. You walk. You learn to listen to your body and also learn when to pull. You rest when you need to. You learn to take the easier path without guilt. You meet others, some even older than you, still out there. Quiet support alongside you, cheering each other on, waiting for you with a cold beer in hand at the hut.
That’s how it goes on the trail. A series of highs and lows. And in this journey, you always come out ahead.
On Day 13, I stopped at a waterfall. It wasn’t the biggest or most dramatic, but it was loud. The kind of loud that fills your chest. The water came all the way down from a glacier above, and I could see the whole thing, from the ice at the top to where it crashed below me. I just stood there. Sunblock and tears. I thought about 2023. The doctor’s appointment. The cancellation. Now here I was, standing next to this roaring waterfall, one day from the finish. I couldn’t believe it.
I walked into Zermatt fourteen days after leaving Chamonix. Exhausted. Proud in a way I rarely let myself feel. It took a day or two to sink in, that I had done the thing I had to cancel three years earlier. That I had answered my own question: “I am stronger than what I give myself credit for”
The WHR taught me to push and pull. When to rest and when to go. When to take the easier path and when to dig deeper. To enjoy the highs, and to learn from the lows. To reset mentally every day, and soak in how lucky I was to be there, to have enjoyed those views, to still be standing.
Because we are stronger than what we give ourselves credit for.
Go. It will be good for you.
¡Vamos!
Richard “Flaco” Flores is a Latino hiker based in Portland, Oregon. He grew up in Los Angeles with no access to the outdoors and discovered hiking as an adult, and eventually as a lifeline. He documents his hikes on YouTube and Instagram at @AndarConElFlaco, creating content for the Latino outdoor community. This summer he completed the Walker’s Haute Route from Chamonix to Zermatt through the Swiss Alps and is always looking forward to the next adventure.