I have come to like hiking in the mountains. It is no longer an obsessed struggle against my body weight in a search for a better body feeling, or a desire for a “legal” intake of food in order to reward an excess amount of exercise. In abstinence, hiking for me is getting into a rhythm of breathing and slow, rhythmic walking. It is almost meditative.

On this particular day in early September, it had been snowing for the first time in the mountains, where I spent my vacation. I decided to do a medium-sized hiking tour to a mountain peak, which can be reached over a long, stretched trail on a crest, providing a gorgeous view over the alps. I had packed my weighed and measured lunch and planned to eat it upon arrival in the lobby of a restaurant on top of the mountain. I walked slowly, enjoying the breathtaking panorama. As time passed, I felt like being completely present and at peace. I felt gratitude about my physical health. However, one hour before the trail reached the peak, with its cross widely to be seen, there was another trail going downhill. A strong inner voice urged me to go downhill, even though I had been headed for the top. I did not know why. I was struggling.

I was clearly required to be humble and content with a compromise this day. The sky had been clouded anyway and the view was limited. Patches of fog were blown like veils up the steep slopes. So I humbled myself and climbed downhill, ranting along the way. In the distance I saw the restaurant of the middle station of the mountain railway, with a little lake. When I reached the restaurant at 1 p.m., after walking through the cold and snow, I saw, to my great relief, that there was a room next to the restaurant where self caterers I could eat and rest. With gratitude I did it, still wondering why my tour today had taken such a surprising turn.

Later, as there was still time, I decided to climb to the mountain peak, which would take no more than an hour from where I had eaten my lunch. And guess what I saw there? The restaurant on top of the mountain (where I had originally planned to eat) was closed due to bad weather. Had I not followed my inner guidance, eating in the snow would have been the only option for me. There was no bench that was not covered by a thick layer of snow. And it was freezing cold. I said, “Thank you God.” It had been one of these days when I strongly felt that I was guided by something powerful, invisible, and undefinable to help me protect my abstinence.