Have you noticed how everyone’s suddenly climbing mountains?
Open social media and you’ll probably see someone standing triumphantly on Viper’s Peak, Layag Peak, or one of Davao City’s many breathtaking mountain trails. Weekend after weekend, people willingly trade soft beds and air-conditioned malls for muddy paths, aching legs, and hours of uphill walking.
And I couldn’t help but ask: What’s all the fuss about mountain peaks?
Curiosity slowly got the better of me. My husband is a trail runner. He thrives outdoors. He loves dirt roads, steep climbs, and endless trails. I, on the other hand, am happiest with a good book, a cozy blanket, or a movie marathon. Adventure isn’t exactly my personality.
For months, he kept telling me, “Just try it once. You might actually love it.”
Honestly, what held me back wasn’t the hike itself but the fear of the unknown. What if I couldn’t finish? What if I slowed everyone down? What if it wasn’t worth all the effort?
Eventually, I gave in.
The first part of the trail was surprisingly manageable. Then came the uphill climbs. Every step demanded more energy than the last. My legs complained. My breathing became heavier. But strangely enough… The thought of turning back never crossed my mind. I just wanted to know what was waiting at the top. And when I finally reached the peak, I understood. No photograph. No drone shot. No Instagram reel could ever capture what it truly feels like to stand there.
Before me stretched endless shades of green. Rolling mountains embraced the horizon. The cool wind carried the scent of trees instead of smoke. The air felt cleaner, lighter—almost healing.
Then came the simple joys waiting at the summit: fresh buko, hot chicken pastil, pinaypay, and smiling locals welcoming exhausted hikers. It wasn’t just food. It felt like a reward.
Davao City is blessed with mountain landscapes that many people don’t realize exist just minutes away from the city’s busy streets. From the dramatic ridges of Viper’s Peak to the scenic grasslands of Layag Peak and the countless trails surrounding the city’s highlands, these mountains have become places where people disconnect from noise and reconnect with creation — and perhaps even with themselves.
Standing there, one realization quietly settled into my heart: Life is very much like climbing a mountain. The beginning is exciting. The middle is exhausting. There are moments when your legs want to quit. Moments when progress feels painfully slow. Moments when you wonder if the destination is even worth it. But every difficult step changes you long before you reach the summit. The mountain wasn’t simply testing my endurance. It was teaching my heart.
It reminded me that some of God’s greatest blessings aren’t found in shortcuts but in perseverance. That peace often waits on the other side of discomfort. That the climb itself shapes our character long before we enjoy the view.
Perhaps that’s why Jesus Himself often went to the mountains to pray. Away from the crowds, distractions, and noise, mountains become places where hearts become quiet enough to hear God.
Eventually, we had to descend. Going down felt symbolic. The mountain wasn’t meant to be our permanent home. We had to return to everyday responsibilities, deadlines, challenges, and ordinary life.
But this time, I wasn’t coming down the same person who climbed up. I came down carrying peace. Fresh perspective. Renewed strength.
And maybe that’s the real reason behind all the fuss.
People don’t climb mountains just to reach the top. They climb because somewhere along the trail, something inside them changes. Sometimes the greatest view isn’t the one before your eyes.
It’s the new perspective God gives your heart.