I took a few steps up the slight incline. My heart raced, my breath coming in shallow gasps. I stopped to rest, and tried it again. A few steps forward and I felt dizzy. I looked at the gentle slope leading to the hotel with suspicion. My mind went back to the hills I ran every morning, the wind sprints on the track, the hours sparring in the ring. That training meant nothing at 10,900 feet. I looked over at my mom. In her 50s, a runner and a skier, she looked equally disoriented.

My mom and I had just taken the hour-long flight from Lima, Peru to Cuzco, Peru for an eight-day walking tour of Cuzco, the Sacred Valley and Machu Picchu. To go from an above average fitness level to a gasping wreck in an hour was unsettling and humbling.

I had agreed to go on this walking tour with my mom, not thinking it would be much of a challenge. Except for an afternoon trek on the Inca Trail, the hiking was advertised as easy-going. I was interested in the archaeology, the scenery and of course, Machu Picchu, which most people place on their top 10 list of places to visit in their lifetime. Since I am in my 30s, a runner, a surfer, and an amateur boxer, I didn’t think I would encounter any physical challenges. I saw how wrong I was the minute I got off the plane in Cuzco.

Fortunately, our home for the first two nights was the Hotel Monasterio, a five-star property accustomed to sheltering altitude-weary travelers. Upon entering the lobby, we were ushered to a nearby sitting area and plied with mate de coca (coca tea – the local cure for soroche, or altitude sickness). For an extra $25 per night, we were offered the option of an oxygen enriched room. We passed, but it was comforting to know that luxury existed.

A converted monastery, the Hotel Monasterio seamlessly combines history and luxury, creating the feeling of visiting a wealthy friend. The rooms flank a courtyard surrounded by graceful arches, and a sense of peace and quiet fills the place. A porter led us to our room and we collapsed into our beds, vowing to stay on level ground for the next few hours.

We woke early the next morning much improved, but with a healthy respect for life at this altitude. We met up with our small group of fellow travelers and our guide, Juan Cornejo, in the lobby of the hotel. A native of Cuzco, he holds degrees in archaeology and guiding. He is an accomplished musician, specializing in the Andean flute. He had a gentle way about him that I appreciated, and at this point I had a deep admiration for anyone who could walk up a hill without gasping for air.

Familiar with the toll the altitude takes on travelers, our group had planned an easy day. We drove about 10 minutes outside of Cuzco to the ruins of Tambomachay, which Juan told us was the sacred bathing place of the Inca rulers. From here, he led us on a path through the countryside.

The gentle downhill slope was a relief to everyone, and soon we found ourselves surrounded by a scene that seemed unreal in its perfection. In the distance we saw the Inca fortress of Puka Pukara, and coming toward us along the path was a colorfully dressed woman in traditional Andean garb, with a baby slung across her back. She was herding a flock of llamas, talking to them softly.

I had seen women dressed like her in my guidebook, but I assumed the attire was a costume worn for tourists. Here was a woman going about her day, seeming to walk straight out of history. Juan stopped to talk with her, and they exchanged a few words in Quechua, the language of the Incas. As we made our relaxed way through the countryside, passing by Inca temples, fortresses and shrines, men and women in traditional dress, and peaceful looking llamas, I had the feeling of time compressed, of the intervening 600 years disappearing.

The next few days took us from Cuzco to the Sacred Valley of the Incas. At this lower elevation, I regained my energy, and the walks planned by our group increased in difficulty and length. The Sacred Valley sees fewer visitors than Cuzco. Most travelers pass by here on their way to Machu Picchu, but our group took time to walk through the countryside and experience this less-explored area up close. After a visit to the mountain village of Chinchero and a weaving demonstration, we drove to the town of Maras and started our walk on an old Inca path, marked on each side by green agave plants. Juan pointed out the snow-capped peaks of Mt. Veronica in the distance.

Although it was the high season in this part of Peru, we didn’t see another soul as we made our way along the ancient path. I thought about the large tour groups I had seen packed into buses in Cuzco, driving up to ruins that were accessible by car, and wandering around taking pictures before stumbling back into the bus. My mom and I were on a tour, too, but the small size of the group and our method of exploring gave us a perspective missed by the big bus tours.

Fitness becomes a bond

As we made our way through the valley, it occurred to me that this is a reason to stay in shape, to get up early every morning and put on running shoes. Although our group was a mix of different ages, professions, and backgrounds, we were brought together by our interest in fitness and travel. This had pulled us away from the crowds, and into the heart of Peru.

The next morning we got up early and boarded the train bound for Machu Picchu. Juan spoke to the conductor and asked him to make a stop at kilometer 104, where we would be joining the Inca Trail and continuing the journey to Machu Picchu on foot. Our fellow passengers settled in with books and snacks, enjoying the ride through the scenic Urubamba Valley.

After about an hour, the train slowed, and Juan waved us to the door. I looked expectantly out the window for a station, but saw only subtropical forest. The doors opened and Juan looked out into the jungle. “We’re here, this is kilometer 104.” He gestured toward a small sign marking a trail that disappeared into the wilderness, and we set out on the Inca trail.

Built in the 15^th century, the Inca trail was one of eight paths the Incas used to access Machu Picchu. The trail climbed up through a cloud forest, clinging to the hillside. We took the path slowly, stopping to take in the views. Juan told us about how the Incas built the trail into the side of the mountain, hauling the white granite slabs without the use of the wheel.

The first part of the trail ascended for about two hours, often opening up for breathtaking views of the Urubamba river below and the Vilcabamba mountain range in the distance. After passing through the ruins of Choquesuysuya, we finally made our way to Winay Wayna, site of a youth hostel and small restaurant.

Once fortified with lunch, we set out again on the Inca trail. We passed through large trees and giant ferns to the Inca staircase leading to Intipunku, the Sun Gate, where we would get our first view of Machu Picchu. Starting to fade from four hours of hiking, we silently made our way up the staircase. We reached the top, walked up to the Sun Gate, and found the ruins of Machu Picchu before us. Seen from this view, with the ancient city spread out below, the sight was breathtaking.

Perfectly preserved in the jungle until it was discovered by Hiram Bingham in 1911, Machu Picchu was spared from destruction by the Spanish conquistadors. Looking out over each building, carefully constructed centuries ago, I was struck, once again, by a sensation of time compressing, and I felt as if I were seeing a glimpse into the past.

Our group stood at the Sun Gate for quite some time, taking in the view, rubbing our tired feet. We descended towards Machu Picchu to spend the next two days exploring the complex of ruins, and felt lucky to have discovered it as travelers have for centuries: on foot, following the carefully laid Inca Trail.