Trekking Injuries: What No One Tells You (Until It’s Too Late)

When you imagine your dream trek, chances are you picture clear skies, jaw-dropping views, and that addictive mix of exhaustion and pride when you reach the summit. And yeah—you’ll get all that.

But here’s something I’ve learned after years of guiding treks in the Himalayas, the Atlas Mountains, and beyond:

The moments you don’t plan for—the little physical hiccups, the quiet aches, the unexpected injury mid-trail—those can define your trip just as much as the scenery.

This isn’t about fear. It’s about being honest about what trekking does to the human body, and how you can stay ahead of the game without letting injury ruin your adventure.

Let’s break it down—no scare tactics, no fluff. Just real insight from the trails.

Blisters: Small Problem, Big Consequence

Everyone talks about blisters like they’re no big deal.

But speak to anyone who’s had a deep heel blister burst on Day 2 of a 12-day trek, and they’ll tell you: blisters can end trips.

What makes it worse? People ignore the warning signs. They don’t want to slow the group down, or they tell themselves they’ll deal with it later.

By the time they do, the damage is done—raw skin, limping gait, and a growing sense of dread with every footfall.

I remember a client on the Inca Trail who pushed through the pain, trying to be a hero. By the final day, he was being half-carried by a porter. The blister had torn and got infected. He finished the trek, but he didn’t enjoy it.

What works:

• Know your feet. Know your boots. Break them in weeks before the trip.

• Always carry tape or Compeed and use it the moment something feels off.

• A two-minute stop can save you four days of misery.

And forget the idea that blister plasters are just for beginners—I’ve taped up mountain rescue medics, ex-military guys, and ultra-runners. It’s just smart.

The Descent Is Where You Break Yourself

There’s a myth that uphill is the hard part. Sure—it burns your lungs and calves. But it’s downhill where the injuries happen.

That’s where your knees take a hammering. Your ankles get tested. Your concentration slips.

A common pattern I see? Someone feels amazing after the summit push—adrenaline’s pumping, morale’s high—so they hammer the descent. No poles, big strides, moving fast.

Then comes the sharp pain. The sudden twinge. The realisation that every step now sends a shockwave through the joint.

I once guided a guy on Mount Toubkal who was strong as anything on the way up—but by the end of the descent, he could barely walk. He hadn’t trained for downhills, didn’t use poles, and carried too much weight on his back. He made it—but just.

Want to avoid this?

• Train your legs—especially glutes and quads—for downhill.

• Use trekking poles and learn how to use them properly.

• Shorten your stride on descents and keep your knees soft.

Slow is not weak. It’s tactical. Especially on terrain that’s more loose rock than footpath.

Altitude: The One That Catches You Off Guard

Altitude doesn’t give you a warning. It just creeps in—subtle, then sudden.

You start with a mild headache. You brush it off. Maybe you’ve lost your appetite, but you’re thinking, “I’m just tired.”

Then, nausea kicks in. Dizziness. Shortness of breath. Maybe you’re shivering under three layers in your sleeping bag, feeling like the night will never end.

This is when people go quiet.

They don’t want to be “that person.” They think it’ll pass. But the mountain doesn’t care about ego.

I’ve seen people who were fine at 3,000m fall apart at 4,200m. And I’ve seen 60-year-olds with zero altitude experience breeze past fit 30-somethings struggling to stand.

What helps:

• Hydration, slow ascent, and honest conversations.

• You’ve got nothing to prove. If you feel off—say so.

• Altitude symptoms are manageable if caught early. Dangerous if ignored.

On our trips, we monitor this constantly—but we also rely on you to speak up. Don’t tough it out. You’re not here to suffer.

It’s not just the big injuries that change the course of a trek.

It’s the accumulated wear and tear: sore hips from a badly adjusted pack. Fatigue that turns small slips into twisted ankles. That one wrong foot placement because you were dehydrated and daydreaming.

I’ve had to bandage sprains on cliff edges, call emergency support in the snow, and help someone off a trail after a burst of heatstroke in Morocco.

What’s consistent in every case? The signs were there. And they were brushed off.

So here’s my honest advice:

• Know your limits. You don’t need to be invincible.

• Rest before you’re exhausted.

• Stay fuelled. Stay hydrated. Stay sharp.

• Carry a first aid kit—and know how to use it.

• And most of all? Don’t wait. If something feels off, flag it early.

You’re Not Here to Prove Anything

There’s this pressure sometimes—to be the strongest, the fastest, the toughest.

But here’s the truth: The smartest trekkers are the ones who finish strong. Not the ones who suffer silently.

Our guides are trained. We carry med kits. We know how to respond. But the most powerful tool in injury prevention? Communication.

So speak up. Stay honest. Your safety isn’t just your responsibility—it’s the group’s too. And there’s no medal for pushing through a torn ligament or infected blister.

You came here for the adventure of a lifetime. Let’s make sure you enjoy every step of it.