Sunday, April 20, 2014
From Kili to Boston
It's been over two months since we've been back in the states now, which means it's been over two months of insanity. My life has been filled with job interviews, stress, job training, even more stress, and travel. And now, I find myself in Boston, preparing to run in the 118th running of the Boston Marathon. Tomorrow morning, I finally get to run this race I had tried for so long to qualify for. It's a cool feeling, especially on such a momentous year, but also a little strange. I almost don't feel good enough or fast enough to be running this. And yet, here I am. Wish me luck...
Friday, April 4, 2014
Kilimanjaro, Day 6 - Summit Day
February 3, 2014
Kilimanjaro, Day 6: Summit Day
It all started with a loud knocking on our tent at precisely 12:15am, which was the wake-up time we had negotiated. We had slept in the majority of our gear to stave off the biting cold that permeates everything at 15,331 feet, so there wasn't much to do, except activate our foot and hand warmers, and attempt to force down some breakfast. We gathered in the mess tent, nervously sipping our hot drinks and nibbling our power bars, but no one had much of an appetite, partly because of the altitude, but mostly because we were all on edge. There was a nervous energy hanging over us, as we prepped ourselves for this final ascent, as we were all too aware of what was waiting for us out there at the trailhead.
We began our final 4,010 foot ascent to the roof of Africa at 1:00am, in the pitch black and bitter cold of night. As we approached the trailhead, we could see lines of tiny headlamps further up the mountain, all belonging to hikers who had started much earlier than we; their presence more intimidating than comforting, as they seemed so far away. Eventually, we would pass most of those lights, not out of competition, but as a result of our strong, steady pace. But, first, we started this hike just as we had every other hike on the mountain. Pole, pole. Slowly, slowly.
This time, we moved more slowly than anyone at sea-level could ever imagine. We were already above 15,000 feet, so the simplest task required monumental effort. Even drinking from my Camelback took my breath away, making climbing the mountain seem an impossible feat. So, rather than get discouraged, I took it one step, and one breath, at a time.
The world around us was so densely black that we couldn't see the landscape ahead, or anywhere else around us. Our vision was limited to the infinitesmally small area illuminated by our headlamps, thus our world became no more than the ground directly in front of our feet. Talking was too much effort, and wasted precious oxygen, so we all put our heads down, and silently made our way up the mountain, one small step at a time. Pole, pole. Slowly, slowly.
The complete darkness, in combination with the ever-depleting oxygen levels, proved a powerful hallucinogen for me. I kept seeing things in my peripheral vision - flutters of light and other vibrant colors not grounded in reality - and would turn my head to seek out their source, only to find myself so light-headed and dizzy that I was in danger of blacking out. I also began hearing things - little chatters of laughter and far-off bits of conversations that probably weren't really taking place. (Or maybe they were. I'll never know.) It was disconcerting to realize my mind was playing tricks on me, especially knowing that an altered mental status is one of the earliest signs of altitude sickness. I didn't want my mind to go there. The climb itself was already difficult enough; I didn't want to be preoccupied with whether or not I was getting sick. So, I popped in my earbuds, turned on my iPod, and lost myself in the the playlist I had made just for this occasion. Thankfully, it worked. The music drowned out the heavy breathing and complaints of those around me, giving me something to concentrate on, rather than my own doubts and misery. It allowed me to focus on me.
After that, my only intentional thought was to watch the feet of our guide, Richard, as he lead us up the mountainside, step by step. Pole, pole. Slowly, slowly. All I had to do was place my feet exactly where he had placed his, focus on my breathing, and listen to my music. My world became that limited and that incredibly simple.
My strategy was a success. Before I knew it, we had been climbing for two hours. Then three. It was impossible to judge our progress from the landscape around us; we had the darkness to thank for that. Our only marker of success was time, so we clung to what our watches told us, with each digit becoming our lifeline.
Soon enough, we were able to make out the ridge above us, thanks to the ant-like procession of headlamps progressing along its edge. And, soon after that, we found ourselves at Stella Point, which at 18,680 feet, was only 660 feet short of the peak. I don't think I've ever felt so relieved. And, yet, we still weren't done.
And then, ever so slowly, the sun began to edge its way over the horizon, turning the once-black sky into brilliant layers of indigo, orange, and crimson. Step by step, we crept towards the peak. Little by little, the sky continued to lighten. Finally, we were able to see our surroundings - the mighty glaciers, snowfields, and craters that make Kilimanjaro the magnificent feat of nature that it is. Saying it was breathtaking doesn't do it justice. Saying it was life-altering is only the beginning.
By the time the sun rose, illuminating everything around us, my head felt surprisingly clear and my breathing normalized. I'm not sure if it was the adrenaline, or the benefit of being allowed to walk on a flat surface for a few minutes, but I felt amazingly well for being at such an incredibly high altitude. Mouse, on the other hand, was not fairing so well. He had opted not to take Diamox, and it showed. I could see he was suffering, weaving along the trail like a drunkard, complaining of a pounding headache, and I was worried. He was hurting, making his experience nothing like mine. But, as bad as I felt for him, I couldn't help but be elated. After 5 1/2 hours, we had made it. We were at the top of Kilimanjaro!
But 19,340 feet is not an altitude that one stays at for long, so our celebration was short-lived. We quickly took our pictures. We high-fived. We celebrated. And then we headed back down the mountain.
So now, I'm lying in our tent at Mweka Camp, at 10,065 feet, more tired, sore, and covered in filth than I have been in my entire life. My back aches. My quads are shredded. And my body still quivers with the fatigue of today's journey. But, in all honesty, none of that matters. I did it. I summited Kilimanjaro!!!
Kilimanjaro, Day 6: Summit Day
It all started with a loud knocking on our tent at precisely 12:15am, which was the wake-up time we had negotiated. We had slept in the majority of our gear to stave off the biting cold that permeates everything at 15,331 feet, so there wasn't much to do, except activate our foot and hand warmers, and attempt to force down some breakfast. We gathered in the mess tent, nervously sipping our hot drinks and nibbling our power bars, but no one had much of an appetite, partly because of the altitude, but mostly because we were all on edge. There was a nervous energy hanging over us, as we prepped ourselves for this final ascent, as we were all too aware of what was waiting for us out there at the trailhead.
We began our final 4,010 foot ascent to the roof of Africa at 1:00am, in the pitch black and bitter cold of night. As we approached the trailhead, we could see lines of tiny headlamps further up the mountain, all belonging to hikers who had started much earlier than we; their presence more intimidating than comforting, as they seemed so far away. Eventually, we would pass most of those lights, not out of competition, but as a result of our strong, steady pace. But, first, we started this hike just as we had every other hike on the mountain. Pole, pole. Slowly, slowly.
This time, we moved more slowly than anyone at sea-level could ever imagine. We were already above 15,000 feet, so the simplest task required monumental effort. Even drinking from my Camelback took my breath away, making climbing the mountain seem an impossible feat. So, rather than get discouraged, I took it one step, and one breath, at a time.
The world around us was so densely black that we couldn't see the landscape ahead, or anywhere else around us. Our vision was limited to the infinitesmally small area illuminated by our headlamps, thus our world became no more than the ground directly in front of our feet. Talking was too much effort, and wasted precious oxygen, so we all put our heads down, and silently made our way up the mountain, one small step at a time. Pole, pole. Slowly, slowly.
The complete darkness, in combination with the ever-depleting oxygen levels, proved a powerful hallucinogen for me. I kept seeing things in my peripheral vision - flutters of light and other vibrant colors not grounded in reality - and would turn my head to seek out their source, only to find myself so light-headed and dizzy that I was in danger of blacking out. I also began hearing things - little chatters of laughter and far-off bits of conversations that probably weren't really taking place. (Or maybe they were. I'll never know.) It was disconcerting to realize my mind was playing tricks on me, especially knowing that an altered mental status is one of the earliest signs of altitude sickness. I didn't want my mind to go there. The climb itself was already difficult enough; I didn't want to be preoccupied with whether or not I was getting sick. So, I popped in my earbuds, turned on my iPod, and lost myself in the the playlist I had made just for this occasion. Thankfully, it worked. The music drowned out the heavy breathing and complaints of those around me, giving me something to concentrate on, rather than my own doubts and misery. It allowed me to focus on me.
After that, my only intentional thought was to watch the feet of our guide, Richard, as he lead us up the mountainside, step by step. Pole, pole. Slowly, slowly. All I had to do was place my feet exactly where he had placed his, focus on my breathing, and listen to my music. My world became that limited and that incredibly simple.
My strategy was a success. Before I knew it, we had been climbing for two hours. Then three. It was impossible to judge our progress from the landscape around us; we had the darkness to thank for that. Our only marker of success was time, so we clung to what our watches told us, with each digit becoming our lifeline.
Soon enough, we were able to make out the ridge above us, thanks to the ant-like procession of headlamps progressing along its edge. And, soon after that, we found ourselves at Stella Point, which at 18,680 feet, was only 660 feet short of the peak. I don't think I've ever felt so relieved. And, yet, we still weren't done.
And then, ever so slowly, the sun began to edge its way over the horizon, turning the once-black sky into brilliant layers of indigo, orange, and crimson. Step by step, we crept towards the peak. Little by little, the sky continued to lighten. Finally, we were able to see our surroundings - the mighty glaciers, snowfields, and craters that make Kilimanjaro the magnificent feat of nature that it is. Saying it was breathtaking doesn't do it justice. Saying it was life-altering is only the beginning.
By the time the sun rose, illuminating everything around us, my head felt surprisingly clear and my breathing normalized. I'm not sure if it was the adrenaline, or the benefit of being allowed to walk on a flat surface for a few minutes, but I felt amazingly well for being at such an incredibly high altitude. Mouse, on the other hand, was not fairing so well. He had opted not to take Diamox, and it showed. I could see he was suffering, weaving along the trail like a drunkard, complaining of a pounding headache, and I was worried. He was hurting, making his experience nothing like mine. But, as bad as I felt for him, I couldn't help but be elated. After 5 1/2 hours, we had made it. We were at the top of Kilimanjaro!
But 19,340 feet is not an altitude that one stays at for long, so our celebration was short-lived. We quickly took our pictures. We high-fived. We celebrated. And then we headed back down the mountain.
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
Kilimanjaro, Day 5
February 2, 2014
Kilimanjaro, Day 5: Karanga Camp to Barafu Camp
It's kind of incredible watching camp break down every morning. As we hikers eat breakfast, pack our bags, and organize ourselves for the day, our porters swing into action, silently and efficiently gathering up our mess tent, sleeping bags, and other supplies into large, straw baskets and bags fashioned out of tarp, all to be carried atop their heads to the next camp. Just as quickly as our colorful city of tents appears on the barren landscape each and every afternoon, it disappears, with only the bare rock and gravel of this mighty mountain left in our wake, like a mirage that never even existed.
Even though this same routine has taken place every morning, today's breakdown seemed even more fantastic. Maybe it's because more and more trekkers have been converging, as the various routes are beginning to meet up, so the latest camps have become increasingly populated, creating a multi-colored sea of tents, spanning as far as the eye can see. Or, maybe, it's because today's energy is vastly different from the previous days; the air is practically alive with excitement. I can hear the exuberance and anticipation in everyone's voices as we prepare for today's hike. There's a boisterousness that wasn't there before. We've all made it this far, which, in and of itself, is an accomplishment. But, even more exciting, is that today is the day we head to base camp, where we will rest our weary bones for a few hours before beginning our final trek to the top. So, in all reality, this morning is the beginning of a very long and arduous twenty-four hour stretch. This is the beginning of the end...
Kilimanjaro, Day 5: Karanga Camp to Barafu Camp
It's kind of incredible watching camp break down every morning. As we hikers eat breakfast, pack our bags, and organize ourselves for the day, our porters swing into action, silently and efficiently gathering up our mess tent, sleeping bags, and other supplies into large, straw baskets and bags fashioned out of tarp, all to be carried atop their heads to the next camp. Just as quickly as our colorful city of tents appears on the barren landscape each and every afternoon, it disappears, with only the bare rock and gravel of this mighty mountain left in our wake, like a mirage that never even existed.Even though this same routine has taken place every morning, today's breakdown seemed even more fantastic. Maybe it's because more and more trekkers have been converging, as the various routes are beginning to meet up, so the latest camps have become increasingly populated, creating a multi-colored sea of tents, spanning as far as the eye can see. Or, maybe, it's because today's energy is vastly different from the previous days; the air is practically alive with excitement. I can hear the exuberance and anticipation in everyone's voices as we prepare for today's hike. There's a boisterousness that wasn't there before. We've all made it this far, which, in and of itself, is an accomplishment. But, even more exciting, is that today is the day we head to base camp, where we will rest our weary bones for a few hours before beginning our final trek to the top. So, in all reality, this morning is the beginning of a very long and arduous twenty-four hour stretch. This is the beginning of the end...
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