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...
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Kilimanjaro, Day 4
February 1, 2014
Kilimanjaro, Day 4: Barranco Camp to Karranga Camp
It happened again. The beginning of today's hike was nearly a repeat of yesterday's. Once again, I was light-headed, couldn't get my breathing under control, and became overwhelmed with frustration. At least, this time, I knew what to expect, and was able to push my way through it without too much trouble, save for a moderate dose of crankiness. It just isn't fun to feel so horrible, even for a short period of time. But it isn't going to get any better; the higher we climb, the worse these symptoms are going to get. I guess I'm just going to have to accept that the first thirty minutes on the trail are simply going to suck, which means I'm going to have to toughen up.
Today's challenge was The Breakfast Wall, which loomed over Barranco Camp, taunting us with it's steep vertical rise. In all reality, it wasn't that much of an elevation gain, maybe 700 or 800 feet to the ridge line, but that didn't make it seem any less daunting when we were sizing it up during breakfast. It looked exactly as the name suggests, a wall jutting straight up from the landscape, separating us from our next resting point. It was a sheer cliff of slick, black rock, formidable in its presence alone. As we drank our morning coffee, we could see the hikers who had set out before us, tiny as ants, slowly making their way up this steep wall. Talk about intimidating...
Once we got going, it became apparent that the wall looked much more formidable than it actually was. Technically speaking, we weren't doing anything more difficult than I've done in any of the canyons of Utah or Nevada that we've navigated dozens of times. But even doing something as simple as a Class 4 climb at 13,000+ feet, is more than a little taxing. Every hand grip and foot placement is one hundred times more challenging than if I were doing it at sea-level. It didn't take much for me to feel completely exhausted and out of breath, which quickly took its toll on my psyche. My temper flared and I snapped at the boys, even though they were only trying to encourage me. But in my oxygen-deprived state, I took this encouragement as mocking, and became convinced they were patronizing me. I was fuming. The funny thing was, I could logically recognize my bad mood was a direct result of the lack of oxygen to my brain; I just couldn't stop myself from slipping into my cranky pants. So, rather than drive my husband and friends away, I put my head down, took a few deep breathes, and concentrated on the climbing. In no time at all, my breathing was under control, my head began to clear, and my grouchiness subsided. I apologized for my foul mood, and before I knew it, we were at the ridge line.
Unfortunately, reaching the top The Breakfast Wall did not mean we were done for the day. We took a quick break, and started back on the trail, first dipping low into a valley before heading right back up another steep ridge to reach Karanga Camp at 13,106 feet, which is where we'll camp tonight. I'm not going to say today was easy, as my brief bought with the altitude would disprove, but it wasn't exactly difficult, either. More than anything, today felt like a slow and steady grind. We reached camp by 11:30 am, which totaled a mere three hours of hiking. In all honesty, the work was done nearly before we realized it had begun. We've spent the remainder of the day relaxing, napping, and exploring camp. We've had more than enough time to kill.
What strikes me most, here at Karanga Camp, is what a serious undertaking this expedition truly is. Mouse and I have backpacked before, spending several days at a time in the wilderness, far from any trace of human civilization, but we've never done anything like this. As I walk around camp, I'm simply awestruck by what a feat this adventure truly is. I'm not sure exactly why this realization is hitting me so hard today - maybe it's because several parties converged from different trails today, making camp even more massive than usual, or maybe it's because someone we've come to know quite well was overcome with altitude sickness today, and had to be emergently escorted down the mountain. Whatever the reason, there's no denying this is serious business.
The snow-capped top of the mountain is getting closer and closer, and it's almost scary to realize we are going to attempt to summit it in just over twenty-four hours. We're in the thick of it now, and there is no turning back. We're going to summit Kilimanjaro, and I'm so grateful for the hiking, climbing, and overall wilderness experience I have, as it gives me a frame of reference, helping me through the taxing hikes and ice cold nights. Each night seems to get colder, so each night I pile on more gear. I'm almost maxed out right now, but am saving the last and warmest pieces for tomorrow. At 13,106 feet, it's cold enough for me to see my breath as I write this, even though I'm tucked away in my tent. And I can't leave my gloves off for long, as my fingers cramp up from the cold. Tomorrow we'll be at greater than 15,000 feet, so it's only going to get worse. I'm not looking forward to tomorrow's conditions, but I have to remind myself that it's all part of this journey; a piece of the puzzle that is trekking Kilimanjaro. Soon, we'll be back at the hotel and in the heat of the lowlands, but for now this is our reality.
Kilimanjaro, Day 4: Barranco Camp to Karranga Camp
It happened again. The beginning of today's hike was nearly a repeat of yesterday's. Once again, I was light-headed, couldn't get my breathing under control, and became overwhelmed with frustration. At least, this time, I knew what to expect, and was able to push my way through it without too much trouble, save for a moderate dose of crankiness. It just isn't fun to feel so horrible, even for a short period of time. But it isn't going to get any better; the higher we climb, the worse these symptoms are going to get. I guess I'm just going to have to accept that the first thirty minutes on the trail are simply going to suck, which means I'm going to have to toughen up.Today's challenge was The Breakfast Wall, which loomed over Barranco Camp, taunting us with it's steep vertical rise. In all reality, it wasn't that much of an elevation gain, maybe 700 or 800 feet to the ridge line, but that didn't make it seem any less daunting when we were sizing it up during breakfast. It looked exactly as the name suggests, a wall jutting straight up from the landscape, separating us from our next resting point. It was a sheer cliff of slick, black rock, formidable in its presence alone. As we drank our morning coffee, we could see the hikers who had set out before us, tiny as ants, slowly making their way up this steep wall. Talk about intimidating...
Once we got going, it became apparent that the wall looked much more formidable than it actually was. Technically speaking, we weren't doing anything more difficult than I've done in any of the canyons of Utah or Nevada that we've navigated dozens of times. But even doing something as simple as a Class 4 climb at 13,000+ feet, is more than a little taxing. Every hand grip and foot placement is one hundred times more challenging than if I were doing it at sea-level. It didn't take much for me to feel completely exhausted and out of breath, which quickly took its toll on my psyche. My temper flared and I snapped at the boys, even though they were only trying to encourage me. But in my oxygen-deprived state, I took this encouragement as mocking, and became convinced they were patronizing me. I was fuming. The funny thing was, I could logically recognize my bad mood was a direct result of the lack of oxygen to my brain; I just couldn't stop myself from slipping into my cranky pants. So, rather than drive my husband and friends away, I put my head down, took a few deep breathes, and concentrated on the climbing. In no time at all, my breathing was under control, my head began to clear, and my grouchiness subsided. I apologized for my foul mood, and before I knew it, we were at the ridge line.
Unfortunately, reaching the top The Breakfast Wall did not mean we were done for the day. We took a quick break, and started back on the trail, first dipping low into a valley before heading right back up another steep ridge to reach Karanga Camp at 13,106 feet, which is where we'll camp tonight. I'm not going to say today was easy, as my brief bought with the altitude would disprove, but it wasn't exactly difficult, either. More than anything, today felt like a slow and steady grind. We reached camp by 11:30 am, which totaled a mere three hours of hiking. In all honesty, the work was done nearly before we realized it had begun. We've spent the remainder of the day relaxing, napping, and exploring camp. We've had more than enough time to kill.
What strikes me most, here at Karanga Camp, is what a serious undertaking this expedition truly is. Mouse and I have backpacked before, spending several days at a time in the wilderness, far from any trace of human civilization, but we've never done anything like this. As I walk around camp, I'm simply awestruck by what a feat this adventure truly is. I'm not sure exactly why this realization is hitting me so hard today - maybe it's because several parties converged from different trails today, making camp even more massive than usual, or maybe it's because someone we've come to know quite well was overcome with altitude sickness today, and had to be emergently escorted down the mountain. Whatever the reason, there's no denying this is serious business.
The snow-capped top of the mountain is getting closer and closer, and it's almost scary to realize we are going to attempt to summit it in just over twenty-four hours. We're in the thick of it now, and there is no turning back. We're going to summit Kilimanjaro, and I'm so grateful for the hiking, climbing, and overall wilderness experience I have, as it gives me a frame of reference, helping me through the taxing hikes and ice cold nights. Each night seems to get colder, so each night I pile on more gear. I'm almost maxed out right now, but am saving the last and warmest pieces for tomorrow. At 13,106 feet, it's cold enough for me to see my breath as I write this, even though I'm tucked away in my tent. And I can't leave my gloves off for long, as my fingers cramp up from the cold. Tomorrow we'll be at greater than 15,000 feet, so it's only going to get worse. I'm not looking forward to tomorrow's conditions, but I have to remind myself that it's all part of this journey; a piece of the puzzle that is trekking Kilimanjaro. Soon, we'll be back at the hotel and in the heat of the lowlands, but for now this is our reality.Wednesday, March 12, 2014
Kilimanjaro, Day 3
January 31, 2014
Kilimanjaro, Day 3: Shira Hut 2 to Lava Tower to Barranco Camp
After the sun went down last night, it got cold, cold, cold. I guess I should have known that would happen; we were camping at 12,500 feet, after all, but the frigidness took me by surprise for some reason. It was an unrelenting, permeating cold that followed us wherever we went. Even the mess tent provided little respite, with our food turning ice cold the moment it hit our plates. And this morning we were greeted with a thin sheet of frost covering everything in camp, even our tents. It was a chilly reminder of how far up the mountain we've already come, and, yet, how far we still have to go.
Today was, by far, our coldest start yet. It was also our most difficult day yet. The point of today was to acclimatize ourselves to the ever-increasing altitude, so we started at the 12,500 feet elevation of Shira 2 Camp, making our way up to Lava Tower at 15,190 feet for lunch, then back down to 13,044 feet, where Barranco Camp resides.
Unfortunately, today was not my finest day. I felt fine when I woke up. Nothing was out of the ordinary, except being increasingly sore and stiff from our long days on the trail, coupled with sleeping on the cold, hard ground. I ate breakfast and packed up my gear without a second thought. But, as soon as we began ascending up the trail, every part of my being felt off-kilter. My head began to ache, despite the prophylactic Tylenol I had taken earlier. My stomach felt nauseated. My bowels felt off. And, no matter how hard I tried, I could not get my breathing under control. It was shallow and rapid, like I was gulping for air. I did my best to take long, slow breaths, but wasn't able to do so at the pace we were keeping. It was like drowning on dry land. I could feel my mental status altering; I was angry, scared, and frustrated all at once. What made it even worse was that the boys kept on, pulling further and further away from me. I wanted to yell for them to wait, but I didn't have the energy.
The frustration, anger, and fear only continued to build as I tried to catch up. I'm never at the back of the group, so I was becoming infuriated that I couldn't catch them. But, as the gap between us increased, I also began to realize that I simply wasn't capable of keeping that pace, which made me feel even worse. I became mired in self-doubt. What if I couldn't make it to Lava Hut? What if this was the end of the road for me? What if I don't get to summit the mountain? It was becoming a dangerous mental game. I could feel the panic rising up and taking over my entire body. The tears began to well up in my eyes, no matter how hard I fought them, but there was no stopping them; it was a visceral, gut reaction. I tried to get myself under control. I tried to think logically, use my nursing smarts, and remind myself that all of this was a basic physiologic response to oxygen deprivation. Still, I couldn't help the intense emotions overtaking me. I was becoming physically and mentally exhausted, and we weren't even an hour into today's hike. Finally, I had to make the decision to stop caring about the boys, and dictate my own pace. Pole, pole. Pole, pole. I kept my head down and repeated that familiar phrase over and over. After was seemed like an eternity, but was probably only another 10 minutes, the boys noticed I was moving considerably slower than they were, and stopped to check on me. We took a break, so I could catch my breath, drink some water, and start taking my Diamox, the most commonly used medication to prevent altitude sickness.
Eventually, I began to feel better. After our short break, we were able to continue up the mountain and over the ridge, albeit at a much slower pace, finally reaching Lava Tower at 15,190 feet. By the time we arrived at our lunch destination, I was back to my usual self; no headache, no stomachache, and, most importantly, my breathing was back under control. As my physiologic symptoms of altitude sickness dissipated, so did my psychologic; the panic, frustration, and anger were all gone. My confidence had returned.
We eventually made it to Barranco Camp, at 13,044 feet, by 1:30pm, where we're all just hanging out and relaxing, as per usual. Oddly enough, we were exactly on schedule, despite having adopted my slower pace. Today was a good lesson in the importance of listening to my body. It doesn't matter if if I'm first or last to reach our destination, as long as I take it nice and steady up the trail, I will make it.
Kilimanjaro, Day 3: Shira Hut 2 to Lava Tower to Barranco Camp
After the sun went down last night, it got cold, cold, cold. I guess I should have known that would happen; we were camping at 12,500 feet, after all, but the frigidness took me by surprise for some reason. It was an unrelenting, permeating cold that followed us wherever we went. Even the mess tent provided little respite, with our food turning ice cold the moment it hit our plates. And this morning we were greeted with a thin sheet of frost covering everything in camp, even our tents. It was a chilly reminder of how far up the mountain we've already come, and, yet, how far we still have to go.Today was, by far, our coldest start yet. It was also our most difficult day yet. The point of today was to acclimatize ourselves to the ever-increasing altitude, so we started at the 12,500 feet elevation of Shira 2 Camp, making our way up to Lava Tower at 15,190 feet for lunch, then back down to 13,044 feet, where Barranco Camp resides.Unfortunately, today was not my finest day. I felt fine when I woke up. Nothing was out of the ordinary, except being increasingly sore and stiff from our long days on the trail, coupled with sleeping on the cold, hard ground. I ate breakfast and packed up my gear without a second thought. But, as soon as we began ascending up the trail, every part of my being felt off-kilter. My head began to ache, despite the prophylactic Tylenol I had taken earlier. My stomach felt nauseated. My bowels felt off. And, no matter how hard I tried, I could not get my breathing under control. It was shallow and rapid, like I was gulping for air. I did my best to take long, slow breaths, but wasn't able to do so at the pace we were keeping. It was like drowning on dry land. I could feel my mental status altering; I was angry, scared, and frustrated all at once. What made it even worse was that the boys kept on, pulling further and further away from me. I wanted to yell for them to wait, but I didn't have the energy.The frustration, anger, and fear only continued to build as I tried to catch up. I'm never at the back of the group, so I was becoming infuriated that I couldn't catch them. But, as the gap between us increased, I also began to realize that I simply wasn't capable of keeping that pace, which made me feel even worse. I became mired in self-doubt. What if I couldn't make it to Lava Hut? What if this was the end of the road for me? What if I don't get to summit the mountain? It was becoming a dangerous mental game. I could feel the panic rising up and taking over my entire body. The tears began to well up in my eyes, no matter how hard I fought them, but there was no stopping them; it was a visceral, gut reaction. I tried to get myself under control. I tried to think logically, use my nursing smarts, and remind myself that all of this was a basic physiologic response to oxygen deprivation. Still, I couldn't help the intense emotions overtaking me. I was becoming physically and mentally exhausted, and we weren't even an hour into today's hike. Finally, I had to make the decision to stop caring about the boys, and dictate my own pace. Pole, pole. Pole, pole. I kept my head down and repeated that familiar phrase over and over. After was seemed like an eternity, but was probably only another 10 minutes, the boys noticed I was moving considerably slower than they were, and stopped to check on me. We took a break, so I could catch my breath, drink some water, and start taking my Diamox, the most commonly used medication to prevent altitude sickness.Eventually, I began to feel better. After our short break, we were able to continue up the mountain and over the ridge, albeit at a much slower pace, finally reaching Lava Tower at 15,190 feet. By the time we arrived at our lunch destination, I was back to my usual self; no headache, no stomachache, and, most importantly, my breathing was back under control. As my physiologic symptoms of altitude sickness dissipated, so did my psychologic; the panic, frustration, and anger were all gone. My confidence had returned.We eventually made it to Barranco Camp, at 13,044 feet, by 1:30pm, where we're all just hanging out and relaxing, as per usual. Oddly enough, we were exactly on schedule, despite having adopted my slower pace. Today was a good lesson in the importance of listening to my body. It doesn't matter if if I'm first or last to reach our destination, as long as I take it nice and steady up the trail, I will make it.
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