Dinner at six. Bed at eight. Trek at midnight. I ate little, a mix of anxiety and adrenaline making digestion difficult. I didn’t sleep much either. Dutifully, I slithered into my sleeping bag, curled up into a tight ball, and tucked my head inside, hoping my breath would warm me. It didn’t. Frost covered the ground once the sun set and despite the layers I wore, I shivered. At some point, I must have slipped into a hazy half sleep, because when the guide’s voice ripped through the air I suffered a moment of confusion. But the commotion outside my tent quickly summoned my consciousness. I was alone, traveling friendless, since Jessie had no interest in a brutal multiday hike. However, scores of other tour groups camped in the vicinity, and we’d all be making the assent to the summit together. Yawning, I slipped my feet into my boots and unzipped my tent. The air was frigid. I could see my breath. But the sky, a canvas of flickering stars was stunning. I couldn’t see more than a foot in front of me, but I had a flashlight. I clicked it on and the guide smile at me.
“Ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Slow. Remember. Slow is very important. No race.”
“No race,” I shook my head. Already I could feel the pressure building. The dull throb behind my eyes. High altitudes were not my friend. I knew that well, having survived—just barely—my trek years prior in Nepal. For the last two days I had been sucking back Advil like Pez. It had worked. The pain had yet to erupt or cripple me. But luck would not hold out. After only a few steps my lungs tightened and breathing became difficult as the oxygen levels thinned. Feeling my pulse in my temples I closed my eyes, pain ricocheted off my skull like a pinball.
But I wouldn’t stop. I refused to even rest. Rhythm, momentum, that’s what would keep me going. Slowly, steadily, one foot in front of the other. I tripped, stumbled, and swayed, feeling first drunk, then hungover. With less oxygen to my brain my thoughts became disconnected, my consciousness floating, hovering at times above my body. Keeping the flashlight poised on the path, I forced myself to follow it. It focused my attention, kept me moving. I was grateful for the darkness. The blazing sun would have burned my eyes, ignited a fuse and detonated a migraine. The cold also helped, like ice, it numbed the pain, shaved the edge off of it.
Others on the trail stopped periodically to rest. My guide continued to encourage me to do the same, but I feared stagnation. What if I sat down and couldn’t get back up? What if I dared to break stride and couldn’t recover it? No, I could slow down, I was already moving much more sluggishly, a sort of inverse relationship between my pulse and my feet, the quicker, more persistent my heartbeat, the more lackadaisical my steps became. I closed my eyes. Whether opened or closed, darkness enveloped me. Could I sleep and still walk? I yawned.
The path was steep. If only I could see the top, my destination. If only I had an inkling as to how much further I had to go. Willpower alone could propel me forward. But darkness robbed me of a marker. Soon I couldn’t even stay upright. I tripped over each pebble, every divot, no matter how inconsequential. With roughly two hundred meters to go, my knees completely buckled. Collapsing in a heap on the dirt, pain seared my head. I winced, one hand on each temple, I pushed with what little strength remained. How hard would I have to push, to squeeze my brain through my nose? The mountain lurched. I keeled over again.
When the nausea subsided, I tried to stand, but my legs refused to support my weight. I’d get halfway up and tumble back to the earth. But it wasn’t just strength I lacked. My sense of balance completely betrayed me. It was as if I were on a ship at sea in the midst of a great storm. The path swayed, the the trail rocked. Never before had I ever been so tired, so emotionally and physically spent. I wanted to lay down and force the sky to stop spinning wildly above me. But I had to keep moving. Stopping would end in defeat.
So I crawled, like a baby unable to walk. I forced my hands forward, my fingernails digging into the dirt. I shuffled my knees. Finding a new rhythm was a challenge, but a shoddy, slow, and ugly rhythm was better than stagnation.
As I paused, lifting my head, opening my mouth, and gulping air, a faint blaze burned in the distance. The first light of dawn ripped open the horizon. A jolt of panic struck me like a lightning bolt. Faster. I had to go faster or I’d miss the sunrise. On all fours I scrambled and somehow reached the summit. Laying down, I stared at sky, at the stars which were starting to fade. I thanked God for not letting me fail. And then I stood up.
The early morning sunlight glinted off of the glacier. A pink and orange glow illuminated the night. In silence and reverence, I watched the earth wake up. Pain had never been so worth the reward.
