She awoke at 11:00 pm to clanging of pots as the guides began preparing a meagre meal before the final ascent to the top. Laying there in her sleeping bag, still fully clothed (it was the only way to dry out the clothing) she tried to remain as still as possible. She was on the edge between not wanting to ever move again and slowly searching for the last bit of inner strength, although she was sure that she had run out of that on Day 3. Finally, having more to do with the rousing of her tent mates than some inner burst of vitality, she unzipped the side of the sleeping bag, pushed her swollen feet into her hiking boots, laced up, gathered her layers of clothing around her and opened up the tent door.
As she emerged, her calves pulled taught and hard, as if two 300 pound sumo wrestlers were attached to her ankles and her knees and pulling in opposite directions. The left knee, ever since that stumble late yesterday, throbbed with pain. She hadn’t thrown up since the third day, but her stomach was still constantly in turmoil. It was the last day of a five day trek that had taken her from rainforest to moors and finally to the winter ice near the peak. Standing there in front of the tent, 5,000 feet above sea level, under a dark clear star filled sky and a full moon, she thought again about the things that had brought her here. Whatever possessed, she wondered, a fourty-four year old married woman to ever think she could climb Mount Kilimanjaro.
That first day in Africa, staring up at the mountain that the local Masai people call the “House of God”, she had felt more alive than ever before, almost bigger than herself, as if the mountain was almost making her taller Here they were: two stay-at-home moms, two doctors, a lawyer, an entrepreneur, a writer, a public relations executive and three others; twelve woman in total, mounting a 58-kilometre expedition to reach the summit of Kilimanjaro in Tanzania, Africa. Together, they were part of a fundraising effort organized to raise money for the Amani Children’s Home in Tanzania, a facility that houses, feeds and teaches street kids. Everyone seemed to be in their only private little worlds that first while, perhaps wondering, as she was, why they were truly there or perhaps just overwhelmed by the foreign sensations, smells and sights around them. Setting out that first morning, the exhilaration made the 23kg duffel bag seem light and her legs felt strong.
Starting out in a virtual rain forest, the beginning journey had been a pleasant hike, nothing she hadn’t done with her husband more than once, before they’d had the kids. Walking in groups of two or three, they had talked incessantly, buoyed by the excitement and eager to get to know one another. She and Janet, a lawyer from Burlington, talked about their common experiences and through the course of the day, opened up to each other about the reasons they were there. The charity objective of the climb was important, of course, no one lost sight of that. Yet, when Janet said to her “I needed to break out of my mold, not just break it, but obliterate it beyond recognition”, she knew exactly what she meant. It’s not that Susan wasn’t satisfied with her life to date. She loved her husband and adored her kids. She had a career she enjoyed, close friends and for all intents and purposes, more than she had dreamed to expect. There was nothing missing. But this was just between her and herself. It was the chance to extend beyond anything she had ever done before. An experience that would affirm, or she feared deny, that she had the strength to do the extraordinary, not just the ordinary. “Climbing Mount Kilamanjaro!” Yes, it was crazy, nuts, bonkers, insane … whatever you wanted to call it. But it was her crazy. No one could make the next step for her. No one else could lift the pack onto her back. It was an internal battle as much as anything else. On one side, her body and that little voice in her head that whispered ‘you can’t … you’re not good enough … you’re too old’. On the other, the need to reach out with all the passion she possessed and all the determination she could muster. For once, not to be afraid of the consequences, not to fear the unknown, or worry what someone might think or how they might judge. To be completely in control of the situation, make her own choices and ‘go for it!’
At present, however, this choice seemed to be deliriously bad judgement on her part. After a brief bite and plenty of water, the twelve woman and three guides were on there way again, higher and higher, one painful heavy step at a time. The wind swept around the peaks, a chill barely cooling the heat they generated from the strain. They were walking on packed ice now, the glare almost blinding after a time. The time for talk was over. Susan had retreated into her own thoughts and struggles. It was one step at a time, each one an achievement. The peak was visible, but frustratingly far. It was better to look down, that way the distances didn’t seem so long. If she looked up and imagine the whole rest of the way, she felt it would sap any energy she had left. The peak that had filled her with so much wonder and excitement, at the beginning, now towered oppressively, seeming to push her back by sheer size. She was fifth in line and her whole concentration was focused on the boots in front of her. It was Janet, she thought. Even above the wind invading her hood and swirling around her ears, she could make out Janet’s laborous breathing. Inhale … step … exhale … step.
Over the previous four days it seemed that they had ventured across continents. The warm mugginess of the rain forest had given away to the cooler moorlands, then the terrain had become arid, more rugged and steeper. The strain began to show and some of the woman had throw up, Susan included. To Susan, it felt like child birth again. The growing heaviness, the pain in her lower back, the nausea, the strain she was putting her body through each day and the incessant fatigue. If she had wanted to push herself, to find out ‘what she was made of’ she was certainly doing that. Near the end of the fourth day, her mind had begun to waver, not quite delirious, but not quite all together there either, like walking in a haze. Stepping up to a ledge she had misjudged the distance and her toe had slipped, sending her knee slamming into the rock. Off balance, the weight of the pack had pushed her forward, her hands reaching out to brace her fall. Luckily, she had not hit her face or head into the cold stone, but had instead ended up sliding, finally rolling onto her back. As she had laid there, the concerned cries of her companions getting closer, her eyes moistened, not just with pain, but frustration. If she hadn’t grabbed onto that anger at that moment, used the power and rage, she might not have been able to get up at all. As the guide examined her scrapped and bleeding knee, she pulled herself up. “I’m good. I’m fine. Just give me a minute.”
Inhale … step … exhale … step. She was on the final legs now, in more ways than one. As she plodded on, some murmuring from the other women, some excitement in the voices of the guides entered her scope of awareness. Where they really reaching the top? No, her inner thoughts yelled! Focus! She concentrated even more on her boots, on the every indentation in the glaring ice and snow, on the footprints of her comrade in front, on anything else but the fatigue and the pain and the whispering voice inside, just wanting to sit down. Damn, it would be so easy to stop now, she thought. She’d proved enough, hadn’t she? She’d made it this far? What did it matter if there were only a few hundred feet or a few kilometres left. Look at what she had done so far. More so than the weight of the pack, were the weight of what she considered cowardly thoughts, at this moment. She felt isolated, surrounded by enemies on all sides … the cold, the glare, the aching and most of all, the overwhelming feeling to give up. She so wanted to give up. “No. Push it all aside. Ignore the pain. Quiet the voice”, she thought to herself. “Just … keep … going!” Suddenly, it seemed like the mountain was pushing back even harder, not only pushing her down, but back. “Keep going, please!” she pleaded. The mountain pushed back even harder “Keep going!” That last thought was out loud, to no one in particular it seemed. “Go!” she yelled, her voice hoarse.
“Susan!”
Wait. That was Janet’s voice, wasn’t it? The alarm in the voice pulled Susan back from wherever she had been, and slowly reality and her surroundings imposed themselves again over her inner focus. It was Janet. She had her hands against Susan’s chest … pushing her, stopping her. What was she saying?
“Susan. Stop walking! You’re done, we made it, girl, We’re at the top!”
“The top? They had made it? She had made it?”
Back in the present, Susan looked around. There was no fear of ‘looking up’ anymore, the views were only down. Here at the top of the ‘House of God’ stood Susan Armstrong. Weight seemed to lift from her shoulders then and she began to joyously cry. “Your crazy woman”! she laughed … and then she sat down.
1 Comment
February 21, 2008 at 11:51 am
Touching and inspirational!! I think it is something that anyone can relate to.