Lessons from the hardest day of my life #kilimanjaro

I plan to post my musings about the awfully big adventure over a series of instalments.

I really need to get the huge painful one off my chest first.

If you are about to trek Kilimanjaro, I would caution you to think carefully before reading this. It may help.  Or it may not.

 So here it is.  Not for the weak of heart.  Summit night.

What I learned about myself climbing Africa’s highest mountain

Mental toughness can take you so far beyond your physical limits its like they don’t exist

I am scared of heights

Anyone who knows me well will be aware that I am too scared of heights to feel comfortable standing on a dining chair to change a light bulb.

When I told my family I was going to climb the worlds largest freestanding mountain there was some incredulity, giggling and shrugs. Mum was on another adventure quest and nothing would stop her.

Its true that I hadn’t really thought about the word ‘climb’ and how that may imply ‘heights’. I am very much of the type of person that once I have an idea in my head will plough through, no matter what.

I was physically capable of the task at hand. A 4-days-a week runner for 10 years I have taken on my share of long distance events. A ‘relaxing’ half term trip with my kids may well involve getting to the summit of Snowdon in torrential rain. I did my research.  I stopped running long distances and hiked as many hills as I could find.  I disappeared for whole Saturdays to trek the Brecon Beacons.  Doing what my run coach had taught me ‘nothing new on race day’ testing out my boots, bra and backpack. Practicing my food and hydration strategy.  I was ready for what the mountain would throw at me.

Or so I thought.

But the great unknown was the altitude.

I couldn’t practice that, I knew that altitude is wiley.  It creeps up on you.  It affects some people but not others.

And so it proved. By day 2 at Lava Camp I was feeling more exhausted that I ‘should’   My legs started to feel like I was wading through treacle.  I started to find things hard psychologically as well as physically.  I developed an underlying low grade nausea that stole my appetite and got worse as the days went on.

These things happened so slowly that I didn’t really notice them.  The fun and excitement of the experience made the physical challenges easy to ignore.

The nausea and ‘heavy legs’ carried on for the remainder of the trek. Our trekking company had provided cassette toilets in tents rather than using the standard camp toilets that you could smell from afar! Our tent was placed conveniently close to the facilities every night but this did  nothing for my appetite and nausea.  I wont go into details but you can most likely imagine as quite  a few of our group were suffering from sickness and diarrhoea by now.

I hadn’t noticed that I wasn’t really eating much, but Sebastian, one of the experienced  guides definitely had.  He kept encouraging me to eat more, and congratulating me when he saw me nibbling on some food.

We had been advised to bring our favourite snacks with us, to try and keep us going when the altitude stole the appetite.  Amazingly, even though I could often manage to a multipack of chocolate at one go  I brought quite a few Freddo Frogs back with me..that’s how much I was affected.

All endurance runners know that keeping your nutrition up is vital to be able to perform at your best.  I tried to consume energy drinks as part of the daily 5litres of water I had to drink but the sugary sweetness just turned my stomach in the end. 

I can only congratulate the camp cook, who each day fed 40 trekkers and their porters hot meals catering to a variety of diets , with one gas ring, from a tent that had to be carried up the mountain to a new camp every day!

Hiking 8 or more hours over very challenging terrain at altitude eats away at the body’s sugar stores.  By summit night I knew I was running on empty.  But another round of mashed potato put in front of me just made me feel sick!

My family will laugh at the amount of potato I actually managed to eat.  I really really dislike potatoes. I will make an exception for Sunday lunch crispy roasties, or a jacket spud that’s more cheese than vegetable……. Up Kilimanjaro I forced myself to eat more root vegetables than I have consumed in a calendar year.  But it wasn’t enough.

And the altitude sickness was waiting.

The scrambling over rocks each day was definitely triggering all my ‘heights’ anxieties.  I was diligently following the person in front of me and copying where the experienced guides put their feet for safety.

As the oxygen thinned the panic started to mount.

Low oxygen feels very like a panic attack you can’t get away from.

The chest is tight.  You try to breathe deeply to slow down the panic feeling in your brain.  It feels like you have a plastic bag over your head to breathe through.  Coupled with dehydration And low levels of nutrition its easy to understand how on some treks only 60% of climbers make it to Kilimajaro summit.

And so to summit night.

5 consecutive days of poor sleep (campsite on a mountain side in freezing conditions) Long days trekking and concentrating on your feet (stop paying attention for a second and you will fall) . Thinning oxygen stealing the appetite, sense of humour and logical thought.

Get up at 9pm after an afternoon nap and put on at least 5 layers of clothes to avoid frostbite in the savage conditions at the summit. Don’t take big drinks of water or you may get sick. Likely your drinks will freeze after the first hour or so.

Headtorches and packs on to start the trek at 11pm in total darkness.

My headtorch died despite brand new batteries when we were barely out of camp.  My lovely guide, Edwin, offered me his torch instead, when the panic started to mount.  Then he carried my pack for me when the scrambling over rocks in the dark triggered my anxieties.  He carried it the whole night, until I got back to camp 12 hours later.

We snaked up the mountainside painfully slowly.  Looking at the feet of the person in front of us.  Not daring to stop and look away.  Breath became difficult, conversations stopped. The clear sky showing cresent moon and bright starts unnoticed.  We focussed on the task at hand.

Just.  Keep.   Moving.  Forward.  A mantra I started to use to keep me going in the terminal stages of a half marathon took on a whole new meaning.  I muttered each word under my breath as the hours passed.

Breaks are few when the wind is high and the temperature is as low as minus 12 centigrade.

Frostbite is possible if gloves are removed for photos or to eat.

Every part of the body feels cold, down to the very marrow of the bones. The cold permeates the soul. Stripping bare affectation and ego. 

Kilimanjaro summit night opens you to your core.  Afterward you know what you are made of.

My memory of the first 6 hours of summit night is a series of movie flashbacks. Exhaustion, nausea, panic, caution, teeth gritting focus, shivering, panting, interminable.

After a painfully steep hour-long battle with scree up to Stella point (the first official ‘summit’) I was pretty much done.  But somewhere inside me I decided I wanted to make it to the very top. Uhuru Point.  ‘Only’ 40 minutes further along the side of the glacier. And now it was daylight.

My guide gave his grudging agreement.  I was now 100% determination. There was no energy left, just grit.  Just. Keep. Moving. Forwards.  Stop to breathe for 20 seconds hanging over trekking poles gagging.

Another 4 steps.  And breathe.  Just Keep Moving Forwards.

Don’t give up.

It took another hour for me to make it to the summit,

I could hardly breathe.  I had nothing left.

But I had made it. It was 7.30am

A couple of quick photos and I am heading down again.

Hurried by my guide to try and get me to a lower altitude quickly.

But the way down is steep, and deep scree.

And terrifying.

The more sportingly gifted developed the knack of ‘skiing’ down through the stones.

Every time I tried this I fell over. My gallant and kind guide repeatedly helped me up.

People kept shooting past me as I plodded down.

One. Step. At. A Time.

After an hour or so my drink had thawed enough to be a ‘slushy’ I realised I hadn’t drank anything for about 9 hours at this point.. not good. 

I wonder  why I felt so shaky and exhausted.

I had gone beyond the point that I could eat. 

The sun came up and even though the temperature was close to zero  we needed suncream and glasses.  The dust kicked up by the trekkers coming down the scree was making me cough so much, even as the oxygen was thickening.

I could tell my guide was concerned about me. But I saw several trekkers being rushed down the mountain very quickly, almost being dragged down between 2 guides because of altitude sickness.

At least I’m not as bad as that I thought

Eventually, after what felt like a lifetime (is it really only 10am?) I could see camp in the distance.

Yes, that’s camp the guide smiled.

But what he (rightly) failed to mention is it wasn’t OUR camp.

WE walked through that camp, and carried on walking.

Climbing down relentless rocks.

Some of the porters from our camp came to assist my noble guide who had been working for almost 12 hours at this point.

Sebastian was waiting to check what had happened to the stragglers…. He hugged me as I cried.

Not long now, nearly back at camp.

After maybe another 30 minutes of challenging rocky descent I was so past done there isn’t a word for it.

I hope to never feel that way again. Empty.

I arrived back at camp.

I was past tears.  Past laughter. Past celebration. Past hunger.   I Was done.

My fabulous tent mate told me to take my boots off so I could lie down.

I had a drink.  Even the chlorine flavoured water tasted good.

I wish I  could say that I lay down and slept.  But we had to break camp to get to a lower altitude quickly.  Some of the faster trekkers had time to sleep.  I didn’t.  I shoved some food in quickly, then packed up my sleeping bag and kit.

Then we headed off on a 2 ½ hour downhill hike to the next camp.

Filled with relief that I had done it, but over 14 hours of intense exercise at altitude it was hard.

That’s the same effort as 3 marathons back to back on no food and hardly any fluid.

So yes,

Summit night was hard.

Indescribably so.

I have written this part on purpose while the memory is still fresh, because its important that there’s no rose tintedness about these memories.

My soul was laid bare by this experience.  I know what I am made of.

My mind can most definitely overpower my body.

I am a proper hardass. A tough cookie.

I looked my phobia in the eye and did not let it take me.

But hard is not all there is to my Kilimanjaro experience.

In fact its only a tiny piece. There’s so much more to this adventure than the bit that sucked.

So that’s what I will write about next.

There will always be a Before-Kili Karen and an After-Kili Karen.

And the suck of summit night hasn’t got much to do with that at all!

So stay posted for all the cool stuff in the next instalment.

 Karen Sutton is fundraising for Community Action Malvern (justgiving.com)