Riter Bloqu

There is only so much to do before there isn’t any more to do. That happened at 9:58 am. Quit fooling around, it is time to write.

I stood on the side of a mountain and squinted toward the invisible summit, somewhere lost behind the next rise, lost beneath the clouds. Too exhausted to cuss. It's what I do at high altitude. Frustrated, unmotivated, out of energy and cold I crumpled into the snow drift, defeated. Ice crystals caked my left side which had taken the brunt of the wind hollowing in from the unseen Pacific Ocean, miles away but no less influential. Luis, the guide, handed me a bit of chocolate. I reluctantly crammed it into my mouth and slowly chewed. It tasted like a piece of tire. I washed it down with a lukewarm energy drink and tried to muster strength from some place deep inside. How was I to go on?
It is strange where motivation comes from. Management books say it is all internal, but the external forces that push the psyche are as different as snowflakes. I didn’t want to move any further. That fact pissed me off.

I had been placed on the lead team with members who had proved during the previous two weeks to be strong hikers. My preparation included carrying a fifty pound pack up a mile trail four times a week. Was I now to face the embarrassment of returning to camp without bagging the summit simply because I wasn’t able?

“What a wimp,” I thought. “Letting my team down.” My team members were all young jocks who politely turned their backs when they took a whiz and when I needed to wiggle free from the harness to do the same. God knows I would not want them to see me cry. Just like a woman.

Oddly, I wasn’t motivated to by survival. If I had not been on rope with four mountaineers I would have froze to death for not wanting to take another step. I didn’t live that day because I wanted to live, but because I was tied to four other people.

Luis’ radio crackled. The following team had a member who wanted to descend. If we were close to bagging the summit, get it done and then rendezvous with the team and take their member back to camp. Someone worse than me?

I was at a low point in the climb to 19372 feet on Cotopaxi, but when I heard another needed help I pulled myself together and trudged to the summit. With every step I repeated my mantra, “I have an angel pulling me to the top.” (Named Luis, who later climbed Everest as part of the expedition with Erik Weihenmayer, the blind guy.)

I saw absolutely nothing but a stick stuck in the middle of a cloud at the summit. (Later I would see a National Geographic photo of the summit, a deep caldera with breathtaking views and again I swore like that sailor.)

A few photos and a three hour descent over the same terrain that took nine hours to climb.

I think I’m sitting on the side of a mountain right now, when it comes to writing.