It was -10 degrees and we set out with our headlamps on. Our guides set the pace even more pole-pole than before. The trail was steep, dark and cold with loose scree. It was going to be a long night. I stuck with the pack and just concentrated on looking down at the persons legs in front of me and keeping with the pace. About an hour or so into the hike though I hit that brick wall again. It seemed like I was getting slower and slower. I broke away from the pack so I could concentrate more on my own pace and my own two feet.
Another hour into the hike and I was really slogging. I was getting tired, cold and depressed. It was so dark and cold and I was physically tired and sick from the altitude. My heart rate was beating too fast so I had to keep stopping. 100 steps turned into 25 which turned into 10. Another hour went by and my hands and feet were so cold I had to stop and insert hand warmers into my gloves. At this point my guide took my backpack again and helped me with my water. I ate a protein bar for calories. Soon after that, he took my trekking poles too so I could conserve energy.
My mind kept playing games with me. I had this overwhelming urge to just stop and go back down. On the other hand I knew I would never forgive myself if I didn't give it 110%. I promised myself before I left Canada that if I didn't make it to the top it wouldn't be because I gave up due to being too tired.
When I set out that evening my goal was to reach Uhura peak. That goal was no longer attainable and I had to switch my mind to Gilman's Point. I no longer cared about Uhura either as I knew, at this point, that I would be lucky to make it to the top at all.
The darkness was hard to handle. I couldn't see the top of the mountain. I couldn't see the others in my group. I couldn't really see the face of my guide Andrew, my angel in the night, silhouetted against the starry ski. "Pole-pole" was all I could hear Andrew say, in between the shouts from above from other hikers in distress. Hearing people panic and cry, vomiting and walking back down, gasping for air and falling over with exhaustion. In a sense I felt like a soldier on a battlefield. All the noises were followed by silence. In the darkness I was wondering what was going on. People struggling and showing sheer determination like I've never seen before. "Why are we doing this to ourselves?" I kept thinking. No one is making me do this! Staying focused was getting harder.
Time dissolves. There is no past or future. You no longer have a name or life or wife or job - other than the next step. Everything superfluous to the climb is burned away in the flame of intense concentration. Fear now serves as fuel to feed the fire.
It was incredibly hard to try and stay awake. My feet felt like lead and my eyelids felt like they were carrying heavy bricks on them. A few times Andrew had to hold me up and tell me not to fall asleep. All of a sudden all I could think about at this point was the sun. I needed the sun. I needed to see it. I needed to feel it. I needed to know it was there. I needed to see that sunrise because I knew it would give me HOPE. I can't explain why, I just know that's how I felt. I knew everything would be okay once the sun came up. I kept looking over my shoulder at Mawenzi. I could see its silhouette in the moonlight. In my mind I was begging for the sun. I knew that is where I would first see its light.
My 10 steps had turned into 3. Left, right, left then bent over gasping to catch my breath. I was really slogging. I would look at a rock on the path 10 feet in front of me and my goal would be to reach that. Then the next rock etc. My toes were so cold. The mountain was so steep. I was so tired. I wanted to turn back. I wanted to reach the top. I wanted to see the sun...
