Aiming for The Summit

We were only one hour into our hike the second day up the mountain when I knew.

I would not be making the summit.

The day before, our guide, Johan, and the driver from Colca Trek picked us up outside the hostel at 8:00 a.m. We climbed into the four-wheel drive vehicle for the 2-hour drive out of Arequipa and into the Aguada Blanca reserve where we stopped several times to take photos of vicuñas, a South American camelid that is highly prized for its wool.

The driver dropped us off at 13,300 feet (4000 m), in the middle of nowhere. No trail head. No parking lot. Nothing. Only black volcanic dirt and razor-like bushes, itchu.

"It sounds like you're sneezing," Johan said.

Our destination, El Misti, loomed in the background. Snow dusted the summit.

Ready to begin our ascent to the summit of El Misti.

We started the three-hour climb to base camp with Johan leading the way with slow, easy steps. After 8 days in Peru, I figured I wouldn’t struggle with the altitude, but the dizziness increased as we zig-zagged up the mountain. I had to stop frequently.

"No hurry," Johan said. He assured us we were the perfect age for the adventure. "Young people go too fast," he said.

The dizziness increased. Kevin took my pack and double-packed the remaining 20-30 minutes to base camp at 4800 m (15,800 ft) while I stumbled behind Johan, following his imprints up the mountainside. Another group of four were already setting up camp with their guide. Once our tent was up, I slept. I woke up feeling odd, but better.

At Base Camp.

We chatted with the two gals from Austria and the two guys from Poland while the guides worked magic in the high altitude, getting water to boil on a small portable gas stove, shielding the flame with rocks from the blasting wind. We ate a soup that looked like chicken ramen and also pasta (with or without tuna and sauce). The meal ended with a hot cup of tea.

Sick, cold me in the corner while the guides cook dinner.

By nightfall we were wearing all our layers and I looked jealously at the ski pants worn by the other group. The guides told us to get into our North Fake tents (counterfeit tents, boldly displaying the North Face label, but rip-offs made in Puno) to escape the wind. No bathrooms, so we took turns going behind large rocks or telling people to turn the other way.

The sleeping bags and tents were cozy and soon we were peeling off layers. I caught snatches of sleep before the 2 a.m. wakeup. Johan said getting 3 hours of sleep in altitude was a good night. My headache was gone and for the first time on the mountain, I was hungry. A good sign.

I ate a simple breakfast - an orange and a chocolate biscuit and headed up the switchbacks in utter blackness. Our headlamps cast a two-foot circle at our feet.

One hour of climbing and I knew. No summit for me.

The dizziness returned with a vengeance and the only thing holding me upright was my poles. A conversation ensued with limited English and limited Spanish. I had hired Johan to get me to the summit and he tried his best to convince me to keep going while I tried my best to convince him I needed to stop. When a wave of dizziness hit me and I swayed backwards, Johan grabbed a fistful of my jacket to keep me upright on the mountain.

Conversation over.

Johan called up to the other group that had just passed us. I encouraged Kevin to join them. Johan took me down to base camp – not on the switchbacks, but straight down in the loose scree, slipping  and “skiing” our way down the mountain. We stopped near base camp and Johan had me switch off my headlamp. We gazed at the stars of the southern hemisphere. Breathtaking.

Johan got me situated and then jogged up to meet the group again, which was good, because one of the other girls had almost passed out – a combination of the altitude, no water (she had packed her water in Camelbaks that had frozen, and from overheating in the ski jacket and pants – she had no layers.) She joined me at base camp which I learned later, because I had fallen asleep as soon as I got to my tent, not even bothering to remove my boots. I slept until 6 a.m., took a bathroom break and then slept again until 8 a.m.

When I woke up, I knew that my husband would have reached the summit (19,111 ft.). I knew he would spend 30 minutes taking photos of the crater and of the ridgeline of volcanoes - Ubinas, Pichu Pichu, Shachani, Ampato and Coropuna. I knew I was not with him.

I let that thought wash over me as I sat at base camp. Months of training, hundreds of steps carrying my backpack in the desert, hiring a guide, acclimating in Cusco, and I was taken out by altitude sickness. I tried to tell myself it was a successful climb - that reaching the summit was optional, that getting back home was mandatory, but I couldn't help but be disappointed.

Have you ever aimed for a goal and not made it? Have you ever done EVERYTHING possible and still had things fall apart?

A business decision. A relationship. A goal. A dream. A job.

Did you ever aim for the summit, only to end up at base camp, at the bottom, looking up?

And the fact that you are safe is not satisfying, because you didn't climb the mountain to be safe, you climbed the mountain because you felt the risk was worth the effort. You had your eyes on the summit.

This is the hardest lessons that mountains teach us and I've had to wrestle with what I only saw as failure. Two months later, I know this to be true.

Hear me carefully.

If the summit is your only goal, you will end up living life disappointed. The summit is not the goal.

The climb is the goal. The reward. (Lesson #5)

And when you let that truth settle into your gut, it changes your perspective. It's all about the training and the trying and the getting up early and staying up late and setting your eyes on the process and letting your heart pursue a dream.

Along the way, something happens. You are stronger. Braver. Wiser. And it's not by doing anything stupendous, it's simply taking one step up the mountain. And another.

It's stopping when you need to. Just to suck in oxygen. And once in a while, when you feel like a failure, you need to stand in the utter darkness. And gaze at the stars.

Before you know it, one day you turn around and catch a glimpse of the view behind you. You realize then how far you've come.

You are higher up the mountain.

You are living the reward.