Mt. Meru (Day 3: The Summit)

I thought that I had asked Rogers, my guide, all of the questions that I would need to successfully prepare for the Summit Day.
What time do we leave? Midnight
What will the temperature be like? Very cold
How long will it take to get to the top? 6 hours
How many hours till I get my first break? 1 hour
Is it easier or harder than Day 1 of the hike? Easier
Than day 2 of the hike? The same
And how many hours till my second break...

So when I at 11:30 PM, a mere 6 hours after my return from Little Meru, bundled up in every article of clothing that I had packed and a head lamp attached to my head, I felt READY.

We set off at midnight and at first I was loving it. There is something magical about hiking underneath an expansive African sky, peppered with hundreds of stars, and free from the stresses of the physical challenges that might be coming your way. It wasn't until about an hour and half in that this romanticism faded away, and I realized the question I failed to ask Rogers the day before: will it be a fairly straight path or will we be walking across dangerous terrain that would challenge even the most skilled and sighted climber?

Yes, I think it was around 1:30 AM when we went off the path and had to scale a rocky mountain wall at some height that I couldn't even fathom because it was outside of the range that my light could cover. But with each step I took, I heard pieces of rock giving way into a dark abyss and I was fully afraid. I reached for Rogers hand, and as he took it, I could smell the stench of liquor on his breath, and at that moment I thought to myself: this is the craziest thing that I have ever done or even conceived of doing.

I wish I could say that this was the worst of it. But soon after, we had to climb up a steep and gravely section of the mountain. Most of the other climbers easily cleared this section with their hiking sticks, but I was without them, and I couldn't manage to get my footing in this loose terrain. It was the classic one step forward, two steps back scenario, and it was through the strength of Rogers half pulling me that I made it up to steadier ground.

And it was just at the top of that section where the thought crossed my mind: I don't think I can do this.

Now for any of you hikers out there, you know this is danger zone. Climbing is mostly a mental game, and the seed of doubt can destroy your efforts completely. So immediately after thinking that I started pulling tools out of my mental toolkit. I tried to pair each step with a breath. Then I tried reminding myself that hiking was really just walking, and I've walked 6 hours in a day before. I even tried visualizing -- seeing myself at the summit jumping up and down like Rocky Balboa.

All of these failed.

I'm not sure what triggered the weeping, exactly. I don't know if it was when the nausea bubbled up from my anti-malaria medication. Or if it when the exhaustion from 15 hours of hiking with little sleep settled in. Or maybe it was sight of snowflakes reminding me how deeply cold and incredibly dark it was up there. But tears were running down my face, and I just kept repeating that I couldn't do it.

Rogers to his credit vacillated with ease between motivator ("You will miss this view, come here and see") and drill sergeant ("Stop crying. It will make you lose energy."). He also managed to stay strong against my appeals for a break ("It is too cold; you will lose heat if you stop walking).

I dry heaved on the side of the road, multiple times. Rogers cleaned the snot off of my face. And when there was still 2 hours to go, he finally relented and granted me a break, pulling my head on to his lap, and folding himself over me, so that we didn't freeze during my seven minutes of rest.

By the time I saw the Tanzanian flag atop the summit, I couldn't care less about reaching the top. For the last hour, I had been fighting for every step. Rogers hand was literally on my sacrum to help propel me forward with every meager lift of my food. And as I looked at the steep, jagged and rocky final climb - just 30 more minutes after I had already walked 7.5 that morning - and I felt so sure that I didn't have it left in me.

And then suddenly, in a Holland Reynolds-inspired act of tenacity, I dropped to my hands and knees and half dragged and half-crawled my way to the top.

In the early morning light, I saw an impressive view of Kilimanjaro. Was it worth it? I'd be lying if I said it was. But I learned more that morning about myself and fear, hopelessness, and grit than ever before in my life.