26th january, the way down

As I walk down, an annoying noise accompanies me. It is the noise of my crying. I am ashamed of this and hold my breath whenever I pass anyone on their way up so they can't hear. I always step to the side. Priority goes to those going up in the mountain. There are niceties to be observed. But they have more to do with common sense than etiquette. No one can see my face. My tuque is pulled low over my brow, my mountaineering glasses are huge, and the rest is covered by the neoprene mask.


Picture sent by Jak Man, my returning to camp 3.

I turn often to look at Lito and Jackman. Almost every time, Lito is also looking down, checking on my progress. I can't stay still too long, if I do, he'll think something is wrong and have to leave Jackman to come check.

I am walking much more quickly down, but I am still surprised by how slow. This is not normal. What is wrong with me?

I arrive at the place of our first break, where I fell asleep for the first time. I go sit at the same spot. This is comforting. And it's sunny now. I sit, I look up.

The summit looks so near from here! Like you could sprint there and arrive barely winded. Maybe I still could. There are people still going up past me, although it is getting late to just be starting.

As I think this, my head stuffs again, I feel like I am being pulled by something tied to my back.

Of course I couldn't. Why can't I accept it? This isn't failure. Your body breaking down, making you fall asleep, it's not failure. It's your body protecting itself, protecting you. Keeping you from being able to continue into a situation for which you are not ready. You've reached your summit. This is it for now.

As I sit thinking this, slowly, I recover every bit of me. Little by little, the mountain gives me back who I am, piece by piece. Ready to take it back if I think of going up again. I can think. I warm up. I let myself into a reverie of all sorts of past situations. And contentment begins.

I wouldn't force myself to run a marathon through a debilitating injury. Why should this be any different?

Up, Lito has stopped. He is looking at me insistently. I have to get up, I am making him worry, he is wondering whether I've fallen asleep here and will die of hypothermia. I get up, wave, turn, keep going down.


Picture sent by Jak Man, of Lito checking on my progress as I walk down. I can't be sure, but I think this one was taken when I sat down lower to watch them go up; Lito looks worried.

Arriving at the tent is a struggle. I am weak, tired. It is relatively warm inside the tent with the sun. I look at the time, calculate when the others will be back. I get into my sleeping bag, and fall asleep waiting for the others, when everyone will be back from their own summit.