Broken But Not Crushed: My Mt. Kilimanjaro Experience
When taking on a new challenge or about to make a drastic life decision, one is more often than not met with anxiety wrapped in a blanket of excitement. I call it anxious excitement; The anxiety and excitement curl up to form one big confusing ball of emotion.
‘Am I happy or am I terrified?’ Well, you are both.
It’s the beautiful child-like excitement and restlessness of trying something new, a new adventure, combined with the anxiety and doubt of going against the old, what is known, and treading on murky waters aka the unknown. And Mt. Kilimanjaro was just that, unknown waters that might either consume me or birth me anew. What I was not expecting was a mix of both. A world of paradoxes.
A few weeks before the anticipated climb I dabbled between feelings of excitement and anxiety.
‘ I can’t believe I’m doing this! Yipee!!’ vs ‘ I can’t believe I’m doing this? What the hell?’
Same statements, different emotional state.
For the past two weeks I’ve been stressing over what approach to take, do I take the technical approach like I did on my Mt. Kenya article? or do I take you on an emotional journey with me? I opted for the latter, so here goes.
Hiking is always a new experience regardless of the whether all the variables remain constant i.e. same team, same trail, same everything. Everyday is a new experience and with that comes new lessons, some that make you doubt everything you thought to be true, while some build on what you already knew, but when out in the open, nothing matters. It’s just you and your thoughts, allowed to roam free like never before. Sometimes it hurts but eventually you become friends, they know when to keep silent and you know when to give them a listening ear and once in a while, it becomes a battle between the two, as was my experience on Summit Night. Here is my story, raw, unfiltered and most important of all, my truth.
Summit Night:
As I stood 5,000m above sea level, where oxygen is 50% of what is found at sea level, I gasped for breath. We had been walking from 1:10 am and it was now past 6:30am. The sun was out and we had not yet reached the first major landmark, that is, Gilman’s point.
I was exhausted and frustrated. Exhausted because we had been walking for 5 days now, clocking roughly 24 walking hours by this point and had barely slept on summit night due to the cold. Frustrated because I had barely eaten due to loss of appetite and nausea caused by altitude sickness so I was surviving on snacks. I was at my breaking point. I took one step and leaned on a rock.
The guide noticed that there was something wrong and asked, “Are you ok?”
Just as he uttered those words, I reached for my neck, pulling on the buff that was shielding me from the sun and cold wind and murmured in panic, “I can’t breathe.”
My chest had began feeling constricted for a while but I ignored it in the name of being ‘strong’. But in that instance I knew that my body was sending me a message. I couldn’t do this anymore.
As I stood there struggling to breathe with the rising sun and cold air battling for my attention, the guide advised me to remove one jacket. As I put my hiking bag down to remove my jacket as instructed, tears began to roll down my cheeks without regard for my reputation or who was around me. I couldn’t hide the frustration from myself any longer. I needed to accept that this was hard. It was not what I expected and I was struggling.
Accepting that I was struggling, was the hardest thing for me! But my body expressed what my words would not. I tried to hide it as much as I could: I sang songs to motivate myself, put on earphones but even amapiano could not save me from my reality, I couldn’t fake it till I made it in this instance. I had to listen to my body, embrace what it was saying and accept it. That’s the only way I could move forward.
As the tears continued to flow, I laughed, and judged myself for a few seconds and still attempted to hold them in when a fellow hiker whispered to me,
“It’s ok. Let it all out, I’ve cried about 3 times now.”
They might have said that just to make me feel better but hearing that made me lighter. I was ok. I could breathe now. Everyone was struggling in their own way. I wasn’t weak and realizing the shared struggle made me feel less alone and intimidated. There really is beauty in shared vulnerability.
My tears communicating my pain and my friend sharing their experience with me brought me more comfort than any upbeat song would at that time. It’s the help I never knew I needed until it came along. This brief exchange pushed me to the first major landmark: Gilman’s point.
My point of desperation, Gilman’s point:
Many people turn back at this point and that was my intention. I had suffered enough. I took a picture as a reminder to myself that I had reached that point and again, confided in my friend that I was done, a friend that I had earlier encouraged to get to Gilman’s ironically. Hiking really does equalise us all.
In that moment, luckily no one opted to turn back, otherwise this would have been a different story. We were all beaten down, tired, suffering from altitude sickness but not one single person decided to go back down. I later found out that others had thought about it, but since no one had vocalised it, we knew we were heading all the way to the top no matter how slow. The power of community.
After the guide took our vitals we lifted our lifeless oxygen deprived bodies and began the slow walk to the summit.
I say lifeless because for most of us we were experiencing an out of body experience, you are present enough to put one foot in front of the other but not enough to feel the exhaustion in your body. It is at this point, that silence prevails.
Never underestimate anyone:
When we began the trail at summit night the group naturally split up. A fast paced and a slow paced group. I was somewhere in the middle trying to keep up with the fast paced crew. I forgot that I was treading on new waters and this was not my usual territory. (However, my body knew, recognized it and reacted. The body always knows. Listen to it)
When I looked at the crew behind me I never understood how they would get to the top at that pace. I wanted to go go go!! Get there as fast as possible and back down. We eventually all got to Gilman’s at around the same time and the ones I deemed as ‘slow’ are the ones who led us to the summit. I believe they are the reason that all of us who made it to Gilman’s point, all made it to the highest point, Uhuru Peak. At some point I grew impatient and moved to the front to try and increase the pace. I was returned to the back. Slow and steady really does win the race. This is the biggest lesson that has been drilled in me from this experience.
Slow and steady, we made it!
We eventually got to the summit and were blessed with breathtaking views!
35hrs later, 5 days of walking, 34km covered and over 4,000m in elevation gained. We had made it!
It was a journey but here we were! We could finally touch Uhuru Peak after moments of feeling discouraged, broken, anxious and fatigued. We dragged our wounded bodies all the way to the top and now we can proudly say that we summitted the highest point in Africa. It doesn’t matter what state we were in but that we tapped into our deepest selves and leaned on each other to get there. And boy was it worth it!
It’s not the mountains we conquer, but ourselves, Edmund Hillary
Conclusion
In Mt. Kilimanjaro, I battled my mind, doubted my resilience, lost motivation, came close to giving up, and eventually when I had no more to offer myself, I leaned on others for emotional support. Something that even days later I judged myself for. But now more than a week later, after reflecting on this beautiful life-changing experience, I take with me one major life lesson: Asking for help does not make you less than. It does not take anything away from you. It does not make you weak. You are actually all the more stronger for it.
And so the next time your anxious thoughts come between you and your goals/dreams, Remember:
- Listen to your body. This is easier said than done, especially in a world of forced optimism. Don’t get me wrong, I am a believer of fake it till you make it, but sometimes what we need is not to deny our feelings & thoughts but to take a minute, pause, be present. Listen to what your mind, body and soul are communicating and move through the motions i.e Acknowledge it. Feel it. Name it. Own it. Let it flow and Let it go.
- Be vulnerable. Share your hardships/thoughts with others. There is so much beauty in finding a community or even just leaning on a friend. This can be the difference between giving up and staying on the path. Additionally, find people who are headed in the same direction you are. Having shared experiences with others could be the motivation you need.
- Slow and steady wins the race. Take your time, rest when you need to, take slow, deep breaths, be patient with yourself but keep moving. With every step you get closer to your goal, so keep moving no matter how slow. It’s all about consistency. Just stick to the path.
I hope my journey on Mt. Kilimanjaro motivates you to keep going, be it on the mountain or in whatever challenge you are facing. So long as your health is not at risk, keep going at all costs and at your own pace. Remember, it’s ok to take breaks, the mountain is not going anywhere.
All the best and don’t forget to enjoy the journey! That‘s what it’s all about.
#ChooseToThrive
PS: Please share your thoughts with me. I’d love to know what you thought of this article :)
In case of any technical questions, feel free to leave a comment and/or check out my IG highlights that give a detailed day-to-day breakdown from the beautiful cottages on the mountain to the change in vegetation and the emergency evacuation procedure. With regards to what gear you need, you can check out my Mt. Kenya article. It’s basically the same gear just more due to the increased number of days and better quality (Kili is colder). You can find some Mt. Kilimanjaro fun facts and more information on the routes here.
