Wait…Wha?

So last week I went through the itinerary and mapped out on a 2007 Rand McNally were we were going. I’m a visual learner and I didn’t know where some of these small towns were. Like Hermiston, OR and Ticonderoga, NY. They turn to be pretty far apart… and I learned also that we move through the entire state of Vermont to New Hampshire in a day.

People are sending me off, giving me “good luck”s and “have a great trip”s. Maybe it’ll be like a long road trip with all those miles and hours to think, get in my head. I haven’t done solo travel for a while. Other than medical conferences, taking my oral boards in Houston (never going back there) and my recent bike training camps I haven’t traveled without family or friends for over 20 years! Last time I recall was in summer 2001.

I was in Kenya for a month at the very start of my fellowship. I decided to jumped over to Tanzania to hike up Kilimanjaro basically because it was there. I did not know what I was getting into! I was living in Chicago and at the end of my residency at very much sea level. I thought it was adventurous and exciting and why not! I had made it through med school and a divorce and a residency with truly insane work conditions. I could do hard things, right? So, I worked with a trekking company to get it set up because at that time you couldn’t go up unsupported. There are different routes- one involved climbing the glacier and that was definitely out. I was going on the “tourist” route which sounds like a stroll through Disney doesn’t it? In fact there was a guy who summited on mountain skates the year I went up. Maybe it would be easy peasy? My guide met me at the base which was about 5,000 feet and recruited the requisite cook and porter. I was not allowed to carry my own pack or supplies, only a day bag with my water. Posh, right? Day one to three were mostly uneventful as we made our way up through varied terrain with Dr. Seuss like trees. Then on day three I witnessed a rapid descent evacuation of an unconscious person in what looked like a wheel barrel. Uh oh. That gave me pause. But then at every camp there was the same cluster of Germans drinking and having a good time. I didn’t know what side I’d be on until day four.

Day four started at midnight so we would arrive at the summit at dawn. Imagine the sun rising over the horizon from 19,341 feet! It was stunning but all I could think about was needing to pee and my distracting, severe headache. Midnight, in the dark we started out for the six hour hike up scree switchbacks to the summit. It was cold too, so cold that the hose for my Camelback that I had duct-taped to my back froze. And as I gasped for breath every third step my guide sang and smoked cigarettes and chatted me up. He called me, “Miss Anita”. “Miss Anita, you have such a nice backpack. Certainly, Miss Anita” puff of smoke, “you won’t need it when you get back home.” puff, puff, exhale “Perhaps you leave with me, Ok Miss Anita?” Hours go by and up I went to the summit and then promptly made my way down to camp. I learned that down is so much harder than up! My knees and quads were killing me and by then my headache was pounding and all I wanted to do was to lay down. “Miss Anita! We must go down, Very important! We go now!” So I got up and did as I was told in fear for my health and staggered my way down chased by a headache/ cerebral edema. I did not feel triumphant for what I had just accomplished and endured. I was exhausted, aghast at my unpreparedness and it felt physically pretty terrible. I also didn’t have anybody to share this experience with. I had recently broke up with a boyfriend and was moving East to Rochester, NY as soon as I returned to Chicago.

As Fleetwood Mac says, ” I climbed a mountain and I turned around.” It really didn’t mean anything without being able to share it. A few weeks later the universe answered, but more on that later. Today I hope I can share this expereince of this cross coutnry ride and I hope you, dear reader, will listen and wonder and be there for me. I hope I am better prepared after 1 1/2 years of training than I was in 2001. I still vow from that experience to never be at 19,000 feet again unless I in a pressurized plane.