Here it is. The BIG day. The TOUGH day. The "WILL THIS EVER END?!" day. Off into the night we climbed, (not so) simply following the footsteps of the climber ahead. "1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2....." I counted in my head, trying to ignore the persistance of my nerves and the tiredness of my legs. It was dark - impossible to see the terrain ahead of us. Our only gauge of "how much farther" was based on the flashlights of the people much higher. "Don't look up!" we told each other, trying not to get discouraged about the distance remaining.
Throughout the climb we would take periodic breaks to gather ourselves, regain some strength, and enjoy the beauty of the mountain. However, when it is twenty degrees below freezing in pitch dark we decided that stopping only resulted in feeling chilled. The chill where your fingers tingle, the chill where aches and pains surface out of nowhere, the chill that makes you second guess the decision to summit. At about 5400 metres it hit. My head began to spin, my stomach turned inside and out, and a sickness encompassed me that I had little to no control over. Every 25 metres or so the rest of the climb I would be sick, stopping abruptly to lean over my poles and get rid of whatever else I could that was inside of me. Drinking water only fueled the sickness, and the worst part was I couldn't let Lindsay know I was hurting. "I'm feeling powerful!" I would shout after each heave, leaving Lindsay to believe that I would be able to overcome the altitude. I wasn't sure if I would be able to make it to the top.
It was difficult for me to whine and complain to Phil while he was gagging and heaving behind me. I was cold, disoriented and weak. It was as though my brain and my body became enemies as my legs would go absolutely everywhere other than where my brain directed them to. I braved it for a while, trying to ease the stress Phil was already encountering...counting my steps, mind over matter, three hours left.....BAH - I couldn't do it anymore. I made the mistake of looking up, and our guide's definition of "we're almost there" became a big fat lie as I saw the flashlights up above. This segment of the climb was steep and I simply could not do it alone anymore. I fell down and cried, "Phil I can't do it." At this point, three of the world's best cheerleaders arose on Mount Kilimanjaro - Robert, Bacari, and Phil. "Yes we can make it. Keep going!" they said. Alright, I thought, I have to suck it up. With Bacari on one arm and my fiance behind me, I was able to make it to Gilman's Point (5685m) - stumbles and all.
She had made it to Gilman's Point, but it was obvious she was struggling. Normally I would have asked her to keep going, to dig deep, but she had already done so. It was now at a point where I had to accept that maybe our mission to summit would fall just short. Looking down at her as she was weeping I asked "Linds, do you want to head back down?" prepared for her to accept my proposal and end our climb. Instead of answering, she countered with a question of her own, "Do you want to quit?" I think it is now safe to say that we both would have headed back to Kibo if alone, but there was no way either was going to let the other down. We marched on over the slippery ice cap, and I was petrified that Lindsay was going to fall off the edge. I was too worn down to be able to aid her, and frequently I told our guide "Don't you dare let my fiancee fall off this mountain!" With approximately 200 metres and only 20 minutes left to climb I hit the wall. I had seen on TV when Ironman competitors collapse near the finish line, but had never felt this phenomenon myself until this moment. My entire body was jelly, and I myself began to cry...
"Oh jeez - now he's crying?!" I thought to myself. "What the HEK am I supposed to do with a crying boy on a freezing cold mountain top?!" Well, I guess I knew what I was supposed to do, because despite his wobbling structure, his odd-coloured face, and non-stop heaves.....despite my relentless whimpers and exhaustion...I knew we had to keep going. Phil wouldn't be able to live with himself if he gave up. He is a competitor and I can't imagine him living with the regret of a failed attempt. And so pole-pole we went, tears frozen to our faces.
About 100m from Uhuru Peak, we were past "drained". If it weren't for the miracle of reuniting with our Portugese roommates from Kibo, we wouldn't have summited Mount Kilimanjaro. "We know that love can move mountains," the grandfather-like man said to me. "But, you two have proven that love can climb mountains," he finished. I turned around and looked at that crying boy that I love so much........"PHIL!!! We're almost there!!!!" I shouted.
With the sun rising, and Lindsay by my side we finally were there at Uhuru Peak! After such a battle you'd think that there would be sirens going off, parades in your honour, or at least fireworks, but really all you get is 10 minutes at the top with your guide reminding you that now you have to climb all the way back down. We managed to brave the cold and got a few good photos in at the top, and "Sargeant Snowflake" Lindsay's beloved Mountie Polar Bear also got in on the act. The next 2-3 minutes would be the most difficult of my life, more difficult then the entire climb put together. "I have a surprise!" Lindsay said with a sly smile. She took my backpack, and out it came... A TORONTO MAPLE LEAFS FLAG! For those of you that don't know I am a lifelong Detroit sports fan dedicated to my teams, and the blue and white just isn't my thing. "I promised my Daddy that we'd take a picture at the peak with the flag for his birthday!" she said. It was here that I had final confirmation that I did indeed love this girl more then anything else in my life.
The walk back down to Kibo certainly challenged the difficulty of the ascent. Our legs were so used to "going up" and our knees buckled as we introduced them to "going down". Phil was still vomiting every few metres and I was stopping constantly for breaks and breakdowns. I can tell I was frustrating the two guides at this point, as Robert was so desperate to get to Kibo that he piggy-backed me down part of the hill! While everyone else was skiing down the sandy slope, I was bouncing on my guide's back, crying as my headache pounded with each gallop. It was amazing to see how far we had come from the night before and we fell right into our beds upon our return to the Kibo huts.
We had passed our friend Mohamed (he on his way to the peak, and us on our way back down the mountain) early in the morning, but when we woke from our naps he still had not returned. Worried, we frantically asked around to find out information on our friend. Apparently, he had fell quite ill at the top, his heart rate dropping significantly and rumours were flying that he would have to be carried down the mountain in a stretcher. We had packed our gear, and were ready for yet another descent down the mountain to Horombo huts, when out from behind the rocks came Mohamed. Although he hadn't made it to the peak, it was a valiant effort, and we were pleased to know he was safely back at the huts.
Lindsay and I headed off into the distance (just the two of us) reflecting on the remarkable 24hr period that had passed, proud of one another, and more in love then ever. Our guide Robert eventually caught up to us about an hour before reaching Horombo, and we were humbled when we told us that we were the most "charming" people he had ever met. At Horombo, Gilbert The Dragon Slayer prepared for us a candlelit dinner. Immediately after, we passed out in our sleeping bags, and did not awaken until departure time the next morning.
