"I hit REM sleep in less than a second and began a dream in which I was falling backwards. In real life, my head tilted back as far as it could go, my mouth opened up as wide as it could go, my tongue fell out of my mouth, I drooled on myself, choked on myself, and then let out a loud moan that I've only heard come out of children with severe disabilities, Terry Schaivo, and Chewbacca."
I went to climb Mount Kilimanjaro 48 hours after getting out of the Marine Corps. My confidence and ego were at all time high’s coming into Mount Kilimanjaro, but by the end of it, confidence and ego were at all time lows.
My walk to the top of Africa
October 2, 2014
Mount Kilimanjaro, Mashame Route
The five days leading up to the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro were filled with amazing views, African culture, drastic climate changes, and a series of unsubstantiated confidence boosts and ego boosts that ultimately turned me into a walking facade. My confidence was boosted by my initial strength on the mountain and my supposed immunity to the effects of altitude. My ego was boosted by the Tanzanian porters and guides who frequently complimented me. All complete bullshit.
Prior to summit day, the entire trip was easy. Despite hours upon hours of walking uphill, at high elevation, in the cold and rain every day, I felt fantastic. My heart felt good; my heart rate never came up too high, my lungs were good; I was never too out of breath, and my legs were strong; I could always keep a good pace without fatigue.
Every breathtaking view, every climate change, every animal sighting, every entrance to a new camp, and every time we were served food, I was giddy like a little kid.
My group came to know me as the former Marine who was now a 13 year old boy; loaded with energy, always stuffing his face with food, very easily excited, and unaffected by pain and altitude.
Ego boost.
The Tanzanian guides and porters were very impressed with my size, (Tanzanians are very skinny) and each day I was asked by random Tanzanian's who passed me on the mountain if I was a bodybuilder, football player, or Navy Seal.
Ego boost.
I brushed off their compliments humbly, and responded by saying, "nooo, no, you're the bodybuilder, look at you. You're like a tiger!"
On the third day it was clear and warm at 12,000 feet, so my buddy and I took our shirts off and did some yoga, for all to see. And by "all," I mean, about 600 young African men. I asked my buddy to snap some pictures of me, and with very little shame, I held some cheesy poses for the camera. While I was doing so, one of our guides yelled out
"DON, YOU LOOK LIKE, SUPASTAH!"
Ego boost.
I responded by pointing at him like a dork and saying "no George, you're the superstar!"
I never had a single doubt about my ability to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro, with ease. After all, I was an IronMan and a Marine Infantryman; a slow hike up a mountain should've been a piece of cake....
Summit day.
The morning of summit day, day 5, we had a short hike from 12,000 feet to the last camp at 15,000 feet. We took our time on the hike, and finished at 2pm. After eating lunch we were expected to sleep in our tents until 1030 PM, when we would be woken up for our summit approach.
I was looking forward to a long nap before the summit hike, but I couldn’t sleep. I tried everything; reading something good, reading something bad, meditative breathing, sleep word, music... nothing. As my mind raced like a child furiously flipping through TV channels; I passed the porn channel, which led to a hard on, which led to a very slow and quiet beat being thrown in my sleeping bag while my tent mate was sound asleep. I was proud of myself; a mouse could not have jerked off more quietly than I did in my tent that evening.
Sure enough, I fell into a deep REM sleep right after busting my nut, and was angrily awoken about 5 minutes later. It was 1030 PM.
I got out of my sleeping bag and went to eat one last meal in the mess tent.
The walk to the summit began at 1130 PM. It started at 15,000 feet, went up to the summit at 20,000 feet, and then all the way back down to 10,000 feet. The summit hike was expected to finish at 4PM the next day.
According to our guides, the summit was going to be the longest day of our lives, and we were constantly warned about it's difficulty. I wasn’t the slightest bit worried, in fact, I was excited to brag about how easy climbing Kilimanjaro was, and how immune I was to the altitude.
As we all waited outside in the dark, in below freezing weather with our headlamps on and our packs at our feet; I was beyond ecstatic. It was just like a night mission in the Marines. I looked up the mountain and saw hundreds of headlamps slowly crawling their way to the top.
We began the hike and trudged along at a snails pace. The path was incredibly steep, and with each step my calf muscles were stretched almost to the point of ripping. My breathing was heavy and labored right off the bat, but it was expected. I felt great given the circumstances. I played "The Lion King" soundtrack on my headphones, and then the "Aladdin" soundtrack right after. I had a huge smile on my face as I trudged along under the moonlight.
By the time the Aladdin soundtrack had finished the temperature with the wind chill was at least 15 below zero. The cold wind made my entire body fluctuate between hot and cold flashes. Although I was wearing 5 layers of warm clothing including a rain jacket up top, and three layers including rain pants on the bottom, I could not escape the wind. The wind found a way to seep into every pore on my body and kill all body heat that was being created by my movement.
My gloves were not nearly warm enough for the night, and the only thing that would keep my hands warm was to put them in my hiking pants pockets and shove them as close to my crotch as possible. There were two problems with this. For one; this required sagging my rain pants low enough to allow my hands to fit into my hiking pants pockets. It make high steps difficult and make me look like a dumbass; sagging my pants like a teenager up a mountain.
Two; we were walking on an icy dirt path, and on icy rocks, with lots of opportunities to fall down large sheets of ice to our deaths. Hands were often needed for balance.
The end result was that my hands were numb for 15 hours.
Still, it was no problem. I felt strong.
Our group kept a good pace, and passed many other groups on the way up. The other groups looked miserable. I felt bad for them. My group was cheerful and full of energy.
2 hours later.
The oldest hiker in our group kept asking to stop and take breaks. She was 50 and had thyroid disease, and had done outstanding the entire week, but at this point her heart rate was not enjoying the elevation nor the pace, and she was getting significantly weaker. One of the assistant guides took her pack and threw it on top of his own to ensure that the groups pace didn’t slow down too much.
I looked down at my watch and realized we had been hiking for 2 hours. The time had flown by, and had not seemed challenging at all.
We continued "pole pole," or "slowly slowly," as the Tanzanian's say.
20 minutes later one of our assistant guides was hit hard with altitude sickness. He started acting drunk, stumbling, slurring, and was unable to make sense. Our head guide told him to go down the mountain. When altitude sickness hits someone there is only one cure; rapid descent.
I'd be lying if I didn’t admit that I got both an ego and confidence boost after seeing an experienced mountain guide fall out. This boost lasted a good 5 minutes, and abruptly ended when I got run over by a truck. Literally.
All of a sudden I felt both drunk and hung over. I felt like I had been up doing coke and drinking for 5 days, got in a bar brawl, got my ass beat, stumbled out in the street, got run over by a big rig, and was walking along a dirt road at 4 am towards a hospital that didn’t exist.
I felt and looked like a Walking Dead character that was too tired to be aggressive.
My balance was gone, and each step felt dangerous, as if I might screw it up and slip down an ice sheet.
I kept thinking, "What the hell is wrong with me? I should be fine. I’m a fucking grunt for God sakes. Ahh fuck it, this will go away, its just temporary."
The pain in my head and the drunkenness got worse with each step. Ten minutes later I could barely keep my eyes open. My brain shut off, and I didn’t have the energy to question what was going on. I didn’t have the energy to talk myself through my symptoms. All I could do was put one foot in front of the other. Each step was about 6 inches ahead of the other and required at least one breath before taking another.
Ten minutes later I desperately needed a break. I thought about taking a seat off the trail on a rock for a quick minute, and then catching up to my group. The only thing that stopped me were the hundreds of other people on the mountain that were behind me.
Finally our head guide said 5 magical words
"We take a break here."
I felt excited, relieved, and thankful. Like a boxer who was getting his ass pummeled by Mike Tyson upon hearing the bell ring.
I spotted a rock with a sheet of ice on it. It looked like the most comfortable chair in the entire world. I let out a loud moan as I sat down and took all the weight off my legs.
I wanted to sleep for a few minutes, but the ice and the 30 mph winds wouldn’t let me.
Since I didn’t want to betray anyone's expectations of me, I put on an award winning act of strength. I faced my group and asked everyone how they were doing.
"Steph, you doin ok? Hang in there sister."
"Anthony, how you feelin brother?"
"Jenny, remember deep breaths. Don't short change yourself with short breaths, make them all deep. You got this."
Once I was convinced that everyone thought I was a badass, I turned back around on my ice rock and whimpered to myself.
I pretended that I was in my sleeping bag. I went into full pathetic mode with my head in my lap, and considered asking the head guide if I could take a quick nap on the ground before continuing.
Soon after I sat down, one of the Brits from our group collapsed onto another ice rock, and then fell off of it. I looked at his face, and he looked more drunk than I felt. I went to help him but he claimed to be fine. He then went to take a piss and almost fell down a rocky slope.
The call "entwende," or "Let's go" was the most miserable thing I had ever heard in my life. I got back up and continued trudging along. Thirty minutes later the oldest member of our group could not maintain the pace, and fell out of the hike. The assistant guide who was carrying her pack stayed with her, and I assumed they were headed back down the mountain.
We began walking again, and I noticed that my eyes were closing mid step. We were told to tell the guides the second we felt the elevation, but my ego wouldn’t let me. I wasn’t as bad as some of the others, so as far as I was concerned I was fine. Besides, there was only one cure; rapid descent. I was not about to descend until I took a picture next to that stupid sign at the top of Kilimanjaro, Uhuru Peak.
My symptoms continued to get worse, and I felt like vomiting up the porridge I ate before we left camp. I was fighting the cold, the wind, a sleeping brain, and a painful stomach.
The longer I walked, the more the trail looked like a good place to take a nap. I considered laying down on it and taking a quick power nap. I was certain that a nap was all I needed to rejuvenate my brain and make me feel better.
I kept trying to tell myself "this is pussy shit. I’ve been to combat, I’ve done worse. I don’t need a fuckin nap" but there was a louder voice in my head saying "Stop debating it and take a quick nap Donny. It’s really not a big deal. Everyone else is thinking about it, just be the first one to do it. Comon, be a leader."
The latter voice was much louder, and much more persuasive.
I looked up at the hills ahead of me, filled with tiny, slow-moving lights that disappeared over a false summit. Every time we got to what we thought was the top we were reminded that were not even close. The entire hike was a 6 hour series of false summits every half hour. It was like being on the ocean and trying to get closer to the horizon. It was a mind fuck unlike any fuck I’ve ever had.
I couldn’t believe I was so miserable. It didn’t make sense, and I needed affirmation that I wasn’t the only one feeling so weak. I tried to get a look at everyone’s faces, but I couldn't see anyone as miserable as me. The three Alaskans were bopping along as if they were on a casual walk to the store. The tiny Malaysian girl was at the head of the group and looked fine.
The Brazilian looked like he was smiling and enjoying himself.
The guides were so unaffected by the altitude that they were bouncing up and down to keep warm. Apparently our pace wasn’t fast enough to keep them warm.
The Brit who looked terrible earlier seemed ok, and I finally just accepted the fact that I was a pathetic little bitch.
I thought about turning my music back on to wake me up, but that required taking a glove off and exposing a bare hand to the elements, so that was out of the question.
I thought about asking the Brit ahead of me if he could pass the word up to the head guide that "we should take a quick break", but I didn’t have the air capacity nor the diaphragm strength to push out the words.
Finally we stopped for a break. This time I didn’t hear anything from our guides, I just followed the Brit ahead of me, and when I took my eyes off the ground I noticed members of the group were sitting down. I dropped onto the ice on my butt, leaned back on my pack and shut my eyes.
I hit REM sleep in less than a second and began a dream in which I was falling backwards. In real life, my head tilted back as far as it could go, my mouth opened up as wide as it could go, my tongue fell out of my mouth, I drooled on myself, choked on myself, and then let out a loud moan that I've only heard come out of children with severe disabilities, Terry Schaivo, and Chewbacca.
The sound of my moan combined with choking on myself woke me up.
A few people from another group heard me and looked in my direction, assuming Hans Solo was near. I gave them a fake smile and a thumbs up so they couldn’t tell what a pussy I was. I don’t think it worked because they still looked at me suspiciously.
I decided not to allow myself to sleep again. I looked around at my group and saw lots of them smiling. Furthering the notion that I was the biggest bitch in my group.
We began walking again and I resumed misery on full throttle.
A few minutes later my vision was blurring, and all the light from peoples headlamps was moving in streams. It was like walking home from a rave at 6 am after coming down from a trip. I kept closing my eyes hoping they would adjust. They didn’t, and instead I fell asleep during one long blink. I began dreaming about an ice cream truck. I saw my head guide handing me an ice cream sandwich. I lost my footing and fell on my face. Several people rushed to my aid.
Ego boost.
I got up quickly and resumed walking because of the group right behind me, but it hurt a lot more than I made it look.
I started to get really worried about my own health. I considered telling the guy ahead of me that something was really wrong with me. The problem was that that required talking, which I couldn’t do. So I just kept moving.
The next three hours were completely blacked out. I have no memory of anything until we were minutes away from what I thought was the peak.
25 minutes below Stella Peak, the last stop before the Uhuru Peak.
I looked up and saw lots of people standing next to a sign and taking pictures. It was the first time that I looked up above me and felt hope that we were close to the summit.
Our head guide said "theeece is where it really stahts to hurt. Don’t queet. We are juhst a few minutes from Stella Peak."
My immediate thought was "oh so I should not have been on the verge of death 3 hours ago? I should only be hurting just now?"
My second thought was "Wait a second, I thought 'Uhuru Peak' was the summit"
I was too tired to think about it anymore so I kept walking.
My memory leaves me from that thought, until the moment I reached Stella Peak and got run over by the bad news truck.
Once I came over the crest of Stella Point I made eye contact with a large sign. I squinted to get a better look at it. The sign looked at me and said,
"Wow, didn’t think you'd make it Don... come a little closer, I've got some good news for you."
The sun had just come over the horizon, so the sign was in clear view, but my vision was blurry. I walked closer to the sign, obeying its command, with a deer in headlights look on my face.
I got close enough to read the sign.
"STELLA PEAK. SECOND HIGHEST PEAK ON MT. KILIMANJARO. CONGRATULATIONS!"
I stood in front of the sign, dumbfounded.
The sign tilted its head back and began laughing hysterically at me, then it said "You really thought you were done you little pussy?"
I felt like a little kid at the mall who realized that he has no idea where mommy is and is seconds away from exploding into tears. I looked around to ask someone what the fuck was going on, and why this stupid sign said "Stella Peak" instead of "Uhuru Peak" (The real summit of Kilimanjaro), but everyone in my group was at least 10 feet away, which was way farther than I had energy for. Instead I walked a few steps to get away from the crowd of happy people taking pictures at the sign, then I dropped onto my ass and took another nap on the ice.
This time I dreamt of a winter wonderland, because that was what the view looked like from Stella peak. We were so high that we couldn't see anything that wasn’t covered in clouds or ice. There were ice mountains all around us that looked like Santa had a second home on. The sky was clear icy blue, and the sun lit up everything perfectly.
In my dream I saw myself slowly sliding down an ice sheet, the ride was bumpy and my left shoulder kept getting jolted. I saw one of our guides talking to me as I slid down to my death. "Don, Don, DON! DONNY!"
Then I woke up, and saw my guide right in front of me. He was shaking my left shoulder. He said very calmly and slowly, in his charming African accent.
"You cannot let yourself go to sleep Donny, or you might never wake up."
His warning didn’t persuade me, because at that moment, not waking up for a long time sounded fantastic. He handed me a cup of tea. All the guides carried tea for us in their backpacks. They were such bad asses....
I fought sleep with the help of the sun, that was completely over the horizon.
My head felt like it was being crushed, and I didn’t have the strength to hold it up, but I needed to know how much further we had till we got to the REAL summit. So as my head hung in front of me, with my chin on my chest, I tilted it to the side and looked in the direction of all the people who were walking towards the summit. As I sat there slumped over, head tilted on my chest, arms limp at my sides, drooling and snotting on myself, there was no longer a question about whether or not I was a special needs child. I was full blown retard.
I thought I saw a group of people far away. Way too far to be possible, so I just brushed it off and assumed it wasn’t the summit.
The call came to move, and again, I whimpered to myself.
As we walked along the ridge from Stella Peak to Uhuru Peak I had Deja Vu. I thought I was back in Breckenridge, Colorado walking along the highest public ski ridge in the USA. The path was narrow, I was worried about slipping, the view all around me was breathtaking, and on either side of me was certain death.
My mind was again fucked by a series of false summits, until we finally arrived an hour later at Uhuru Peak: at the exact spot I assumed could NOT be the peak.
Everyone at the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro was joyful and ecstatic. I could not have looked more bored. I mustered up the courage to take my camera phone out of my pocket and take a video of the view from the top. Pictures required too much work, and I just assumed others would have pictures, so I shot minute of video instead.
Without shaking any hands or giving any hugs and high fives, I got in the line to take a picture at the famous sign that says,
"Mount Kilimanjaro, Congratulations, you are now at Uhuru Peak, 5859 M ASL. Africa's Highest Point."
Tradition and common sense dictated that the next group waiting in line would take pictures of the group ahead of them.
Naturally, the group ahead of me asked me if I could take a picture for them. This was a very difficult moment for me, because I had already exposed a bare hand to the elements to take my short video. As much as I wanted to help these people capture their special moment, I was simply not willing to take my hands out of my pockets.
In a proud moment, exhibiting everything the Marine Corps expects of its front line Infantry Officers; I pretended like I didn’t speak English and did not understand the International hand signal for "Can you please take a picture of me?"
I shook my head like a child, shrugged, mumbled the word "No" and then turned around so I didn’t have to make any more eye contact with them.
Fortunately for them, my group was right behind me, so one of our girls ripped her own gloves off without hesitation and snapped a few pictures for the nice strangers.
Ego boost.
I walked to one of our guides and handed him my camera to let him take as many pictures as he wanted of our group.
The pain I was feeling is very evident in all my pictures at the summit.
As I've mentioned, the only cure for altitude sickness is rapid descent, so as soon as I got my picture next to that stupid sign I started walking back down to Stella Peak. The pressure in my head was getting worse so I walked as fast as I could, which likely equated to about 12 steps per minute. The walk back to Stella Peak was like the scene in Walking Dead when Rick and Shane walked through a crowd of zombies undetected.
Everyone I saw looked AS bad, if not worse than me. Guides were holding people up, holding peoples hands, and in some cases literally pushing or dragging them up the mountain. Every person had a 50 yard stare that could only be imitated by a zombie.
This made me feel better about myself.
Ego boost.
The walk down the mountain was painful, but my head pain slowly decreased every 30 minutes.
By the time I got back to camp at 15,000 feet I only had a pounding headache and swollen knees. I crawled into my tent next to my tent mate and saw a huge confident smile on his face as he stared at the ceiling of the tent.
"What the fuck are you smiling about?" I said.
"I’m just really happy man. I don’t think I’ve ever felt stronger in my whole life."
"I want to punch you in your stupid fucking face right now."
"Haha, why?"
"Because I’ve never felt like a weaker pussy, bitch, retard, zombie in my entire life."
He laughed hysterically as I told him the story of my patheticness on the mountain.
"I really didnt think you were that bad man."
"I know bro. That's because I’m a phenomenal actor. I should get an award for that shit."
"Wait a second, I think I heard your Chewbacca noise. Ha. I thought it was one of the guides fucking around."
"Nope, that was me bro. Just hoppin off the Millennium Falcon and making my presence known."
"Jeez, your ridiculous Donny."
"I know. I know."
I drifted off to sleep. This time I dreamt of Chewbacca and Hans Solo fighting off walkers that were trying to get on the Falcon. One of the walkers came really close, and Chewbacca got so scared he shat himself.
Correction, I shat myself, in my sleep.
Ego b…..
I went to climb Mount Kilimanjaro 48 hours after getting out of the Marine Corps. My confidence and ego were at all time high’s coming into Mount Kilimanjaro, but by the end of it, confidence and ego were at all time lows.
My walk to the top of Africa
October 2, 2014
Mount Kilimanjaro, Mashame Route
The five days leading up to the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro were filled with amazing views, African culture, drastic climate changes, and a series of unsubstantiated confidence boosts and ego boosts that ultimately turned me into a walking facade. My confidence was boosted by my initial strength on the mountain and my supposed immunity to the effects of altitude. My ego was boosted by the Tanzanian porters and guides who frequently complimented me. All complete bullshit.
Prior to summit day, the entire trip was easy. Despite hours upon hours of walking uphill, at high elevation, in the cold and rain every day, I felt fantastic. My heart felt good; my heart rate never came up too high, my lungs were good; I was never too out of breath, and my legs were strong; I could always keep a good pace without fatigue.
Every breathtaking view, every climate change, every animal sighting, every entrance to a new camp, and every time we were served food, I was giddy like a little kid.
My group came to know me as the former Marine who was now a 13 year old boy; loaded with energy, always stuffing his face with food, very easily excited, and unaffected by pain and altitude.
Ego boost.
The Tanzanian guides and porters were very impressed with my size, (Tanzanians are very skinny) and each day I was asked by random Tanzanian's who passed me on the mountain if I was a bodybuilder, football player, or Navy Seal.
Ego boost.
I brushed off their compliments humbly, and responded by saying, "nooo, no, you're the bodybuilder, look at you. You're like a tiger!"
On the third day it was clear and warm at 12,000 feet, so my buddy and I took our shirts off and did some yoga, for all to see. And by "all," I mean, about 600 young African men. I asked my buddy to snap some pictures of me, and with very little shame, I held some cheesy poses for the camera. While I was doing so, one of our guides yelled out
"DON, YOU LOOK LIKE, SUPASTAH!"
Ego boost.
I responded by pointing at him like a dork and saying "no George, you're the superstar!"
I never had a single doubt about my ability to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro, with ease. After all, I was an IronMan and a Marine Infantryman; a slow hike up a mountain should've been a piece of cake....
Summit day.
The morning of summit day, day 5, we had a short hike from 12,000 feet to the last camp at 15,000 feet. We took our time on the hike, and finished at 2pm. After eating lunch we were expected to sleep in our tents until 1030 PM, when we would be woken up for our summit approach.
I was looking forward to a long nap before the summit hike, but I couldn’t sleep. I tried everything; reading something good, reading something bad, meditative breathing, sleep word, music... nothing. As my mind raced like a child furiously flipping through TV channels; I passed the porn channel, which led to a hard on, which led to a very slow and quiet beat being thrown in my sleeping bag while my tent mate was sound asleep. I was proud of myself; a mouse could not have jerked off more quietly than I did in my tent that evening.
Sure enough, I fell into a deep REM sleep right after busting my nut, and was angrily awoken about 5 minutes later. It was 1030 PM.
I got out of my sleeping bag and went to eat one last meal in the mess tent.
The walk to the summit began at 1130 PM. It started at 15,000 feet, went up to the summit at 20,000 feet, and then all the way back down to 10,000 feet. The summit hike was expected to finish at 4PM the next day.
According to our guides, the summit was going to be the longest day of our lives, and we were constantly warned about it's difficulty. I wasn’t the slightest bit worried, in fact, I was excited to brag about how easy climbing Kilimanjaro was, and how immune I was to the altitude.
As we all waited outside in the dark, in below freezing weather with our headlamps on and our packs at our feet; I was beyond ecstatic. It was just like a night mission in the Marines. I looked up the mountain and saw hundreds of headlamps slowly crawling their way to the top.
We began the hike and trudged along at a snails pace. The path was incredibly steep, and with each step my calf muscles were stretched almost to the point of ripping. My breathing was heavy and labored right off the bat, but it was expected. I felt great given the circumstances. I played "The Lion King" soundtrack on my headphones, and then the "Aladdin" soundtrack right after. I had a huge smile on my face as I trudged along under the moonlight.
By the time the Aladdin soundtrack had finished the temperature with the wind chill was at least 15 below zero. The cold wind made my entire body fluctuate between hot and cold flashes. Although I was wearing 5 layers of warm clothing including a rain jacket up top, and three layers including rain pants on the bottom, I could not escape the wind. The wind found a way to seep into every pore on my body and kill all body heat that was being created by my movement.
My gloves were not nearly warm enough for the night, and the only thing that would keep my hands warm was to put them in my hiking pants pockets and shove them as close to my crotch as possible. There were two problems with this. For one; this required sagging my rain pants low enough to allow my hands to fit into my hiking pants pockets. It make high steps difficult and make me look like a dumbass; sagging my pants like a teenager up a mountain.
Two; we were walking on an icy dirt path, and on icy rocks, with lots of opportunities to fall down large sheets of ice to our deaths. Hands were often needed for balance.
The end result was that my hands were numb for 15 hours.
Still, it was no problem. I felt strong.
Our group kept a good pace, and passed many other groups on the way up. The other groups looked miserable. I felt bad for them. My group was cheerful and full of energy.
2 hours later.
The oldest hiker in our group kept asking to stop and take breaks. She was 50 and had thyroid disease, and had done outstanding the entire week, but at this point her heart rate was not enjoying the elevation nor the pace, and she was getting significantly weaker. One of the assistant guides took her pack and threw it on top of his own to ensure that the groups pace didn’t slow down too much.
I looked down at my watch and realized we had been hiking for 2 hours. The time had flown by, and had not seemed challenging at all.
We continued "pole pole," or "slowly slowly," as the Tanzanian's say.
20 minutes later one of our assistant guides was hit hard with altitude sickness. He started acting drunk, stumbling, slurring, and was unable to make sense. Our head guide told him to go down the mountain. When altitude sickness hits someone there is only one cure; rapid descent.
I'd be lying if I didn’t admit that I got both an ego and confidence boost after seeing an experienced mountain guide fall out. This boost lasted a good 5 minutes, and abruptly ended when I got run over by a truck. Literally.
All of a sudden I felt both drunk and hung over. I felt like I had been up doing coke and drinking for 5 days, got in a bar brawl, got my ass beat, stumbled out in the street, got run over by a big rig, and was walking along a dirt road at 4 am towards a hospital that didn’t exist.
I felt and looked like a Walking Dead character that was too tired to be aggressive.
My balance was gone, and each step felt dangerous, as if I might screw it up and slip down an ice sheet.
I kept thinking, "What the hell is wrong with me? I should be fine. I’m a fucking grunt for God sakes. Ahh fuck it, this will go away, its just temporary."
The pain in my head and the drunkenness got worse with each step. Ten minutes later I could barely keep my eyes open. My brain shut off, and I didn’t have the energy to question what was going on. I didn’t have the energy to talk myself through my symptoms. All I could do was put one foot in front of the other. Each step was about 6 inches ahead of the other and required at least one breath before taking another.
Ten minutes later I desperately needed a break. I thought about taking a seat off the trail on a rock for a quick minute, and then catching up to my group. The only thing that stopped me were the hundreds of other people on the mountain that were behind me.
Finally our head guide said 5 magical words
"We take a break here."
I felt excited, relieved, and thankful. Like a boxer who was getting his ass pummeled by Mike Tyson upon hearing the bell ring.
I spotted a rock with a sheet of ice on it. It looked like the most comfortable chair in the entire world. I let out a loud moan as I sat down and took all the weight off my legs.
I wanted to sleep for a few minutes, but the ice and the 30 mph winds wouldn’t let me.
Since I didn’t want to betray anyone's expectations of me, I put on an award winning act of strength. I faced my group and asked everyone how they were doing.
"Steph, you doin ok? Hang in there sister."
"Anthony, how you feelin brother?"
"Jenny, remember deep breaths. Don't short change yourself with short breaths, make them all deep. You got this."
Once I was convinced that everyone thought I was a badass, I turned back around on my ice rock and whimpered to myself.
I pretended that I was in my sleeping bag. I went into full pathetic mode with my head in my lap, and considered asking the head guide if I could take a quick nap on the ground before continuing.
Soon after I sat down, one of the Brits from our group collapsed onto another ice rock, and then fell off of it. I looked at his face, and he looked more drunk than I felt. I went to help him but he claimed to be fine. He then went to take a piss and almost fell down a rocky slope.
The call "entwende," or "Let's go" was the most miserable thing I had ever heard in my life. I got back up and continued trudging along. Thirty minutes later the oldest member of our group could not maintain the pace, and fell out of the hike. The assistant guide who was carrying her pack stayed with her, and I assumed they were headed back down the mountain.
We began walking again, and I noticed that my eyes were closing mid step. We were told to tell the guides the second we felt the elevation, but my ego wouldn’t let me. I wasn’t as bad as some of the others, so as far as I was concerned I was fine. Besides, there was only one cure; rapid descent. I was not about to descend until I took a picture next to that stupid sign at the top of Kilimanjaro, Uhuru Peak.
My symptoms continued to get worse, and I felt like vomiting up the porridge I ate before we left camp. I was fighting the cold, the wind, a sleeping brain, and a painful stomach.
The longer I walked, the more the trail looked like a good place to take a nap. I considered laying down on it and taking a quick power nap. I was certain that a nap was all I needed to rejuvenate my brain and make me feel better.
I kept trying to tell myself "this is pussy shit. I’ve been to combat, I’ve done worse. I don’t need a fuckin nap" but there was a louder voice in my head saying "Stop debating it and take a quick nap Donny. It’s really not a big deal. Everyone else is thinking about it, just be the first one to do it. Comon, be a leader."
The latter voice was much louder, and much more persuasive.
I looked up at the hills ahead of me, filled with tiny, slow-moving lights that disappeared over a false summit. Every time we got to what we thought was the top we were reminded that were not even close. The entire hike was a 6 hour series of false summits every half hour. It was like being on the ocean and trying to get closer to the horizon. It was a mind fuck unlike any fuck I’ve ever had.
I couldn’t believe I was so miserable. It didn’t make sense, and I needed affirmation that I wasn’t the only one feeling so weak. I tried to get a look at everyone’s faces, but I couldn't see anyone as miserable as me. The three Alaskans were bopping along as if they were on a casual walk to the store. The tiny Malaysian girl was at the head of the group and looked fine.
The Brazilian looked like he was smiling and enjoying himself.
The guides were so unaffected by the altitude that they were bouncing up and down to keep warm. Apparently our pace wasn’t fast enough to keep them warm.
The Brit who looked terrible earlier seemed ok, and I finally just accepted the fact that I was a pathetic little bitch.
I thought about turning my music back on to wake me up, but that required taking a glove off and exposing a bare hand to the elements, so that was out of the question.
I thought about asking the Brit ahead of me if he could pass the word up to the head guide that "we should take a quick break", but I didn’t have the air capacity nor the diaphragm strength to push out the words.
Finally we stopped for a break. This time I didn’t hear anything from our guides, I just followed the Brit ahead of me, and when I took my eyes off the ground I noticed members of the group were sitting down. I dropped onto the ice on my butt, leaned back on my pack and shut my eyes.
I hit REM sleep in less than a second and began a dream in which I was falling backwards. In real life, my head tilted back as far as it could go, my mouth opened up as wide as it could go, my tongue fell out of my mouth, I drooled on myself, choked on myself, and then let out a loud moan that I've only heard come out of children with severe disabilities, Terry Schaivo, and Chewbacca.
The sound of my moan combined with choking on myself woke me up.
A few people from another group heard me and looked in my direction, assuming Hans Solo was near. I gave them a fake smile and a thumbs up so they couldn’t tell what a pussy I was. I don’t think it worked because they still looked at me suspiciously.
I decided not to allow myself to sleep again. I looked around at my group and saw lots of them smiling. Furthering the notion that I was the biggest bitch in my group.
We began walking again and I resumed misery on full throttle.
A few minutes later my vision was blurring, and all the light from peoples headlamps was moving in streams. It was like walking home from a rave at 6 am after coming down from a trip. I kept closing my eyes hoping they would adjust. They didn’t, and instead I fell asleep during one long blink. I began dreaming about an ice cream truck. I saw my head guide handing me an ice cream sandwich. I lost my footing and fell on my face. Several people rushed to my aid.
Ego boost.
I got up quickly and resumed walking because of the group right behind me, but it hurt a lot more than I made it look.
I started to get really worried about my own health. I considered telling the guy ahead of me that something was really wrong with me. The problem was that that required talking, which I couldn’t do. So I just kept moving.
The next three hours were completely blacked out. I have no memory of anything until we were minutes away from what I thought was the peak.
25 minutes below Stella Peak, the last stop before the Uhuru Peak.
I looked up and saw lots of people standing next to a sign and taking pictures. It was the first time that I looked up above me and felt hope that we were close to the summit.
Our head guide said "theeece is where it really stahts to hurt. Don’t queet. We are juhst a few minutes from Stella Peak."
My immediate thought was "oh so I should not have been on the verge of death 3 hours ago? I should only be hurting just now?"
My second thought was "Wait a second, I thought 'Uhuru Peak' was the summit"
I was too tired to think about it anymore so I kept walking.
My memory leaves me from that thought, until the moment I reached Stella Peak and got run over by the bad news truck.
Once I came over the crest of Stella Point I made eye contact with a large sign. I squinted to get a better look at it. The sign looked at me and said,
"Wow, didn’t think you'd make it Don... come a little closer, I've got some good news for you."
The sun had just come over the horizon, so the sign was in clear view, but my vision was blurry. I walked closer to the sign, obeying its command, with a deer in headlights look on my face.
I got close enough to read the sign.
"STELLA PEAK. SECOND HIGHEST PEAK ON MT. KILIMANJARO. CONGRATULATIONS!"
I stood in front of the sign, dumbfounded.
The sign tilted its head back and began laughing hysterically at me, then it said "You really thought you were done you little pussy?"
I felt like a little kid at the mall who realized that he has no idea where mommy is and is seconds away from exploding into tears. I looked around to ask someone what the fuck was going on, and why this stupid sign said "Stella Peak" instead of "Uhuru Peak" (The real summit of Kilimanjaro), but everyone in my group was at least 10 feet away, which was way farther than I had energy for. Instead I walked a few steps to get away from the crowd of happy people taking pictures at the sign, then I dropped onto my ass and took another nap on the ice.
This time I dreamt of a winter wonderland, because that was what the view looked like from Stella peak. We were so high that we couldn't see anything that wasn’t covered in clouds or ice. There were ice mountains all around us that looked like Santa had a second home on. The sky was clear icy blue, and the sun lit up everything perfectly.
In my dream I saw myself slowly sliding down an ice sheet, the ride was bumpy and my left shoulder kept getting jolted. I saw one of our guides talking to me as I slid down to my death. "Don, Don, DON! DONNY!"
Then I woke up, and saw my guide right in front of me. He was shaking my left shoulder. He said very calmly and slowly, in his charming African accent.
"You cannot let yourself go to sleep Donny, or you might never wake up."
His warning didn’t persuade me, because at that moment, not waking up for a long time sounded fantastic. He handed me a cup of tea. All the guides carried tea for us in their backpacks. They were such bad asses....
I fought sleep with the help of the sun, that was completely over the horizon.
My head felt like it was being crushed, and I didn’t have the strength to hold it up, but I needed to know how much further we had till we got to the REAL summit. So as my head hung in front of me, with my chin on my chest, I tilted it to the side and looked in the direction of all the people who were walking towards the summit. As I sat there slumped over, head tilted on my chest, arms limp at my sides, drooling and snotting on myself, there was no longer a question about whether or not I was a special needs child. I was full blown retard.
I thought I saw a group of people far away. Way too far to be possible, so I just brushed it off and assumed it wasn’t the summit.
The call came to move, and again, I whimpered to myself.
As we walked along the ridge from Stella Peak to Uhuru Peak I had Deja Vu. I thought I was back in Breckenridge, Colorado walking along the highest public ski ridge in the USA. The path was narrow, I was worried about slipping, the view all around me was breathtaking, and on either side of me was certain death.
My mind was again fucked by a series of false summits, until we finally arrived an hour later at Uhuru Peak: at the exact spot I assumed could NOT be the peak.
Everyone at the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro was joyful and ecstatic. I could not have looked more bored. I mustered up the courage to take my camera phone out of my pocket and take a video of the view from the top. Pictures required too much work, and I just assumed others would have pictures, so I shot minute of video instead.
Without shaking any hands or giving any hugs and high fives, I got in the line to take a picture at the famous sign that says,
"Mount Kilimanjaro, Congratulations, you are now at Uhuru Peak, 5859 M ASL. Africa's Highest Point."
Tradition and common sense dictated that the next group waiting in line would take pictures of the group ahead of them.
Naturally, the group ahead of me asked me if I could take a picture for them. This was a very difficult moment for me, because I had already exposed a bare hand to the elements to take my short video. As much as I wanted to help these people capture their special moment, I was simply not willing to take my hands out of my pockets.
In a proud moment, exhibiting everything the Marine Corps expects of its front line Infantry Officers; I pretended like I didn’t speak English and did not understand the International hand signal for "Can you please take a picture of me?"
I shook my head like a child, shrugged, mumbled the word "No" and then turned around so I didn’t have to make any more eye contact with them.
Fortunately for them, my group was right behind me, so one of our girls ripped her own gloves off without hesitation and snapped a few pictures for the nice strangers.
Ego boost.
I walked to one of our guides and handed him my camera to let him take as many pictures as he wanted of our group.
The pain I was feeling is very evident in all my pictures at the summit.
As I've mentioned, the only cure for altitude sickness is rapid descent, so as soon as I got my picture next to that stupid sign I started walking back down to Stella Peak. The pressure in my head was getting worse so I walked as fast as I could, which likely equated to about 12 steps per minute. The walk back to Stella Peak was like the scene in Walking Dead when Rick and Shane walked through a crowd of zombies undetected.
Everyone I saw looked AS bad, if not worse than me. Guides were holding people up, holding peoples hands, and in some cases literally pushing or dragging them up the mountain. Every person had a 50 yard stare that could only be imitated by a zombie.
This made me feel better about myself.
Ego boost.
The walk down the mountain was painful, but my head pain slowly decreased every 30 minutes.
By the time I got back to camp at 15,000 feet I only had a pounding headache and swollen knees. I crawled into my tent next to my tent mate and saw a huge confident smile on his face as he stared at the ceiling of the tent.
"What the fuck are you smiling about?" I said.
"I’m just really happy man. I don’t think I’ve ever felt stronger in my whole life."
"I want to punch you in your stupid fucking face right now."
"Haha, why?"
"Because I’ve never felt like a weaker pussy, bitch, retard, zombie in my entire life."
He laughed hysterically as I told him the story of my patheticness on the mountain.
"I really didnt think you were that bad man."
"I know bro. That's because I’m a phenomenal actor. I should get an award for that shit."
"Wait a second, I think I heard your Chewbacca noise. Ha. I thought it was one of the guides fucking around."
"Nope, that was me bro. Just hoppin off the Millennium Falcon and making my presence known."
"Jeez, your ridiculous Donny."
"I know. I know."
I drifted off to sleep. This time I dreamt of Chewbacca and Hans Solo fighting off walkers that were trying to get on the Falcon. One of the walkers came really close, and Chewbacca got so scared he shat himself.
Correction, I shat myself, in my sleep.
Ego b…..