Success Is Not The Summit

Eight minutes.

Seven days of climbing, camping, rain, hail, headaches, sore muscles, SO MUCH PEEING. Seven days of hard work for eight whole minutes at the summit.

Climbing Kilimanjaro was a dream of mine for many years. But last year the longing turned into a nagging feeling that it was time, so I booked it before stopping to consider what I was getting into. My friends would remind me: “It’s about the journey, not the destination.” Yeah, yeah. But I need to make it to the summit.

When we set off, I asked my guide, “How the heck do you do this day in and day out?”

“It’s simple,” he said. I waited for him to finish. He clarified, “This job. It’s simple. You go up. You go down.”

“Seems a bit more complicated than that…” I mumbled, as I thought about how much my head had been swirling for months with packing lists and gear purchases and weight calculations and prescription management.

Each day we'd hike 5-7 miles, 2000-3000 feet of elevation gain. There were days I felt like a mountain goat, born to climb, and days I didn’t think I’d make it to the next camp. But before we knew it, it was summit night. The moment we’d all been waiting for.

My mom had to turn back 2 hours in due to altitude sickness. I pressed on. I almost quit four times. I cried a few times, too. When my guide said, “Just one more hill and you’re there,” I thought he was lying and almost refused to keep going. But sure enough, we came over that ridge and the summit sign was there in all its glory.

The views were remarkable. The sunrise, the volcanic crater, the glaciers, the snow. But all the big ideas I had about what I would do at the summit were gone. I felt like crap. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think straight. I’ve never felt an exhaustion like that. I missed my mom. I just wanted to get my picture and get down as fast as I could. Eight minutes.

Now that I’m home, it’s been a bit hard to adjust back to normal life. The only thing I can compare it to is grief—I’m forever changed, yet everyone else is going on as if nothing happened and that, somehow, hurts.

Mostly, I’ve been realizing my guide was right all along. It was simple. We had one goal every day, and that was just to put one foot in front of the other and support each other. I miss that.

And as it turns out, finding joy in the journey and all the clichés they say about travel…are actually true.

It’s easy to get caught up in the hustle and bustle, but I hope you can remember to pause sometimes. Don’t get so focused on the eight minutes that you forget what happens along the way.

“Pole, pole." Slowly, slowly. On the mountain, and in life. Asante sana, Kili.