After months of lead up, and hour upon arduous, strenuous and mostly boring hour of training, I’m actually skipping the light fandango today. At 10pm, I’ll be heading off to finally conquer this mountain-arse mountain that has inhabited my dreams for the last almost-year.
For months I’ve woken in the middle of the night to have a jolly good dark-time stress about ALL OF THE THINGS to do with this adventure and now the day is actually here. No more time for stressing about adequately warm sleeping bags, socks with seams that don’t rub, and whether I should change undies daily in the sub-zero temps or just take a load of panty liners?
It’s a relief on one hand… and a great big nervous poo on the other. Which is an unpleasant thought because no-one wants a poo in their hand as nervous poos often have an especially dubious consistency.
My bag is packed to the gills. The smallish-sized backpack I wanted only came in a puce, kinda purpley colour, so I’m looking forward to finally hoisting it on my back and making my way up all 6000m of Mount Kilimanjaro looking like a human hemorrhoid. I have a porter, so we’ll be a pair of matching hemerrhoids at least, me with my bum-grape purple day pack and he with the mother load.
My gofundme page is not officially closed, in fact, you can donate during the climb I’ve just learned. Not sure how up-to-date I’ll be keeping y’all on social media but I’ll still be taking million selfies even if I can’t share them. Makes me think of the tree falling in the woods…
I want to say thanks to each and every single person who donated to Rafiki Mwema, the cause that I’m so passionate about… if I wasn’t, I sure as shit wouldn’t be farewelling my own children for two weeks after being given stern chats about ‘what if something happens to me?’
“Life is for living and adventures and embracing the world. You’re showing your kids how to do that. What a beautiful gift. You’d be boring as fuck if you stayed at home crocheting rugs.”
No offence to crocheters. I’d actually like to learn that skill too.
I’m so sick of training that I’m completely ready for ‘go’ time but everytime I picture myself saying goodbye to my little stinkers my heart hurts. Obviously, I have no shortage of inspirational words to spur me on, and you cannot live in fear of something going awry – I mean, hell, you can have accidents in your own home or on the school run, but it does seem a little bit scarier out there in the wild yonder so my midnight wakings have been fraught with some spectacularly mess-up scenarios. A good imagination is a traitorous fucker at times.
Anyway, tonight I get on a jet plane and have a leisurely 36 hours flight, with 10 of those hours being spent in airports waiting for more jet planes to whisk me away to the opposite side of the planet. I hit the mountain on the 2nd January, and seven days later I’ll be done, then I’ll go to Rafiki and then I’ll come straight on home.
To everyone who has called, texted, emailed or messaged me to wish me luck, I thank you.
To everyone who has said that they are proud of me, know that I didn’t do this with thoughts of pride. I signed up without thinking it through completely and now I’m stressing about peeing in a ziplock during a snowstorm in the middle of the night at altitude. This trip is actually bigger than God’s undies and my lack of knowledge beforehand was profoundly instrumental in my signing up.
I’m presently feeling a great fear of the unknown, and Carrie Fisher gave me words of strength this week as she had her final curtain call.
So, anyway, after going to bed early for a cracking night’s sleep, I got up to the children no less than eight times. I’m completely shagged so getting on the plane seems like the only way I’ll get some rest before this climb.
I’ll update when I can….catch you on the flip.
Can still sponsor here – https://www.gofundme.com/vyjkgd9g?ssid=855721038&pos=1