Through the years I became friends with a group of women who loved to run. Every year we’d meet up somewhere in the world to run a marathon. In 2001, one friend said, “Rather than do a marathon, why not climb Mount Everest?” I’d never climbed a mountain. Risky?
Every one arranged a way to get to Kathmandu. The first day on the trail I got so sick, and nobody could diagnose it. Nobody had ever gotten sick at such a low altitude, so altitude sickness never came to mind. But I’d lived at sea level my whole life. I was stumbling, vomiting, had double vision, my speech was slurred — yet nobody had a clue.
As the climb continued I remained at the back of the pack, bumping into things, tripping on my own feet. The people in my group were getting irritated. A Sherpa suggested that I stay behind and rest. But I refused. ”I didn’t come all this way to turn around.” My girlfriends agreed that I was holding them back. I was horrified. “Don’t leave me behind!”
They left me. And it was the best thing that could have happened.
A Sherpa took me to a cousin’s house, where three young boys lived with their parents. The family was so nice to take me in. I ended up tutoring the boys in English and filling their heads with stories about going to school. I found out years later through a Facebook message that all three boys eventually enrolled in a college at Colorado.
This loving family fed me and I got strong. The mother taught me how to cook their potato mush and prepare yak milk tea. We created a little make shift restaurant for other hikers who passed the house. One group sat at our table, ordered potato mush and yak milk tea (the only two items on our simple menu) and said, “You speak very good English for a Nepalese woman.” I said, “Thank you!”
One day the Sherpa returned to take me up the mountain. I didn’t want to go. I was enjoying my new family. He said, “You’re ready, let’s go.” We started walking, took a short cut, and did not stop until we came to a rest house. To my shock and surprise, my original group of friends trudged into the same rest house. They were tired, but I had rested. For the remainder of the trek, I was at the front of the group, the strongest, chatting with the Sherpas, learning a lot of Nepali.
What have I risked? Not much. And everything. I gained the confidence to trust my own way of exploring the world, even if it seemed risky!
