Day 8: Summit night

Start: Barafu Camp

Finish: Summit (Uhuru peak)

Distance: 10 miles

Elevation gain: 4673m to 5895m (summit)

Climatic zone: Alpine Desert to Arctic to Rainforest

Ramaa tapped my tent gently, "Morning Amy, your tea is ready - it's time to go to the roof of Africa!" I emerged from a few hours of of anxious rest, bundled up in all my layers and using the light of my head torch to guide me to the mess tent. I forced down a ginger tea and some biscuits as Saidi recorded my heart rate and oxygen levels to ensure it was safe for me to attempt the summit. Satisfied with all our conditions he announced "It's time to go!" The team were quiet, sleepy and apprehensive - all almost unrecognisable with the quantity of layers. Saidi got us to place our hands on top of each other, a pile of thick ski gloves formed as he and his fellow guides shouted "ONE TEAM, ONE DREAM, NON-STOP TO THE TOP" He enthusiastically slapped our backs, smiled infectiously and danced around. Then we began.

I cautiously and apprehensively began edging up the mountain under the cover of darkness. We'd been placed in an order that we were to ascend in based on our symptoms throughout, oxygen levels and performance across the climb so far. I was at the back, in the position of least concern, as my oxygen levels had remained high and I'd been lucky enough to not have experienced any symptoms so far. George and Will were next who'd had some mild symptoms and then Gerry was at the front with Saidi so his breathing could be closely monitored. Both Will and Gerry had their packs carried by the guides from the start of the night, but Saidi thought myself and George were strong enough to carry our own. The initial route was steep and rocky and my breathing and heart rate were instantly elevated as we clambered over the obstacle lined route. The base camp was alive as other teams began to prepare for their summit push, but luckily thanks to our guide's smart planning - we had beaten the crowds. I focused on my breathing and concentrated on each step, ensuring to maintain control. Will joked to Saidi "Are we there yet?", he laughed and broke into song in response. Anton, Joey and Husain joined in with the song - the guides sing in an attempt to keep you alert and awake, as it is easy to drift off as your body is deprived of both oxygen and sleep. Saidi chanted "DON'T SLEEP, DON'T SLEEP, DON'T SLEEP!" Anton shouted, "NO PAIN, NO GAIN" and Husain put his arm around me exclaiming "We don't stop when we are tired, we stop when we are done!" I was trying to maintain my breathing whilst laughing at this surreal situation and their unbelievable energy.

After a few hours of persistent climbing with only very brief breaks to force down water and glucose, the darkness became depleting. Although we often travel to mountains in seek of the challenge they deliver, the other predominant reason is the rewarding scenery that can only be witnessed in this aerial world. When you are tired and motivation is wavering, you can draw energy from even the briefest of glances at the views. But the darkness didn’t allow for this, so all that remained was my thoughts. The positive, hopeful thoughts swirled with the negative, doubtful ones creating a murky, irrational mess that was impossible to navigate in a sleep and oxygen deprived state. I searched for the capacity to quieten my thoughts and detach from my instinctual emotions, the ones that tell me I’m tired and that my legs ache and instead acted in accordance with the goal of getting to the summit. A process that in words sounds ridiculously simplistic; step, breathe, repeat. To settle into a strength sapping routine of placing one foot in front of the other with 50% oxygen availability. To become comfortable with the uncomfortable and keep going. To ignore the cold, the shortness of breath, the tired legs. To silence the niggling doubts, the fear of altitude sickness, those internal perceived limitations that bubble to the surface as exhaustion hits. To trample all of this beneath my feet, squash it into the icy slopes and release myself from its grasp.

I didn't check the time, I didn't want to know. We could have been going for 2 hours or 8 hours - I had lost all concept of time. We were getting higher and the air was getting thinner and colder, this is all I knew. I was sleep deprived and my energy reserves were rapidly depleting but despite this I wasn’t going to give up. This was not an option I allowed myself to explore, unless I became debilitated with altitude sickness. I am irritatingly stubborn, a quality that has always managed to pull me through my challenges. I continued to move forwards and upwards with quiet perseverance. For a while I managed to silence my mind or rather it was forced into silence by my lack of energy. My thoughts became blurry, dull, irrelevant – as if my brain had pushed my body into battery conservation mode and every ounce of energy was used to place one foot in front of the other, making clarity of thought impossible. Occasionally a brief, erratic string of thoughts would surface which alternated tones from negative to motivational to frankly unhelpful. “How much longer could it possibly be?”, “It’s just a big hill and you are good at climbing big hills!”, “What's the harm in closing my eyes briefly?" This string of thoughts would only exhaust me and I’d very quickly return to a quietened indifferent state, staring blankly at each foot placement, with my brain merely recognising the rhythmic persistent crunch of ice beneath my feet as a sign of progress. There are usually so many ways to measure progress on a route from distance covered on a map to simply a glance back down the mountain to your starting point. But I had no map and the dark didn’t allow any visual measure of progress so I relied on purely the fact that I was still moving and hearing my footsteps to deliver reassurance of progression. I was getting higher. I was doing this.

Our guides only allowed a couple of minutes break every 30 minutes to an hour, where they would encourage us to drink and eat if possible. My legs felt shaky. A combination of the cold, the persistent incline and my fuel tank running low. I struggled to eat as with each metre I gained in height, my nausea would heighten. Saidi had perfected the art of knowing when someone in his team was not doing well, he crouched next to me as I rested and said "Amy what do you feel?" I told him I was nauseous and had a headache. He assured me, telling me these symptoms were perfectly normal and I was still walking well and breathing normally. We began slowly walking again, Saidi moved me to the front so he could monitor my breathing and keep me safe. The nausea grew until I had to move to the side of the path to vomit. As soon as this happened all three guides appeared around me, Saidi gently tapped my back, Anton tried to find my hair to hold back even though it was all contained in my hat and Joey looked as if he desperately wanted to help, but was unsure of what jobs remained. A couple of minutes later George was also sick on the path and I sat on a rock with him - huddled for warmth as he tapped my leg saying "Solidarity!" Saidi wanted to administer us both anti-sickness tablets and paracetamol for our headaches but didn't want us to remove our gloves in the ever depleting temperatures, so instructed us to both open our mouths - where he fed us the medication and water. Even though we both felt awful, both George and I, broke into hypoxia induced giggles at how surreal the situation was. Then Saidi encouraged us to keep moving slowly. The sickness didn't relent and the headache grew in intensity, Saidi asked me questions, "Where are you?" "What colour is my coat?" "What's my name?" and nodded confidently as I was able to answer them correctly. He continued his questions; "Can you count backwards from 100 in Swahili Amy?" and when I laughed and shook my head, he replied "I better carry you down then!" The guides continued to sing and entertain and despite how I was feeling, I continued to smile. Saidi told me "Amy not long til the summit, there's everything you want up there - restaurants, hotels, swimming pools" and I laughed as he continued, "Imagine London but mix it with Chicago and also parts of San Francisco and also New York!"

The climb continued and my body grew tired as I unable to keep any fuel in my body. I stopped for a big breath, hoping a fresh supply of oxygen to my leg muscles would give me a new lease of life. The next step I took almost felt easier, it certainly took less effort and so did the next step and the next after that. I looked up to gain a perspective on my surroundings. Had the incline stopped? Was I no longer going uphill? Up ahead a sign read “Stella Point” and a glow of content and relief washed over me. Anyone who has researched or completed Kilimanjaro will appreciate the significance of this sign. Although this is not the summit, it marks the end of the challenging incline and from here it was a gentle gradient around the crater to the true summit. I knew I could make it from here and this thought alone was enough to release a wave of emotion that I’d been suppressing for the duration of the climb. "Not long til London!" Saidi cheered. We rested briefly and Saidi explained that he wanted me to go ahead with him to the summit so I was not exposed to the high altitude for any longer than I needed to be. He knew I still had the strength and energy in my legs to do this, so he pulled me up from the rock and we began the final push.

We'd arrived to the crater rim prior to sunrise so it was still dark but I could see the iconic glacier in the distance and the snow either side of the path. Saidi talked at me as I focused merely on walking, "You're doing great boss, not long until the restaurant - you'll want beer or wine?"After around 30 minutes, I saw the iconic summit post. I thought I was hallucinating and pointed ahead asking "Is that it?" Saidi smiled and said "Yes that's it, welcome to the roof of Africa Amy!" embracing me in a big hug and placing me carefully onto a rock. "So then boss, how many press ups do you want?" Saidi asked. "10 please" I replied and he dropped and did 10 press ups on the summit of Kilimanjaro! The night had been long, cold and gruelling but I’d persisted through the monotonous task, the repetitive motion of placing one foot in front of the other. I would like to say I felt an intoxicating high surge through my body and although I felt an overwhelming sense of achievement, the main feeling was relief combined with physical exhaustion and sleep deprivation. Saidi searched through my pockets to find my phone and took a picture for me as we waited for the others. George and Will teared up as they saw the sign and pulled me in for a group hug, it was an indescribable feeling standing on the roof of Africa!

Sunrise was beginning and I couldn't have welcomed it more. The horizon was lined with a burnt orange colour and a golden light caressed the land bringing glimmers of warmth. The light felt symbolic of hope, igniting something within me that renewed my energy. The comforting glow illuminated my surroundings and the hostility of the environment became apparent. No animals or plants can survive at this height but the absence of nature seemed to intensify my own strength and I drew exhilaration from the barrenness. We retraced our steps to Stella point, here we saw the next teams on the final stage of their summit push. People looked exhausted and one woman was being piggybacked by her guide as she slept on his shoulder, I nudged Saidi saying, "You didn't tell me that was an option" and he laughed. At Stella point the route down becomes different to the way we ascended, a more direct steep sandy slope that returns you to camp quicker and avoids the crowds of the ascending teams. Saidi suggested that I descend quickly with Husain the porter, as he knew I had the energy and ability to run down sand slopes and was longing for the taste of oxygen, whereas the rest of the team would follow a more leisurely pace. My guides and team congratulated me and tapped me roughly on the back as I began my rapid descent. I disappeared into the distance, running after Husain down the slope, churning up clouds of dust and sand as I chased the oxygen. I made it to the roof of Africa. But the ascent is only half the story of climbing a mountain.