"I Nearly Quit"
- The Wannabe Adventurer
- 2 days ago
- 2 min read
I wasn't going to write this one. I sat with it for a day before deciding that if the whole point of this is honesty, then this is the blog that matters most.
Day six. The climb to Barafu Camp. The final camp before summit night. The point at which the mountain stops being beautiful and starts being serious.
I hit a wall. Not a metaphorical wall, a genuine, physical, total wall. My legs stopped cooperating in the way that legs are supposed to cooperate. My breathing felt suddenly inadequate. The camp felt impossibly far away. Each step required a negotiation I wasn't sure I was winning.
And for a period of time that I cannot accurately measure but felt like a very long time, I genuinely considered stopping. Not resting. Stopping. Going down. The whole elaborate story I had been telling myself about who I was and what I was capable of felt suddenly very fragile on that rocky path at 4,600 metres.
Zidane appeared beside me. I don't know how long he had been watching. He didn't say anything immediately. He just walked with me for a while, at my pace, without comment. And then, quietly, he said: 'Tell me something about home.'
It was such an unexpected thing to say that I actually laughed. And then I talked. About home, about why I had booked this, about what I was hoping to feel at the top. And while I talked, I walked. And while I walked, the camp got closer. And by the time we arrived I was exhausted and emotional and grateful in a way I find difficult to put into words.
He had known exactly what I needed. Not encouragement. Not a pep talk. Just distraction, and company, and someone walking beside me who was completely certain I was going to make it even when I wasn't.
Summit night in a few hours. Sleep first. Whatever happens next, I am here.





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