On hitting The Wall.

It's a long-distance runner's worst enemy: The Wall. The point where you are mentally and physically spent, where you cannot possibly continue, where you feel like you might puke and all you want is a warm bath and a soft bed.

And maybe a pizza.

And a kitty. Definitely a kitty.

During my marathon training eight years ago, I hit The Wall at 16 miles. I think that was the week our training run was 24 miles; somehow I pushed on for 8 more miles and finished the run. I had no issues while training after that training run, but interestingly (perhaps only to me), when I was actually running the marathon I hit The Wall at 24 miles. I never ran a full marathon again.

The Wall isn't specific to running. It rears its ugly head in any endurance activity.

Like, for example, editing 700 vacation photos. Or attending a five-day work conference. Or my most recent encounter with The Wall: hiking the Annapurna Circuit.

We had been trekking every day, at least 4 hours a day (and usually more like 6-7), for 10 days straight. We started at 840m/2756f*; each day we gained hundreds of meters in altitude. The air got thinner, the trees became sparse, our packs seemed to get heavier with each step. It was beautiful and exhilarating and exhausting. We were working toward a culminating ascent of 5416m/17,769f (also known as 3.4 miles above sea level) on Day 11.

Somewhere around Day 8 (4076m/13,372f/2.5mi**) as we got closer to Thorong La High Camp, I started to freak out.

Just mildly at first, so I kept it to myself - but really, 3.4 miles above sea level? Was that safe? Was it sane? Were we prepared - physically and mentally - for this? Were human beings really supposed to climb that high?

On Day 9 we skipped a side trek to Tilicho Lake because my old leg injury (from aforementioned marathon) had kicked in and I didn't want to risk the rest of the trek or WWOOFing through the last six months of our adventure. Was my *leg* prepared for an ascent of 5416m/17,769f/3.4mi?

The last hiking hour of Day 9 was the hardest hour we'd seen yet. It wasn't even hard hiking. It just sucked. We moved at a turtle's pace and stopped every few minutes to rest. At the frontier-like guesthouse (4200m/13,780f/2.6mi) we skipped cold bucket showers and laid around all afternoon in prep for Day 10 - a 725m/2379f climb - and the inevitable Day 11 pass crossing.

Day 10's ascent went surprisingly well but for whatever reason, at High Camp (4925m/16,158f/3.1mi) above sea level, all my emotions culminated into a gigantic wig out. I was terribly agitated all afternoon; I couldn't concentrate on conversations or crosswords or my book; I wasn't hungry.

I started to wonder if I had altitude sickness.

(I SO did not have altitude sickness.)

I actually sat under the blankets in the cold, damp guesthouse room for an hour, "what-iffing" and trying not to cry, while Patrick went around camp exploring. He was loving the physical and mental challenge of this trek... I usually love a challenge but I most certainly did not love this challenge. That didn't help my mood.

That night we attempted an early sleep for our 5am wake up but all I could do was freak out whenever his breathing was slightly irregular. "If either of us has a heart attack, how will they get us off this mountain?!" He barely slept; I barely slept. "What if our lack of sleep causes us to fall off a mile high cliff?" We didn't have down jackets. "What if we are hit with hypothermia or frostbite?"

We didn't have heart attacks. We didn't fall off cliffs. We were plenty warm the whole climb.

We climbed to the pass without issue and took celebratory photos. It was awesome.

I wrote most of this post two days after we summited Thorung La Pass but never finished it - I couldn't get past the whiny tone and I kind of wanted to forget that I had been so silly about the whole thing.

Today we learned of the lives that were just claimed on that same pass during freak blizzards. Those people didn't get their celebratory photos. Five weeks ago that could've been us.

So even though I still can't get past the whiny tone and I really want to forget that I was so silly about the whole thing, I am posting this to remind myself to be grateful.

Even when the moment sucks - even when the whole damn day or the entire week sucks - I am here. I am taking the sucky celebratory photo. And I am grateful for that.

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* Isn't the metric system fun?
** Isn't this obnoxious? Just giving you a small taste of my world over the last 18 months.