Derailed Training in Perspective

I was going to post today about how after all these years of training - I still recently bonked in a swim workout and how I overtrained myself to exhaustion a couple of weeks ago. But in light of recent happenings it all just seemed so trivial.

Yesterday my brother in law survived 9 hours of heart surgery and I noted that 2 of my dear friends both have parents who are dying of cancer and another athlete/friend recently had a stroke.

So instead of belaboring my training mishaps I want to focus these words on a dedication of my race to these folks who aren't as fortunate as I to go out and push my body this weekend. I hope your thoughts will go out to them too - while I'm racing. I'll let you know how it goes...

Terri

Tri-ing Again – After All these Years

My last blog post was almost a year ago after my climb on Denali. I won’t tire you with irrelevant excuses as to why I took such a long hiatus from blogging, but I will say that I’m back – in more ways than one.

After 13 years of adventure racing/running/climbing around the world I’ve decided to do a triathlon again! If you asked me even 6 months ago if I were going to do another triathlon in this lifetime I would have dispassionately brushed off the question. I raced triathlon hard core for 15 years and felt as though I had wrung the sport out. I tend to continually seek new physical experiences and my life post triathlon has been an exercise in that trend. Now here I sit, 6 days before my next triathlon as giddy as a veteran soldier going into a firefight (what?). A few things fell into place to bring me to be sharing this info with you today.

(me, many years and lots of Ironmans ago...)

Today I FedEx’ed to The Mountaineers Books (publisher) the final edit on my next book that will be coming out in November – Triathlon Revolution: Training, Technique and Inspiration. I’ve been working on this project for the past eight months or so, inclusive of a gut wrenching writing ultra-marathon of approximately 3 months leading into my initial manuscript deadline (I think I’d rather crawl through the jungles of Borneo again than repeat the effort of the last aforementioned time period – ouch).

By dissecting in detail the sport of triathlon, I reconnected with a remarkably rich time in my life—10 years of traveling and racing as a professional triathlete. Since I have been privileged to engage in so many rewarding adventures since that time, my life as a triathlete was inadvertently sent to the archives of my conscious. In many ways I grew up as an adult doing triathlon. I revisited this time of youth and world-class endurance through my book and in doing so it ignited a small spark in my gut. One might call this feeling situational-happiness.

I also decided a few months ago it was time to dust off the road bike and overhaul its frozen drive train. After a couple times out on my “new” ride in the pristine mountains of Santa Cruz—my old Ironman training battle grounds—I was reminded of how much I love the zen of road riding. Each Saturday I found myself reaching for the road bike instead of mtnbike. After some hours climbing in the consummate beauty of our ‘country roads’ I noticed a bit of resiliency arriving back in my quads and that happiness-thing taking front stage.

At this same time I had made the decision to start swimming masters workouts again to offer my beat up running legs a reprieve and to mix things up a bit with some speed. This immediately stitched that competitive toggle in my brain and after a few weeks I was sort-of-kind-of close to reasonable swimming speed again (I have never and doubt I will ever equate pool swimming to ‘happiness’).

The deal clincher was a Sunday morning run and drive through Auburn, CA on my way back from a speaking engagement in Lake Tahoe. After a lovely run inclusive of a bear sighting on some trails close to my heart— the Western States 100—I drove around for a bit checking out sections of the bike course for the “World’s Toughest Half Ironman”. This race has always intrigued me since I tend to look for events that lie on the fringe in a sport and I had to see first hand if the “World’s Toughest” moniker held water. A half hour of roaming and I declared with a smile, “Damn this is a tough course!” With race seed planted and a belly full of a central-California-cult-status-In-and-Out-Burger, I wandered home and got on the race website.

Set in one of the most picturesque areas in California the self-professed ‘Endurance Capital of the World’ and put on by ex-pro triathlete Brad Kearns, this still relatively grass roots triathlon caught my eye. Since I tend to seek out challenging events The World’s Toughest signature drew me in to what has potential to be a truly exquisite ass kicking. As I read more I noticed that giddy/happiness-thing in my gut again.

I wondered if, like the veteran soldier, hard core endurance athletes are just plain compelled to engage again in memorable battles, especially if the fight is proven to be a mega-challenge. Or, perhaps too much time without an adventure caused me to grab at the nearest body-flogging fix that presented itself. In any case, I’m back (for at least this one tri anyway).

I’ll be on my blog later this week with some interesting info on the ups and downs of revisiting my tri training process for this race. Whew!
Terri

The Big Gift: Post Denali Ponderings

(for the initial story of the climb and more pictures scroll down to the next post…)

Above the clouds: Calm before the storm at High Camp

I have spent a good portion of my life, moving through, learning to cope with, thriving on, and feeling pretty “comfortable”, under physical duress. I’ve trained my mind to work with and through times when I struggle under bodily discomfort and still mentally manage to peel those layers away and continue movement forward.

I’ve also learned over the years to allow myself a bit of soft emotion in times when the pressure cooker of physical stress is busting at the seams and needs some codling to ease the tension. And if I were even remotely paying attention through these countless hours of movement, I couldn’t help but gain a very intimate relationship with my body on and off any training or race course.

Climbers on the ridgeline leading up to high camp

Getting up there in years as a pretty intense athlete I thought I’d emotionally experienced it all, but then I travel to this immense mountain range in a very unique part of the world and its highest peak hands me a gift I didn’t know existed. A gift that pushed my knowledge of self up a few notches. A gift that I despise and wanted badly to reject.

My mom would say I came out of the womb a competitive, intense, person, and others have reflected that perception as well over the years. From my view, my persona is gravely embedded so I do not feel these traits perse as much as I notice the actions derived when my brain gets its mind set on something it wants. It sometimes looks like this: “…searching for objective…object found…aspiration targeted… ambition hit… ahhhhh”. Perhaps in another life I was a metaphorically, aimless, non-violent missile of sorts.

As a highly competitive being you either learn some big lessons, or, you continually implode in a long (or short) life of frustration. I learned very early on that highly driven people need to discover how to manage their competitive drives. For me this came in my realization that I am always a student of life and sport. I don’t rule my drives, I learn from them. In that, I am constantly growing from my experiences and that growth refines my ability to hone my competitive desires and more importantly study, and enjoy learning from - my screw ups.
Looking down the Kahiltna Glacier

Denali, in all its bad weather, thin air ways drove this home to me in a way I had never conceived. Nature has a way of doing that - of handing us the really obvious lessons on a profound yet indifferent, silver platter.

The Autobahn above High Camp

In addition to figuring out that optimally competitive people battle only with themselves to gain evolved results, I have realized over time that we never, ever, can compete with nature. Just as we can’t control other human competitors in a race, we can’t control nature, so we’re better off leaning toward optimizing the actions and mindset of something we can guide – ourselves.

After almost 46 years as an athlete honing the mental and physical skills that have helped me define forward movement, this place, this mountain, was coaxing me to STOP movement upward when my lungs started acting up. What??! This word, “stop” was like Latin to my trained mind.

I tried at the time to pretend that I didn’t understand its meaning. I tried to use my skill and experience to mute its implication so that I could obtain my targeted objective – the summit. This effort created an internal storm of dispute like wind chop on the sea on a sunny summer morning. Odd.

Even with my refined ability to always visualize my objective in all challenges, I could not “see” myself standing on the top of this mountain. The positive internal dialog needed to ready myself for the assault was silent. I was ready for the task at hand with the tools I had honed over the years but my mind and body said, “do not go up.” Damn.

I was angry, I was confused….. I was fascinated. And today as I write this, I am fascinated still.

But the moment I made that that final, gut decision not to go, the internal seas calmed. All was still and there was a sense of transcendence. Sounds hoaky, I know, but that’s the best word I can come up with. At that moment I had surpassed logic and reason and moved to deep intuition like some outside force that was nudging my well-established world. It was comforting. I was bummed.
View from ABC
I DO realize how fortunate I have been to be able to run the gauntlet of sports and come out the other end, intact with this odd, tough, body. But my body has never indefinitely said, “No, you can’t do that” – it’s hedged in that direction at times but I’ve always strategized ways to move through the obstacles and forge on. I don’t sit well with being told what to do yet the voice from within was so strong it was impossible not to give it the stage.

There’s a great climber, Gary Ball, from New Zealand who had a predisposition, like me, to High Altitude Pulmonary Edema (HAPE). He made a career of climbing the big, wonderful mountains of the Himalayas, and he died high on their slopes, drowning in his own lung fluid.

I’ve often wondered if he heard his intuition during times of lung distress, or if his drive to climb surpassed any inner voices. If the latter, I’ve wondered if I should admire him for disregarding any weakness inhibiting his ability to go after his dreams, or, if I should have sympathy for him for ignoring the issues with his lungs and instead let his driving nature press on.

For a passionate athlete this differentiation rides a fine edge, as both hard drive and survival are coveted acts in extreme sport success. A honed risk taker knows that the instant of death does not define the quality of how we lived if we lived doing what we love, its just simply a moment in time when either mother earth dealt us a subpar hand, or perhaps, when she offered us a lesson for which we didn’t stop to listen.

Denali is like a Bermuda Triangle of mountains with its crazy weather, thinner air, and hungry glaciers. Yet in all its peculiarity it offered me a peek into a depth of self I hadn’t yet encountered. This gift I heeded reluctantly, anchored my belief in my intuition, in gut instinct. Some believe that the command and beauty of a mountain and our quest for its summit can lead us astray. But perhaps its not the mountain we fear. Perhaps what we truly fear are the human decisions we may choose when faced with the allure of those pristine slopes.

climbers on the glacier

Denali - The "Gift" that Keeps on Giving

Note: Thanks for all your support and emails upon my return from Denali. I was counting on having cell coverage in order to post daily from the mountain but that didn’t work out. So I’ve compiled my notes from my journal to share below.

This one was quite epic - enjoy the journey. I’ll be back on next week with pictures and closing thoughts. - Terri
T carrying up...

Day 1 – to Base Camp

Busy day today plus a lot of “hurry up and wait” (HUAW will become a big part of our life on the mountain). After a yummy breakfast at the Fireweed Station Inn in Talkeetna, Alaska our whole crew gathered at the Alpine Ascents warehouse for a general gear check and to rig our harnesses and crevasse rescue equipment.

Into the bowels of the Alaska Range

Our objective was to properly prepare for some serious weather and glacier conditions while going as light as possible – not an oxymoron – just a bit of a challenge. Since we will have to haul all of our gear and group food and gear up the mountain in packs and sleds its not too difficult to decide to leave behind any luxury items.

After some more good food we headed off to the Talkeetna Ranger Station for a briefing with the Denali Park Rangers. They discussed current conditions on the mountain, showed slides of correct human waste disposal and scared the crap out of me (pun intended) with more slides of the dangers on the mountain and frostbite issues. After getting sufficiently terrified we were off to catch our flight from Talkeetna to base camp on the Kahiltna Glacier.

The ability of these planes and their highly skilled pilots to fly into the bowels of the Alaska Range and land on the glacier is highly weather dependant (as is any movement on the mtn). We packed up our 4 person plane, took off and after 20 minutes were turned around due to low visibility on the glacier. It was back to the airstrip to wait for our weather window.
No, not a frozen freeway - the Kahiltna glacier from the air

Our ultimate flight in several hours later was spectacular. The tundra unfolded before us in vibrant blues, browns and yellows. The Alaska Range ascends abruptly from flat land and our entrance was both foreboding and gorgeous. As we lightly touched down at base camp on the West Butress route we were instantly transformed into a world of rock, ice and snow. In all our flight in was memorable. If the trip ended now it would have been worthwhile.

We set up camp, ate dinner and are now settling in for the night. Though the sun never goes down in the summer here – it has gone behind the mountains and temperatures continue to plummet drastically as I write this.

Our base camp is exquisite beauty juxtaposed to several classic and very serious mountains including Mt. Hunter and Mt. Foraker. Hunter is our neighbor and we already heard several avalanches coming off his slopes. The contrast of beauty and challenge is one that can lull a climber into thinking he’s safe. How can a place so visually appealing put one in harms way? Stay tuned…

Base Camp with Mt. Hunter in the backdrop

Day 2 – Base Camp

After a much needed nights sleep from last minute work and travel, I woke to the pop of an avalanche going of on our neighbor – Mt. Hunter. When in the bowels of a mountain range the sound of a charged avalanche can shoot a chill up ones spine. The noise seems to resonate the power of the mountain and the vulnerability of the human wishing to tred its slopes. Gulp.

We reviewed glacier travel today including crevasse rescue techniques we’ll hopefully not need to use. The possibility of someone popping into a crevasse in the Alaska Range is very real so our practice as a team is prudent (note – to date on Denali they have had more crevasse falls this season than in the past 10 seasons combined – including 2 deaths).

After a bit of gear organizing and a nap, we’ll start to prepare our packs and sleds for a carry to Camp 1. Between all our personal gear, team gear and food we’ll each be carrying and dragging up to 150 lbs. Ugh. Our plan is to get to Camp 1 in one carry – very slowly…..

Life on the Kahiltna Glacier

Day 3 – Carry to Camp 1

Today was REALLY tough- actually one of the hardest physical efforts I’ve done to date. We ascended only 600 feet on the glacier over 6 miles but the weather was clear and hot. REALLY hot. We did it in snow shoes, carrying 55 lb packs and dragging sleds weighing up to 80+ lbs. We engaged our loads while being roped up on 3-4 person teams.

Even after shedding most of my layers - just keeping enough on to cover my skin from the punishing sun – I was still drenched in sweat after only 1.5 hours. Only 3.5 more hours left of sled dragging torture today.

Our views of the surrounding peaks was breathtaking. I felt privileged to be suffering with my huge load in such an incredible place. Makes it all worth the sweat. Though thus far we’ve had stable weather temperatures in our tent each night have dropped into the teens and we haven’t even hit 10,000 feet. I suspect I’ll be living in every stitch of clothing I brought within the next week – thinking about you all in sunny CA…

Climbers on the Glacier

Day 4 – Carry to 10,000 ft. cache.

Another tough carry today. Though we “only” had about 40 lbs in our sleds with our 50 lb packs, we ascended 2000 feet to a cache spot where we buried food and gear for the upper part of the mountain. We will pick it up and carry it higher in a couple days.

We did our long grind in intense sun with intermittent freezing breezes. Though my goal is to focus on each day its tough not to think about whats coming up the mountain….
10K camp

Day 5 – Tentbound

Our plan today was to move up to Camp 2 at 11,200 feet but instead we were faced with a couple of challenges. It started snowing in the night and we woke having to dig out of our tent. The snow has been steady and consistent all day blurring our route and leaving us tentbound. It prudent not to move on this glacier when one can’t see the route. Missteps can be fatal.

Between bouts of digging out the tent, I read a book, ate and took a nap, stretched and chatted. We’ve also been feeding a couple of small starling birds that are trapped on the mountain in the storm. They keep trying to crawl into our vestibule - I don’t suspect they will survive the night.
Starling survives glacier life

It was an enjoyable impromptu rest day, though we wish we had taken it higher on the mountain for acclimation purposes. So be it. If tomorrow visibility is reasonable we’ll wade through thigh deep snow to our next camp. Stay tuned.

Day 7 – Carry, carry, carry

With a bit of a weather window we’ve made it up to 10,000 feet just below our cache spot. Between low temperatures, snow conditions and heavy carries getting up this baby is a tough job - in 7 days time we’ve only ascended 2800 feet. This is partly due to bad weather days as well as to a teammate deciding to leave the expedition early.

Tim was with us on our cache carry to 10,000 and then decided he’d had enough. One of our guides, Jason hooked up with another guide and hurt climber from another expedition and headed back to base camp for the climbers flights out.

Due to 4 feet of fresh powder that dumped over about 30 hours, route making and finding was quite difficult. While we were very slowly plowing our way out of camp and upward, the exiting group was heading down and we got a radio call that Jason had taken a 40 foot crevasse fall. 40 feet is significant and though he was ok they decided to head back up to camp to get warm before trying their decent again the following day.

So right out of the blocks we turned around to head back to Camp 1 and wait for Jason et al. In the end they ended up pressing downward so we stayed in Camp another night and headed back up today. Phew.

Due to deep snow and continued carry of heavy packs and sled dragging it took us several hours to get up to our current elevation of 10,200 feet. We saw teams already retreating the mountain – some were injured – some said it was too cold – others seemed despondent.

If the weather works for us, we’ll head up to Camp 2 tomorrow at 11,200 feet picking up our cache along the way. At each camp we probe for crevasses then mark off a safe area to move around. We only move out of camp areas on roped up teams as the possibility of crevasse falls on this mountain are quite high. If we move correctly on our roped teams we are quite safe. If a climber chooses to go solo on this mountain, he plays a bit of Russian Roulette with the glacier.
Digging a cache...

Its snowing again as I write this….

Day 8 – More Snow

The mountain is throwing it at us with another few feet of snow last night. Our tent entrance was blanketed and we had to plow our way out – only to find more snow falling. Our painstakingly carved route has been shrouded yet again. The plan is to hole up and wait for better visibility then figure out the most efficient way to break trail in soft, waist deep snow with heavy packs and sleds. It is a severe effort at best. I think we all secretly hope that some folks retreating from above will carve out a path for us…

Day 11 – Too Tired to Write

I’ve been remiss in writing. All my energy seems to have gone to our last few days of carrying loads, eating and sleeping.

From our 7900 foot camp up to 16,200 foot cache spot, we will actually end up climbing the mountain twice due to commonly done carry and retreat strategy.
The route up to Advanced Base Camp (ABC) at 14,200 feet at the base of the West Butress Headwall is beautiful and tough but pretty reasonable climbing. The load carrying and repeated camp building is brutal backbreaking work and has left me demoralized for a couple days. I’ve spent some time in a bit of a black hole of self pity – feeling like I “should” be stronger, I shouldn’t be so completely shattered at the end of each day. But on Denali, as in life, “shoulds” mean nothing.

Nick wiped my tears and gave me a hug this morning and I had some time on our short carry to give myself a talking to. My best effort can only come if I believe in my best effort and that will be enough.
ABC at 14K at "sunset" (around midnight). This is as dark as it ever got the whole climb.

Tomorrow we do a carry from ABC up the steep headwall fixed lines. This is where the climb really starts – that is a hard truth given the enormous effort of the last 10 days. Wish us luck.

Day 12 – Rest day!!!

Today is our first official rest day in almost a week. Pushing through our carries has been important in order to make headway but the strenuous load carrying day after day has been a bit over the top tough. I am having to carry a pack I can’t even pick up and put on by myself - its kinda like asking a 6 minute miler to run a 5 minute mile everyday. I flux between thinking I’m strong and can do this, and hugely doubting that affirmation. I am relishing each minute of today’s rest.

Yesterday we carried supplies for our highest camp and cached them at the top of the headwall above the fixed lines. This is the consistently steepest part of the climb – about 2000 feet straight up.

On the entire glacier the temperatures have fluctuated wildly and yesterday was no exception. One minute you are drenched in sweat and staggering in the blazing sun under your heavy load. All zippers unzipped, hats and gloves off, sleeves rolled up. As the heat bears down and reflects up off the snow your pack gets perceptively heavier with each step. The next second mist will move in on an icy breeze, rendering minimal to no visibility. All clothing must instantly be snugged up, hats on, finger tips frozen. They say that exposed skin in the winter on this mountain can get flash frozen. I believe.

Though the temperature has varied throughout our approach and here at ABC, it consistently dips subzero at night. INSIDE our tent with 3 warm, breathing bodies, we have seen temps in the low teens to single digits each night.

Climbers on the headwall above ABC - note the color of the sky...

Today we have been eating and drinking as well as trying to mentally prep for tomorrow. In the morning we will head all the way up to high camp at 17,200 feet and pick up our cache along the way. Then depending on the weather and how people are feeling, we’ll give the summit a go. The weather on the ridgeline above is in a completely different zip code than here at ABC. High winds are common as are consistent subzero temperatures. Its not the kind of environment one wants to hang out in for too long. You with either head to the summit, or you come down.

I’m feeling more nervous than I had hoped and I’m combating that with being practically prepared and just taking each day at a time. Fear won’t help me execute up there – I just need to stay in the moment, which is tough given the looming challenge, and lenticular clouds forming on the knife-edged ridgeline.

The views on the upper ridge are surreal, above the clouds, magnificent – very special indeed – lets hope the weather gods are with us.

Day 14 – Holding Pattern

Two days ago during our much needed rest day and acclimation period, 42 people summitted. It was the first reasonable weather window this mountain has seen this season. A few brave souls hit the top prior to this window – 2 of them got frostbite, and 2 of them died trying. It is sobering to be climbing up a steep pitch on the headwall and see a body bag dangling from a helicopter rescue line above your head.

Spring cleaning at ABC

Our plan, yesterday was to move to high camp to position ourselves for the summit bid but the weather shut us down. We are primed to move up if we get decent weather, but the forecast is not looking favorable for the next several days. We’re in a holding pattern.

I’m just starting to get a feeling of remorse with mountain life. Being crammed into a freezing tent each night with 2 other stinking people is beginning to take its toll. Trying to dress oneself for freezing temperatures in the morning in an iced enclosure, looking for socks and hats and boots in large piles of goose down get a bit tedious. I’m longing for consistent temperatures, clean sheets and fresh vegetables.
Tentlife
But mountain expeditions require time and patience – and patience is our current test.

Day 15 – Edge of the World

Yesterday afternoon was some good entertainment value here at ABC. We watched 2 guys ice climbing and several skiers hike up the headwall and ski down. All the while the walking wounded lumbered into camp – coming down from high camp on the ridge line.

The Edge of the World... above the clouds at ABC

The conditions above us on the ridge are completely different than here at 14,000 feet – typically 10-20 degrees colder and much higher winds. If our general nighttime temps here are -10 degrees it a bit nippy up high especially with 30+ mph winds.

We are basing our current decision to stay put on the weather up high and talking to some of the folks who are retreating from high camp. It looks like we’ve made the right call thus far.

We took a walk over to the “edge of the world” today – where the glacier falls off – definitely the end of our current world. The colors and shadows on the range below rival the beauty of the most precise Greek, marble statues. Unlike man, nature casts its art in any indigenous medium - without perceived effort – the result – soft, raw, power. I am in awe.

One of our teammates Joe, can only see out of one eye due to a scratched eyeball from a dry contact lens. We’re all secretly hoping he’ll recover in time to go up with us. Most of us are holding out for the weather to open for us over the next 3 days. The forecast is questionable so we’ll see – time is running short.

As I write this its snowing heavily – about 6 inches have been dropped over the last several hours. Sitting doing nothing is exhausting and I feel like my body is deteriorating a bit each hour. We’ve been stagnant for 7 days and we’re running low on food. We have caches of food above us – two team members tried to get up to it today but were forced down due to weather. The next couple days will decide our ultimate direction of movement – up, or down.

Day 16 – Weather Central

I am officially sick and tired of life here at ABC. We have been here for 8 days with no positive movement except to place our cache a the top of the fixed lines. Yesterday a slew of people tried to go up to high camp. Most turned around at some point when wind chill dominated their existence and visibility became 20 feet. It’s a bit daunting to be on a rope team when you can’t see your teammate on the rope in front of you let alone communicate with that person.

Lenticular clouds on the ridge above ABC

The weather on this mountain and particularly on its upper parts, is quite unique. There is a collision of 3 fronts coming from 3 bodies of water – the Bering Sea, Arctic and a Gulf in the upper Pacific. Their affects meet on Denali and each negotiates for position. When low pressure systems are stronger weather is poor for climbing. When high pressure systems prevail we can get our occasional positive day to go higher.

The last several days high and low pressure systems coming from different directions have been in battle causing generally poor conditions and large fluctuations in temperature. Our high pressure system was poised to win out tomorrow and Saturday and now it looks like its getting pushed out and the lows are winning. In short, that means we’re basically screwed.

We may go up tomorrow to retrieve our cache and/or try a gratuitous go at high camp. But our forecast is poor and there is very little time left in the sand dial. For me a movement in any direction is in order. I’m sick of tent life and I miss my dog…

Summit Day

Alone. My team has just taken off for a summit attempt from high camp at 17,200 feet. I’ve been straightening up camp, gathering “firewood” (ice chunks), and refilling fuel bottles to busy myself and our camp neighbors asked me if I was camp manager. Ouch.

After 8 days in ABC and on the last possible day in our schedule to get to high camp for a summit bid we came up the headwall and ridgeline yesterday with enormous packs.

The big blocky seracs at the top are the size of a small apartment building

I felt fine staring out then got progressively weaker as we ascended. The feeling was that I was not recovering between bouts of struggling upward – breathing very hard and not moving enough 02. It was an anxious feeling – like my muscles were being shut down.

My cough started part way up and progressed during the 3 hours of camp building. I would step in a try and help with block carrying and shoveling and it would all leave me breathless and week kneed. The dry cough progressed to a bit of fluid and then small chunks of ugly looking stuff and my lungs felt very tight.

On Kili and Aconcagua I had some issues with my lungs – in all honesty, on Aconcagua the condition became kinda scary. After a lot of research and a talking to with a couple doctors, it appears I have a tendency toward HAPE, - High Altitude Pulmonary Edema. This condition can show initially as an inability to recover from hard efforts and keep up with people that you otherwise climb with easily. What prior felt like just a really hard effort, feels like a general loss of strength in the legs and muscles. It can progress to fluid leakage in the lung area and can then progress to coughing fluid and blood and a general shutting down of air flow if one doesn’t descend. Some say that highly trained endurance athletes can show difficulty performing in thin air. Because their cardiovascular systems have been trained to move a lot of oxygen over long periods of time, they are not primed to function well with reduced O2.

In any case, there is a 60% chance that someone who gets HAPE will get it again. Given my history on my last two climbs I knew this trip would become an indicator as to whether I fall into that category. I’m not pleased with the result.

The athlete in me wanted to give it a shot today. Its beyond tough to come this far and put all that effort into an unfinished ending. The mature woman in me knew that in not going higher, I made the right call – a gut call. My intellect could justify going up – “I’m tough, I can do this, I’ll be fine, nothing will happen…” but since we got to high camp I’ve had this profound, in-ignorable feeling of impending doom. A feeling that if I go higher I’m asking for trouble. I couldn’t see myself up there – it was as if my internal visuals were muted and every cell in me was saying stay put.

I’ve spent my whole life internally willing myself forward with strength in my athletic life. Its something that comes naturally to me. I’ve NEVER had a voice say, “stop” and feel so profoundly important. It felt right not to go up and in many ways I felt very calm once I made the decision.

Storm

As the day progressed the weather worsened and the cold light breezes turned to high winds, and snow and white out conditions poured over Denali Pass 2000 feet above me.

Finally after many pensive hours teams starting staggering back into camp and all looked completely shattered. Nick came into camp around 11 pm covered in ice and snow and with a look in his eyes as though he’d seen a ghost. His first words: “I made it to the top but I’m not sure it was worth it.”

He immediately said I had made the right call in not going up. “If you had encountered progressed lung problems up high it would have been difficult to impossible to get you down in this hell. We’d be taking you home in a body bag.” Guides probed climbers to keep moving down with threats like – “if you fear for your life you’ll keep moving down, move, move!!”

On the decent, with the new snow, Nick took a couple of falls on the Autobahn – the most fatal section on the mountain. If you fall on the autobahn and can’t self-arrest you will take a very fast several thousand foot fall to your death. Park rangers opted to put pickets in on this section of the mountain this year for roped teams to clip into as they pass – hopefully preventing further statistic.

The storm raged through the night and we are now, yet again – tentbound. We need stable weather to descend the knife edge ridgeline to the fixed lines. With high cross winds one can easily fall off the sometimes inches wide ridge with drop offs on either side of thousands of feet.

To top off our tent misery, I started my period today and my tampons are in a cache at 11,200 feet. Joy.

Day ? – Headwall antics

Though the storm continues we decided to descend in the snow and wind. The ridgeline can be extremely dangerous in high wind, but I was willing to go in any weather just to start our progress off the mountain. Our initial decent was painfully slow on the ridge as one of our teammates – for some unknown reason – has refused to eat or drink for a good part of 2 days and continued to sit down and not move. Ugh. Definitely proof that in a group setting your ability to take care of yourself isn’t just about you – but gravely affects the entire team.

As usual our packs are depressively heavy and with a weakened body and lungs my legs struggled to hold the weight on our headwall descent. I must have fallen over 3 times coming down, making like a flailing turtle on its back and clinging to the rope for my life while I struggled to get back on shaky legs.

Between bouts of moving down to 11,200 ft camp – which is where I write this, my lungs and cough have grown worse. We arrived in the night in an all day snow fall with even heavier packs than what came down the headwall. I wasn’t aware that I could actually carry this much weight. We threw up our tent for the countless time and crawled into damp sleeping bags. I’m miserable and will try and cough myself to sleep. We still have another long day of sled dragging to get out to base camp and that is in the hopes that planes are flying.

This climb has proven to open some doors in my psyche and in the direction of my physical life as well as close others. Lots of time to ponder is always cathartic for my movement forward in life. I look forward to sharing more on that soon – hopefully from a lower elevation.
Back at you,
Terri

Post Climb - Reflections on the American Flag

My climb on Aconcagua in Argentina involved doing two things I enjoy the most when I travel; engaging in very remote or rural areas, and, doing something in these areas that requires significant mental and physical fortitude—in other words—doing cool things in cool places.

I’m quite aware that I experience a constant, altered reflection of home due to my travels abroad. This reflection is heightened when I’ve moved through less fortunate countries than the U.S.—which would include most places I wander. If home represents physical comfort and ease of use, and we choose to go out and do things in depressed areas that are the antithesis of ease of use, then that contrast will roar loudly when we return to home base.

Climbing mountains requires not only substantive physical strength and stamina, it obliges one to live in some of the harshest environments on earth for sometimes extended periods of time. Just sitting, doing absolutely nothing, in an enclosed tent in rarified, bone dry air in raging winds and sub-freezing temperatures surrounded by incessant spindrift, can test the mental resolve of the most stalwart of humans. To actually climb in these elements is a consistent examination of the unknown, because we never fully realize what hand altitude, weather, or our bodies will deal us in any given hour.

Some may consider that we regress as humans when we climb on mountains. I actually experience them as an evolution or freedom from the constant, constructed world that we have created. On a mountain we are stripped naked of the man made world which we are used to existing and we are required to establish another reality. This “other” experience and existence is our own, unique conception.

On a mountain there is no point in negotiating the constant of your bed back home, or heating system in your house. Nor do we generate much thought around how we present ourselves visually to the mountain world. Combing our hair or tidying our clothes has no reflection on whether we will survive the mountain, therefore these trivialities fall away. We are free from them.

What is relevant are the basics that even today far too many humans struggle to acquire daily—food, adequate shelter, adequate warmth. As nature helps in stripping away our “stuff” we have time to ponder what that stuff really means in the first place. On a mountain we covet our sometimes meager efforts to be warm when high winds repeatedly rip the zipper open on our tent door. We let go of the desire to be clean as we don the same smelly, dirty shirt we’ve been hiking in for two weeks. And we adapt to lack of calories as we spill our bowl of soup on the tent floor and are short of the energy to generate another.

Some may consider these experiences regression if their definition is based on an affluent man made world, but if juxtaposed to basic human needs aren’t these issues at the top of the pyramid of established healthy humanness? The act of existing on a mountain requires grave acknowledgement to those things in life that, as Americans, many of us have in abundance.

This deprivation gets our attention, asks us to reflect contrasting views of life as humans. And perhaps if we look a tad further, we realize we have an opportunity in this deprivation to truly appreciate what we may have in our life back home—that a warm home with a roof, running water and a plenty of food are not items to be taken nonchalantly.

I am stunned each trip abroad at how fortunate we are in America. Astounded. Amazed at our privilege to live comfortably and our freedom to choose to go after what we wish in life if we decide to acquire the knowledge and motivation to make our dreams happen.

Daily my thoughts go back to so many I have witnessed who do not, or can not, have these human basics because of their social status or the state of their community or country. As a woman in a world that tends to still generate effort to suppress women’s forward movement these facts never get past me and I feel fortunate that I choose to change up my lens color and reflect again and again. That evolving reflection keeps the brain sharp and desirous of dream seeking.

If the hardship of physical enduring continues to hone my reflection of home and my desire to seek the ultimate dreams in life – I’ll gladly take that adversity. If sitting through a storm on a mountain in South America makes my latte back home taste that much richer, or, the hug from my brother feel that much warmer, I’ll choose to engage in nature any day.

And if foreign travel creates the knowing that back home I have the freedom to go after the means it takes to put my dreams to life, I will forever glance on the essence of the American flag with a bright light and with even more respect. Hardship softens immensely when its retrospective reflection is so sweet.

Thanks for sharing this climb with me. I have another climb coming up in a new months and in the meantime will be refining my training and the training of many others who are hitting up their athletic dreams this year. Stay tuned!
xoxo
Terri

Day 15 - Pampa De Linas Revisited

After an incredible summit day (more of which I´ll share about in my post climb reflections) - we retreated to Camp 2, then to Base Camp with some incredibly heavy packs.

We enjoyed an excellent post climb celebration at Base Camp with dinner, wine, a birthday cake for Nancy, champagne for all and a heated card game.

We´ve started our hike out today and though it feels lovely to have a day pack on (thanks mules!) I´m having a hard time getting my head wrapped around another day of rocks, dust, wind and smelly clothes and tent living. The bigger struggle are the lung issues I´m having since summit day. I´m left with regular fits of coughing - definitely something I´ll have to address before future climbs.

For now I have dreams of long bubble baths, shopping and wine tasting in Mendoza and of course a big hug from my dog and all back home.

Back at you with post climb reflections....

Terri

Day 13 - They made it to the top!

Penni's note: Call from Terri...they made it to the top. Everyone is safe. Very emotional for everyone! More info and blog post to follow as soon as satellite phone reception is better.

Day 12 - No-Go Number Two

We woke to another day of strong winds and snow. No summit attempt today. Bummer. Our forecast is for "better weather" tomorrow. We've been getting forecasts via satellite phone from Nick in London. Looks like tomorrow is very cold but we'll take it and hope we're good to go.

Tent life at 19000 feet is getting quite interesting. David and I have taken to videotaping some of our tent idiosyncrasies. We did manage to get six people in our tent yesterday for a birthday celebration and a card game, and we'll do the same today.

We're all quite tired from doing nothing for so long. We're hoping tomorrow is our lucky day. Wish us luck!

Back at you tomorrow.

Terri

Day 11 - Summit Attempt Aborted

Not much sleep last night anticipating our summit and wondering whether the tent would still be standing come morning. We've been getting up to 55 mph winds for the last twelve hours and enough snow and spindrift to make going outside to the bathroom quite an ordeal. We are not safe going higher on the mountain so we're hunkering down at camp two. Getting reports that the next couple of days should improve and we'll have a shot at the top.

One of our teammates, Nancy, has her 50th birthday today and we were hoping to celebrate from the summit but we'll have to make due here at camp two. I feel fortunate to be in the company of some pretty amazing people on this climb. Marshall Ullrich organized the core of our group. His ultrarunning, adventure racing and climbing experience has been invaluable. There are three women on our trip - myself, Louise Cooper (53) and Nancy Bristow (turning 50 today). We all know Marshall through racing and I must say we are a pretty tough and determined contingent of women. David Ferris (37) is also a very good friend of mine and my current tent mate. David has a similar background in sports and is also posting daily verbal blog posts from our climb on theferrisfiles.com . Frank, in addition to Marshall is also an ultrarunner. Dimitri is from Russia currently living in the States. Fabrice, from Paris, is also currently living in New York City. We have a strong evenly matched group which makes climbing together thoroughly enjoyable.

We have several days to summit and most of us are determined to give this our best shot so hopefully I'll have some good news for you in the next day or so. I'll keep you posted with how we're faring.

Terri

Day 10 - Sunday evening, Camp Two at 19,000 feet

On the way up to camp two today we ran into a few folks going down who had turned around upon arrival at camp two due to high winds of over 50 miles an hour. We proceeded ahead into gusty cold winds and despite plumes coming off top of the Polish Glacier we arrived to reasonable conditions in camp.

As I write this the wind gusts are becoming stronger and more frequent and the sun is dipping, and temperature is dropping steadily. It's actually been warm pretty warm at night, in the the 20s and 30s in the tent. Being a hot sleeper I've been pretty comfy. Right now we are planning on going to the summit in the early morning unless the winds proves to be too much and could potentially knock us over. We had some problems with that today as well.

For all the gear freaks out there like me, I thought I'd share what I will be putting on in the morning. So I'll be wearing the following starting at 4 o'clock in the morning.

Base layer will be Patagonia Wool 2 Underwear
Outdoor Research one piece sleeved expedition weight full suit with cross zip
Patagonia Micro Puff pants
Montbell Ultralight down jacket
Outdoor Research Mid-Weight down jacket on top of Mont Bell
Patagonia Duff Parka
Outdoor Research Heavy Mitts with OR Fleece glove liners
Smart Wool Expedition Weight socks
Montrail ICE 9 Boots and Gaiters
Montbell Sleek Skull knit cap and neck gaiter
Outdoor Research windproof balaclava
Gregory ISO Pack with Nalgene bottles and OR bottle cozy to keep water from freezing
Several grabber hand warmers -- a couple in my mitts, a couple in my boots, one in my hat and my chest.

And if that ain't gonna keep me warm I don't know what to do!

So wish us luck. We're a little groggy and tired up here at 19,000 feet but I'll be back at you we have more news about proceeding forward. Best to all back home.

Terri.