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Redefining the forties, A Himalayan Adventure

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Intense². This is the word that comes to mind when friends’ pose the quintessential post-trip question of “How was your trip to Nepal?” Unlike any other international trip taken, this one leaves me speechless, at a loss for the correct words to describe our three week experience. From the onslaught of sensory overload in Kathmandu, to the grandiose and epic trekking through the Himalayan mountains, everything feels like the Everest of downloads. I think that it will take months for the spinning downloading icon to disappear and announce its completion.


When I left Vancouver Island, I told a number of friends that I was excited about the chance to check-out (of the daily grind) in order to check-(back) into myself. I find active international travel to be a source of joy and recalibration, essential for both my physical and mental wellbeing. The opportunity to explore, learn, and connect with others not only helps to press the gratitude reset button but also gives different aspects of myself space to surface and shine.


Although life built on routine offers structure, predictability and a sense of ease, it can also cause stagnation, loss of creativity, and apathy. Weeks before my departure, I looked at my husband and said, “Sometimes I feel like I have hit a wall. No matter how hard I try I can’t seem to take my professional and athletic pursuits to the next level. I think that something is wrong with me. This aging thing is really taking me for a ride.” As a 45 year-old woman I admit that I am struggling with this transition into middle-age and the accumulating sticky notes of complaints that corrode my sense of self-worth. Despite my desire to rip these yellow pieces of paper off my wrinkling forehead, they still seem to glue themselves back on, labeling and shaming. As a positive, playful and resourceful woman I am surprised by the extent to which aging has got me rattled. I logically understand that I cannot escape it and frankly, the idea of being twenty years younger is not where I find solace. I think that the primary conundrum encountered is related to how age effects capacity, the ability to do the things that I love. Injury recovery isn’t as quick as it once was and I have begun to question whether certain physical pursuits are becoming a thing of the past. I truly want to befriend this inevitable life transition, to find peace with Serge, the solitary chin hair that pops up unexpectedly overnight and to greet the creases reflected in my bathroom mirror with a high-five. However, I humbly admit that I have begun scouring the shelves for lotions and potions that promise to iron out the origami folds of my visage. I have also begun to consult my more manicured friends (which let’s be honest, is most of them) to explain the nuances of maintaining one’s youthful physical persona. This feeling of not being enough, chasing towards something that is ultimately unattainable is soul dissolving and I resent it…yet I am part of it and it makes me dizzyingly frustrated. I intellectually know that I am worthy but I haven’t felt worthy in a long time - a deflated balloon, to be exact.


Certainly, there are more elements to throw into the (lack luster) fruit salad of life that make for this sense of disempowerment but to share those would be best done over a glass of red wine – several of them, in fact. All to say, this Three Passes and Everest Base Camp (EBC) trip was long overdue, an opportunity to check-out of the deflating mind jabber and check into my true essence – my super awesome hard-core empathetic genuine self. So, put on your down jacket and yak wool tuque, and pack a thermos of hot water and let me take you to the Himalayan mountains.


We stepped off the 15-passenger plane in Lukla, I, buzzing with excitement, Andrea, my traveling partner extraordinaire, relieved that the Gravol had kicked in. Flying into the Everest region and seeing the mountain peaks rise up through the clouds triggered a child-like joy throughout my whole body. (One probably could have counted every tooth in my mouth by the size of my smile.) As I descended from the plane onto the tarmac after our 30-minute flight, I was dumbfounded by the runway length (or the lack thereof) which seemed to drop off into oblivion. The runway of Tenzing-Hillary airport (2,845m) is 527m long and ends as a sheer drop-off. It is terrifying. I have since learned (from Wikipedia) that according to a program broadcasted by The History Channel called Most Extreme Airports, this airport gained international recognition as the most dangerous airport in the world for over 20 years. In the armchair of hindsight, I am grateful for my earlier ignorant bliss as, had I been the wiser, I probably would have needed to take something stronger than Gravol.



Our guide, Amrit, whom we knew from a previous trek in 2016/17, allocated 16 days for our 180 km adventure. Nima was our porter and although language was a barrier, we did our best to celebrate him whenever possible. Throughout our trek, we were continuously astounded by how hard the locals worked. We passed people carrying generators, chairs, and mattresses on their backs. Using primitive tools and often wearing flip flops, men were shaping and moving rocks to build trails as donkeys carried bags of concrete across suspension bridges to complete the job. We soon realized that the only way anything makes it up into these mountains was either on a human or livestock back. (Helicopter usage is often cost prohibitive). So, the $10 Pringles or $5 toilet paper roll seemed like a small price to pay when one considered the journey taken.


Our trekking itinerary consisted of crossing three passes above 5000m (Kongma La, Cho La, and Renjo La) and visiting Everest Base Camp (5364m). We stayed in lodges, dined in their common rooms heated by yak dung, and stopped for lunch at restaurants along the way. Our rooms were rudimentary and cold as ice boxes. Personal hygiene was a deteriorating endeavor as access to soap and running water diminished as we gained elevation; wet wipes and hand sanitizer were our friends. Our meals were centered around carbohydrates in the forms of pasta, rice, noodles and potatoes. It is common practice for trekkers to adopt a vegetarian diet in these areas as it is illegal to slaughter animals within the Sagarmatha park boundary, so eggs became our only consistent source of protein.



When moving through areas of high altitude, one has to seriously consider the effects of elevation gain. We chose to take altitude medication and did our best to embrace the side-effects of tingling digits and appetite loss, a fair trade-off we deemed for reducing the risk of altitude sickness. The appetite loss, however, proved a battle between mind and body. Even after a long-day of trekking we struggled to consume the necessary calories. We’d stare at our full plates and try to muster the mental fortitude to eat. Likely related to a lack of calories, I also begun to experience daily post-trekking mild hypothermia which required that I cocoon myself for a couple of hours in my down sleeping bag with a hot Nalgene bottle to recalibrate. So even when we were done hiking for the day, taking care of the body remained a challenge.


The necessity for absolute presence is crucial in elevated environments such as the Himalayas. High altitude trekking is not a game; it is something you do with utter focus and humility. Although physical fitness is important, it does not guarantee the ability to endure. These kind of activities require a deep awareness of self, an acceptance of what is, and a flexibility of mind. And as you move through these landscapes of sheer edges, glaciers, and suspension bridges, it begins to feel like a pilgrimage of sorts, a journey into simplicity, a practice of letting go of the extraneous and a welcoming into presence. Your job is to survive. To survive is to listen to yourself and acknowledge your limits. The highest mountains in the world reside here, with Everest (8848m), the father of all mountains sharing the horizon with other beauties such as his wife, Ama Dablam (6856m), Nuptse (7861m), Lhotse (8414m), and Makalu (8481m). These gargantuan and stunning peaks extend their presence into the heavens and are subject to perpetual jaw drops, neck cramping and ooh and ahhs. Much like the city of Kathmandu, where one is subjected to a sensory deluge, the mountains’ grandeur, proximity, and rawness cause an overwhelming sense of wonder. It is undeniably an honor to stand among such giants.



As any experienced mountain person knows, these giants are dangerous and not to be trifled with. However, this reality is confused and clouded by the sheer numbers of bodies that are moving through the area whether that be foreign trekkers, guides, porters, stray dogs, people schlepping wares, yaks, donkeys and helicopters. Even more boggling to the mind, Wifi is available everywhere. Yet accidents, natural disasters, death and illness occur - frequently. Our guide said that the majority of his clients don’t complete their original trek itinerary successfully. (He was therefore very pleased with our fortitude and completion. Self high-five!) For example, the day prior to crossing our first pass, Kongma La (5535m), a lone traveling Japanese man in his fifties (without a guide) had gone missing and was found dead days later as a result of a fall. In terms of natural disasters, while sipping tea outside and taking in a gorgeous lake view in Gokyo village, we experienced a small earthquake that caused an avalanche on Everest. As for illness, we learned that a fellow trekker following a similar timeline as us, suffered greatly from altitude sickness and was evacuated and admitted to the hospital for five-days with heart issues. Lastly, we were baffled by the number of people we met who had never hiked in their lives and were using this as an introductory experience. Risk management red flags overload!


As I descended the path on day 15 of our 16 day Himalayan trek, I felt both an overwhelming sense of sadness and excitement regarding the conclusion of this intense experience. Throughout our time exploring this incredible landscape of snowcapped mountain behemoths, I felt like I had settled back into my true-self. No injuries plagued our experience, we moved efficiently, and endured everything with a deep sense of appreciation. Proud of our grit and our capacity to do hard things, we gained an empowerment reboot. We recognized that the bonus of being in our forties is that we have amassed years of mountain knowledge, and although this doesn’t guarantee an injury-free experience, it certainly reduces the likelihood. Middle-age is not an obstacle, it brings wisdom and strength. When things are getting hard, I now consciously draw on the visual of us climbing a pass, slow as turtles, one-step at a time. I hear my breath, feel the pounding of my heart and remember that I am alive. No longer a deflated balloon, I am full and ready to fly.



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