Life at 15,000 feet...

During my last trip to Moshi, Tanzania, I got the privilege of making the trek up Mt. Meru, little brother to the more infamous Mt. Kilimanjaro. Of course, standing at a mere 14,980 feet, it's a bit deceiving to call it a 'little brother.' (FYI - Mt. Rainier, which is just 84 feet short of being the tallest peak in the continental U.S., stands at 14,410 feet.) Our trek began just under 5,000 feet. 3 days, 10,000 feet, 22 miles...up and down. May the games begin.

Note to self (& all others reading):

Climbing (then descending) nearly 1,000 feet per mile for 11 miles straight over the course of 3 days can be a bit taxing on the body. With such knowledge, one might advise training a bit ahead of time and possibly adding an extra day in order to make the trek a bit more relaxed and enjoyable. Additionally, while not nearly as satisfying, one could argue that those who utilize porters (a.k.a. - skycaps for mt. climbing) find it a bit less strenuous of a climb. However, that point is negated due to the male ego which clearly states that using porters is cheating.

Continuing on...the trek was amazing. We began by walking across a field littered with buffalo, giraffe and wart hogs. However, almost immediately upon crossing the field, the uphill began...and did not end nor level off, as we discovered each step of the way, until one reaches the summit. However, the beauty of the landscape was captivating, surely enough to take ones mind off the leg muscles which happened to be screaming bloody murder. The wather was picture perfect, with the temperature at perfect balance of warmth with a cool downdraft. This was truly a gift from above!

"2 a.m. we will leave for the summit." Uhhhh, did you just say 2 a.m.??? Yeah, that's what our guide told us...and yeah, that's when we left, summiting the mountain by starlight and headlamp. Up the ridge we went, thankful for no wind, which we were told can make the final push up the ridge a chilly couple hours. We summited just as the sun was beginning to rise. Unbelievable. Words nor pictures can capture the vibrancy of color which illuminated the morning sky as the sun moved every closer to cresting the horizon. With Mt. Kilimanjaro next where the sun rises, one is left staring in amazement.

Then began the longest 11 miles of the trek. Upon returning to base camp from the summit, I felt quite well, ready for the final 7.5 mile trek out. Oh how the body disagreed shortly thereafter. Of course, as consolation (or incentive...not sure which it was) our guide reminded us that we were more than welcome to hitch a ride down the final 3.5 miles from the lower camp on the Park Service truck. He reminded us that it is actually a service we paid for in our park fees. Once again, as appealing as that may sound, we were compelled to turn down his offer, as the male ego clearly states that unless one hikes all the way out on his own 2 legs to the point from which he began, the summit trek will forever be marred with an asterik. (And yes, I believe our guide was genuinely hoping we would say yes to the truck, as it would of course mean that he too, as our guide, would 'need' to descend in the truck with us.) 14 hours after we began hiking that day, we emerged from the trail...and collapsed. I'm not gonna lie...it hurt even to walk by the end of the 3rd day's hike. Did somebody say IronMan...yeah, thoughts of IronMan rolled through my mind as the pain of each step brought me back to the last few miles of my 1st IronMan...when I discovered it could actually hurt to walk. Here again I was reminded of that reality.