Thursday morning I woke up feeling uneasy about what the hike would do to me. I poked my head out of the tent to see what the campsite looked like in the day light. Here it is:
Each morning we had a few personal chores to handle. First, the camp waiter would come to our tent with a bowl of washing water to clean our hands. This was also the time to brush our teeth with bottled water, wash our faces and general personal hygiene. After the washing water was taken away, we were brought hot tea, hot chocolate or hot coffee. Taking the time to enjoy the morning while also trying to put on clean clothes, wash hands, roll up sleeping bags, repack duffels, add more snacks from our duffel bag stash to our day packs, and be on time for breakfast was challenging. I'm not sure we were ever on time.
Breakfast consisted of "pancakes" which were more crepe-like than cake-like. We had jam to put on top. Toast was on the table waiting when we sat down. We also were served porridge, kind of similar to runny oatmeal, with sugar to add. After we all stuffed ourselves, out came eggs, sort of like a frittata. Out of kindness, we all took some. Then came sausages, which were really hot dogs, and finally fruit. It was a LOT of food. I'm not sure why they thought we would eat so much.
I didn't have much of an appetite which is a standard side effect of the Diamox. I forced down some porridge thinking it was similar to what I have at home before a big race or training day. I spent the rest of the breakfast answering questions about the previous night's freak-out episode. I did my best to describe what happened and allay the fears of my fellow hikers that I would be ok to continue up the mountain. During the pre-hike talk the night before we left the hotel, the guides were insistent that if something goes wrong to tell them immediately. They are our lifesavers and have to handle any emergencies on the mountain themselves. At this first camp, it's easy to call down to the bottom and get more supplies or an extra porter if needed. Even evacuation at this point is fairly simple and quick. I told the guide what happened earlier and he immediately took my day pack for the day. I protested at first, but then got a stern look from him that made me quiet.
We refilled our camelbacks from bottled water we had from the day before and headed up the trail. I started thinking that walking further up the mountain meant that I was getting further and further from escaping. Eventually my breathing was steadied and my heart rate settled into an easy rhythm. After about 20 minutes, I started feeling some tingling in my lips. Then I felt it in my hands and feet. Even though it was nearly 12 hours after I took it, the diamox was really kicking into my system and I was feeling all 500mg worth. I did my best to stay hydrated (essential to fending off altitude sickness) but it was harder now since I wasn't carrying my own bag. The tingling eventually dissipated and we continued our merry way up the mountain.
For the past year we've seen every picture of Kilimanjaro possible, read all the blogs we could find, and researched all the possible routes. We've driven nearly all the way around the mountain and are now walking up one side of it, YET WE HAVEN'T EVER SEEN THE SUMMIT WITH OUR OWN EYES. Until this:
The clouds parted for just a few minutes for us to catch a glimpse of what we'd spent the past year dreaming, training, and fundraising for and what we'd be spending the next five days climbing. We were all awestruck by the magnificence.
I spent most of that day anxious about the coming night. What would happen to me when I went to sleep? Would I stop breathing? Would I wake up? What if I didn't sleep, could I continue to hike up? Each step meant that I was further from the bottom with no way down. I was feeling more and more trapped every moment. I knew that hiking this mountain would be preparing me for Ironman Arizona. I spent a lot of time in my own head practicing my mental toughness and convincing myself that I could go on.
We stopped for a quick snack: the hikers took out Clif bars, the triathletes took out gu and blocks, and the guides took out sugar cane. Using my pocket knife, the Guide took off the outer layers,
and shared with us. I loved it. Sally wasn't too sure of it. I tried to explain to her how to eat it, but she had already sucked all the sweet out of it, then chewed the leftovers and swallowed. No wonder.
Each day we left the camp fully assembled with only our day packs. The Porters would disassemble camp, clean up, repack all the supplies and rush up the trail ahead of us. As we made it to our lunch spot, here is what was waiting for us:
Porters were just hanging around waiting for us to get there. Hmph. I feel like a bit of a slacker now. This was the first meal we would have on the trail, not in camp, and they didn't disappoint.
This is our meal and kitchen tent. The front half with the table is where we ate. Behind the divider curtain is the kitchen with a propane tank for the cooking (like the kind on regular size backyard bbqs) and all of the kitchen supplies. There was one cook who had gone to culinary school and his job was chef.
This spot on the mountain was known as second cave. It used to be used for cooking and camping, but it's been banned now.
View from inside the cave:
Trying to get a picture when I told Sally to watch out for the animal skull behind her. She wasn't too happy.
And us finally posing:
After lunch we kept on walking up the mountain. By now the weather is cooling a bit. It's still ok with short sleeves when moving, but stopping means you get cold. The clouds are also starting to roll in. It's a disorienting feeling not being able to see the horizon or anything around you for reference. The afternoon trail had more turns and ridges on it so we couldn't see the final camp for the night. When we asked the Guides how much further, they almost always said not far now. It was their way of keeping our spirits high. But we're triathletes, we need to know a distance so we can pace appropriately. We were all tired and ready to be done when off in the distance we see two of the porters waiting for us on another ridge. Sally and I picked up the pace to meet them. We walked over the ridge to see this:
And eventually this:
It was the Kikelewa Caves Bivouac at 10,800' and our camp for the night. There are quite a few ways up Kilimanjaro and many of them share campsites. This was our first idea of how many people were on the mountain with us.We had an uneventful dinner and settled in to bed for the night. I was still anxious about sleeping and how I would fare for the next few days. I talked with one other hiker in our group and she let me have a few of her 250mg diamox to take instead of my 500mg. I took it and went to sleep without any problems.
Day 2 Stats:
Total Hike Time: 10 hours 13 minutes
Moving Time: 5 hours 31 minutes
Distance: 7.86miles
Lowest Point: 8618'
Highest Point: 12,177'
Elevation Gain: 3628'
Average HR: 121
Max HR: 152
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Side Note:
Please take this in the spirit in which it is intended: My personal experience in which I am unable to do justice to the topic, nor am I being especially eloquent or politically correct in describing it.
The first morning the washing water was brought to our tents, I was a little uneasy. It was certainly a luxury not to have to leave the tent in the chilly air, but I immediately thought of being served in the master/slave sense and I felt very uncomfortable. All the hikers on this trip were white and all the waiters, porters, and guides were black. Since I am an American, this racial line is embedded in my history and it's hard to ignore. On the one hand I realize that I needed to wash my hands each morning and there was no way for me to get my own water. I paid a lot of money for this trip and this is part of the service provided to the customers. On the other hand, I would have been happy to go to a hand washing station where they brought the water versus me being served. I even offered to come out to get my tea, but the waiter wouldn't let me. This racial line weighed on me for the rest of the trip.
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