Climbing

The wind whipped around, blocking out all sound, as I raised my head to track my path again. Not up. Back and forth. Gradually ascending while adjusting to the air pressure. I rubbed my gloved hands together, and stepped forward, doing my best to ignore the frost forming heavily on my eyebrows. I remembered dreaming about this day, excited, naive. Now that I was here, after enduring so many fitness exercises, climbing practices, classes on how to work the air system. All for this: climbing Mount Everest. And now frostbite was attacking my hands and feet. I looked around, seeing the nearby mountain peaks. I had made it this far hadn't I? I could go farther. I pushed away the negative emotion, and trudged forward. The wind died down, leaving only its faint echo. I closed my eyes and was thankful for the wind's temporary absence. I quickly reopened my eyes, before my eyelashes could freeze together. I heard a rumbling noise, and looked up at the top of the mountain. My eyes widened, my mind went blank, unable to compute anything but extreme shock. I regained my senses, just in time to close my eyes before the onslaught of snow hit me.

My mind was frozen. So was my body. I faintly heard calls, and a helicopter blade, but my ears had shut down before I could register anything else. I just waited, blind and deaf and cold, and my thoughts wandered to the first time I had climbed. It was incredible. The wall at the indoor rock climbing arena wasn't so much a frightening task as an exciting challenge. I had placed each hand carefully, each foot gripping the wall tightly. I had climbed up, and up, and up. Hitting the bell at the top was a victory for me. I looked down, and felt giddy at how high I'd climbed. The harness around me tightened, and I let go of the rocks, and braced against the wall with my feet. Kick against the wall, lower in the air, repeat. I finally got to the bottom, and smiled, exhilarated. I was excited, ready for more. It was my goal to climb here, even with the prospect of missing toes. That had been eleven years ago, when I was thirteen. I smiled inwardly, from then on, I had been set on climbing, and, although this trip would likely be fatal, it had been exhilarating. I was just about ready to embrace death, when warmth, though the slightest bit, appeared.

I was sitting on a chair at the rescue center, wrapped heavily in blankets, with an IV stuck into my arm. I took another sip of hot coffee. I smiled weakly at Bridget, who had found me just before I froze to death. I was rushed back in the rescue helicopter, which had apparently been deployed as soon as the avalanche had occurred. After a long period of time at the emergency room, regaining strength, I was now recovered enough to move around. I was traumatized about the experience, but it wasn't going to deter me from climbing. Not even with my missing toes.