Endurance Test (El Misti Day 2)

Well-adjusted people might have been discouraged from gusting 20 mph winds. Rational people might be defeated by the freezing temperatures causing numb appendages. Sound-minded people might even be pessimistic of the lack of energy we both suffered from sleeplessness and elevation sickness. Lucking none of that criterion applied to us. With a light breakfast of an orange and coca tea. We zipped our jackets and headed up. The summit beckoned us. It loomed above us in the dark. We knew the top was there but our reality was limited to the 4 foot spotlight from the illumination of our headlights.
To say we were progressing with ferocity and fervor would be a lie. Our blind optimism was quickly replaced with pure endurance. After hour one, I was mentally comparing the hike to to the last three miles of a marathon. The only positive thoughts that guide me to the finish of a marathon is the notion that I am almost done. After hour one, were had completed a mere eighth of our trek.
Each step in the fine lava dust would provide support for only a small stride of gain and the settling of each placed foot would include a half stride of loss. One step for the exertion of two. We cruising up the mountain with momentum of a turtle moving uphill in the wrong direction. The when we reached the steep rocky section we were both grateful and appalled. It was a triumph to transfer of the silty dust paths but of course we had dragged ourselves up to the steep rocky section. The definition of a mixed blessing. We pushed onto the rocky weave bounding up the volcano like a vine up tree. Our pace of ten minutes of progress to two minutes of rest quickly became unmanageable. Ten steps, grasp for air, ten more steps, grasp for air, ten more steps, a silent prayer and then desperate search for the summit to appear in our four foot path of vision.
Five hours into our pathetic trek of self-pity and humility, I collapsed into a pile behind a large boulder. My numb hands and feet welcome the frigid rock as a pleasant escape from the whipping wind that transformed from a gusting nuisance to constant impediment. I had run out of motivation. I was exhausted. My head screamed at me to get more oxygen. The longer I ignored it the more it dominated my awareness. The only two thoughts that gave me hope were one; due to the grade, going down in the dark was not an option and two; the summit MUST be close. A guide and his client, hiking 5 minutes behind us, caught up to our resting point. "How much longer do you think it is to the top?" the client asked.
"Tres Horas," he replied.
First, I was sure he was joking. The statement put me into shock. I was unable to the comprehend the impossibility. Quickly, I realized that I was being irrational. I understood the truth and the weight of the mountain came tumbling down on me. It pinned me to the ground. I had nothing left to give. It was over.
I have never been in fight. I got punched once in High School by a bully but the shock was so powerful that I was left standing in the hall holding my stomach, with a dumb grimace on my face. The punch was not remotely painful but I still processed a consuming power. From this limited experience inflicted bodily harm, I would liken my sensation for the next hour and a half with what a boxer must feel just seconds from knockout. With blurry daze, no feeling of self control, my body rose to my feet and stumble up the path ahead. My oxygen deprived consciousness was merely a passenger in a determined body. It was not providing the commands but clumsily, I proceeded.
The sun began to rise...I kept going.

The ground turned back to the lava silt...I kept going. The wind picked up to a steady 50 miles per hour...I kept going. The path wandered up to false summit after false summit...I kept going.
I small natural steep stair case wound it way around large protruding boulder. I warily plopped my feet on each one and pushed my body higher. My head popped up above in rock and there it was. Less then a mile away a 12 meter cross rose from the highest point of the volcano. Like a shock of lighting, I was back. My body was mine again. The sore muscles, cold appendages, and piercing headache flooded back to reality. These played no match to the last of my cognition that struck me with my destination in sight. I was oozing motivation. It flowed through me with each commanding step. It expanded my lungs and grappled the cold. A smile spread across my face. We pushed our way up to summit elevation and crossed a thin traverse on lava silt with steep drops bounding us to placing our steps immediate succession. Small pebbly rocks were lifted from the mountainside and flung relentlessly sting as it came to contact with our exposed faces. I tilted my shoulder into the wind just to maintain forward momentum against the insistent winds.
100 steps...50...20...10...5...4...3...2...1
I collapsed into the cross. Never has positioned atheist every found so much relief from a cross. I had found GOD!

Yeah, that is bullshit. I was was just relieved to have made it. We rejoiced, rested and downward we went. The worst part of this climb quickly became the best. Only twenty meters on either side of the path to the top were rivers of the disdained lava silt. This was the path to the bottom. Ian and I stood atop with gritty river and in unison, lept forward in the gravity defying glide back to oxygen. The 15 hour pain-staking journey to the top became turned to

a gentle, flowing, rhythmic decent

back to civilization.

Within minutes, we able to slip the grips of asphyxiation. Our exaggerated leaps down the side of the volcano brought us closer to warmth. We had made it. For the first time that day, feeling tingled back into my toes and fingers. My goal was to reach the summit. I had made it but in the process the goal became trivial. I had tested myboundaries. I came close to my edge. My onerous ego was stripped away replaced with glee and humility. I had completed the education of El Misti.