Altitude sickness and alpacas

I did it.

I conquered Chachani.

I've run 100 km four times in costume, I've climbed 45 miles of Dartmoor tors, England, in 36 hours, I've marched 100 miles in four days in the blistering heat of a Dutch summer, I've completed the three peaks in Yorkshire, England in 24 hours, I've climbed Volcan Achatenango's 4000m in a day, I've completed the Great Ocean Road, Australia, hike in 5 days, but Chachani takes the biscuit.

Never have I ever felt so challenged in my life.

On Friday 10 of us and four guides piles into two four wheel drives and set off. 3 hours and many pee breaks later we arrive under the shadow of Chachani at 5000 metres. We load up our backpacks and set off.

For those of you who don't know. I'm a strong walker. I set a mean pace and I keep it. I love feeling that lactic acid burn in my quads. I love carrying my life on my back.

So in theory I should have been in my element. In theory, yes, in reality, being at 5000m was playing tricks on my body. I was exhausted. I didn't feel hungry (which for those of you that don't know me, is weird). But off we went, and soon I attributed the fact that I found it difficult to breath to the breath taking scenery.

In the afternoon sun we climbed 200m across 7km of stunning landscape. The dusty red earth crunching under our boots as we natter about how we feel like we were in a Star Wars movie. 3 hours pass and we make it to the foot of Chachani and set up camp. I'm in a tent with Monkey (aka Kevin, a Canadian fire fighter who I'm tanking with) - we even have our own handshake. The chill of the evening contrasts the orange, heart warming sunset. We each eat a bowl of cheesy pasta go to bed. Its 7pm and I'm snuggled up in my sleeping bag, head throbbing, tent flapping.

I'm exhausted but just as I think I'm about to fall asleep I start to hyperventilate, a little reminder of the altitude. I can feel my raised pulse in my joints. I can feel my head throb. So Monkey and I listen to music and talk till Guide (our conviniently named guide) 'wakes' us at 12.30 (please note: you have to actually be asleep to be woken). We pull on our thermals, ski pants, hats and gloves, gulp down our coco leaf tea and meet the others under the bright moon.

By 2 am we are climbing, in a slow zig zag up the volcano sand. For hours we move up. Under the moons light we climb. Up. Always up. Sometimes someone says a riddle, sometimes its lost in the wind. Sometimes we stop for a moment, to catch our breath. Up. Always up. In a daze, deprived of sleep and oxygen. Up.

After hours the sun starts to rise. Our toes and fingers start to thaw. But we climb. Up. Always up. For hours I count coral- latin name, category, description, where I've seen it, next coral. For hours I list the things I love: Cooper, Dad, Miles, Mexico, my Grandma, sunshine, photography, cycling... Then I count my steps in tens. For hours.

When we stop I lie down and fall asleep, even for 3 minutes. I have mild altitude sickness. Then up and climb. Always up, always climbing. It felt like being in a dream, I felt out of touch with reality, the only thing I could feel was the cold in my bones, the lactic acid in my legs and the throb of my headache.

We peak a crest, the top surely, but no cross. I once went to a talk by the first woman to climb the highest peak in each continent, and she said in central and South America, the summit is marked with a cross. So we climb, up, always up. After what seems like an eternity we can see the summit.

It takes us 7.5 hours to make it to the top. Its beautiful. The sun and wind burn your face. There is ice. There is a cross. We made it, all of us. I pull out the bag of animal crackers I brought up for everyone as a summit treat and deliriously stumble around trying to comprehend the view.

At 6000m there is 50% less oxygen than at sea level. My brain is fried. I can no longer tell my left from my right (ok, to be fair I struggle with that at sea level) and everything aches. But it was worth it. Again, thank you to everyone who contributed to the $2490 raised (a mention to Kellie for donating after my last blog- you're a babe). As promised I will send you all a postcard!

So after taking in the view we descend, which involves literally throwing yourself into the volcanic sand and semi-skiing, semi-walking down to camp. In an hour I descend 800m. The view is mind blowing.

We pack up and walk the 7km back to the cars. The whole time I'm counting coral and going through my list. At the cars I fall asleep on the rocks while others eat. After 40 minutes I'm woken and we clamber in and head home.

Once we drop to 3000 metres my headache starts to subside. I'm hungry. I'm thirsty. I'm not sore at all.

So this morning I woke to the sunrise at 6am. Its Sunday, my day off. I feel fine, no I feel better than fine, I feel fantastic. Yesterday I conquered a volcano. Yesterday I climbed to 6000m. Yesterday I completed my challenge.

In just over a week I went from 25 metres below the sea to 6000 metres above the sea. And what a week its been.

On that note, Arequipa calls. The sun is shining and I have a city to explore- with a little spring in my step.

Hugs, peace and love from Arequipa, Peru.

Altitude sickness and alpacas