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It’s 11pm. I’ve been walking for 15 hours and I can feel the tears welling in my eyes again. I wasn’t prepared for how emotional this experience was going to be.
The soup I forced down an hour ago is making me feel sick and I wish I was home in bed. I’m painfully aware that I’ve only walked about 3 kilometres in the last hour and am trying to calculate in my jumbled mind how much longer it will be until we reach Mt Evelyn Reserve.
I’ve no idea where the rest of my team is, I’m just following the person in front and hoping that it’s Viv. The team thing is driving me insane, I just want to run ahead and make it be over. Of course, that’s not in the spirit of the event so I trudge on and hope that none of the others want to chat. I’ve got nothing to say and I’m worried that if I have to talk I’ll burst into tears.
The rain is absolutely bucketing down. The Gortex jacket has been pushed beyond it’s capability and I’m soaked to the skin. I think it’s about 2 degrees and I can’t even imagine how cold it must be at the top of Mount Donna Buang. I’m aware that I can’t feel my lips, nose, fingers or toes. The pungent smell of soaked wool and sweat is overpowering and serves to reassure me that I do still have a nose.
I wriggle my toes in my hiking shoes. They are completely numb, I imagine that they must look like little prunes. With each step my socks squelch and the skin around my heel squeaks. I’m so thankful that the support team made me change out of my Asics. At least these shoes have got a bit of grip in the wet.
Each outward breath hits the light of my head torch and the rain. Until it clears I can see nothing. I’m just concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.
I imagine that every corner we round will be the last and am longing for the twinkling lights of the Checkpoint. I’ve only walked this section in daylight and my memory has failed me. I’m getting used to disappointment.
step…squelch...squeak…step…squelch…squeak…step…squelch…squeak
More cold feet stories here.