LINDA'S VIDEO OF OUR KILI CLIMB

The song "Kilimanjaro" was written and sung by my friends, Pat Humphries and Sandy O.  In an amazing synchronicity, Pat and Sandy performed the song at Procter's Theatre in Schenctady on our summit night!  Their music gave us a kind of psychic energy to continue climbing through the miserable weather.  The porters and guides sing "Kilimanjaro" to us at 12,300 ft.  Baraka starts to dance and calls for Chantel  (a rugby player from England) and me to join him.  So--I think this means we were initated into the Maasai warrior tribe!  I hope you enjoy this video and it makes you feel as if you were there on Kilimanjaro with us!    

THE MIND BODY SPIRIT TRAIL UP KILIMANJARO

I wrote this piece for the local papers:  it's a glimpse of our 7 days on the mountain last month

Up the Mind, Body, Spirit Trail on Mt. Kilimanjaro

Linda Anne Burtis

                The sun had just come up over Africa.  It was 6 am on December 10, and the temperature was 15 degrees.  My husband, David and I were waking up from a cold, altitude-sick night at our high camp just below the summit of Mt. Kilimanjaro.  A Tanzanian guide called from outside our tent and offered   hot tea.   His fellow guides had left at midnight to lead our teammates to the top.  This guide told me his name was Deo Gratias.  I said “Hello, Thanks Be to God.”  He gave me a surprised grin.   I told him that I recognized his name because the Latin Masses of my childhood ended with the congregation saying Deo Gratias.        

                Deo handed me a warm cup of tea.  “Now I have something for you,” I said.  I showed him my MP3 player, loaded up with African music, including the Missa Luba, a 1960’s version of the Mass sung Congolese style.  In the thin air at dawn on that remote, steep mountainside, Deo heard the Kyrie for the first time.  He sang it back to me in his wonderful Swahili accent.  Suddenly it was okay that I had not stood on the top of Kilimanjaro—Deo and I were two people from different worlds making a deep connection on a different kind of summit.       

                My husband and I were climbing the high point of Africa as part of a special expedition to raise money for the Laureus Foundation.  Laureus believes that sports can change the lives of kids in slums around the world.  Our team included tennis legend, Martina Navratilova, German Paralympics’ cycling champion, Michael Teuber who was paralyzed below both knees and climbed using mechanical feet and British Olympic medalist, Gail Emms.   We committed to raise about $3,000 each for Laureus programs from Nairobi to New York. 

THE MOUNTAIN BECKONS

Our presence on this climb happened so effortlessly it seemed preordained.  During Wimbledon last July, it was announced that Martina Navratilova was going to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro as part of a Charity Challenge.   Martina is a long-time heroine.  I had never met her, but as a tournament tennis player, I’ve competed against players who have played her.  Also, thanks to my husband, we have both become world-wide trekkers, spending weeks hiking trails such as the one from Mt. Blanc to the Matterhorn.   A spot on this climb would be an amazing fit with our tennis and hiking lives!  I checked online and unbelievably, the expedition was not yet filled.  My husband was game, so we signed up. 

THE BODY

We had only  12 weeks to train, but with a summer and fall of fantastic, dry and sunny weather, our get-in-shape regimen was actually fun.  We hiked every weekend—from the Catskills to the Adirondacks and the Berkshires.    Hours in the woods gave us lots of opportunity to talk about how to approach our climb.  We agreed to try it from a mind, body and spirit perspective.  The body part was straightforward—we planned to get our 60-something physiques into the best shape we could.  Hiking and biking were our mainstays, along with a diet of less sugar and more fruits and vegetables. 

THE MIND

                The mind piece got off on the wrong track.  During our early hikes, I focused on everything but being in the woods.  My mind kept imagining thoughts such as how long before we reached to the top, what I would eat at dinner after the hike, what questions I could ask Martina. But, something about Kilimanjaro was stirring inside.  I started to enjoy the hours spent in the woods—the company of my husband, the smell of the fallen leaves, the sounds of the nearby streams and birds. 

                 As a competitive tennis player I was familiar with the maxim “no pain no gain.”  I imagined that Kilimanjaro would be a grind to the summit, never quitting and always trying harder.   Again, something special was going on—it seemed amiss to approach the climb up one of the world’s seven summits this way.  A friend suggested that the mountain would come to me.  I fell in love with that cool notion!  I knew it was still going to be one of the biggest challenges of my life, and I really, really wanted to reach the summit.  But I was excited to try a relaxed outlook.  If only I knew how important this new attitude would be as we experienced what Kilimanjaro had in store for us—I could have carried  some big red reminder notes in my backpack.

                THE SPIRIT

                The spiritual perspective evolved as we trained harder.                 In the fall I read Eckhart Tolle’s book “The New Earth”.  Tolle tells the story of a monk whose character was viciously attacked by many years of false accusations.  The monk’s response to each new accusation was “I don’t mind what happens.”   That concept of acceptance resonated and I tried it at every turn—“I don’t mind what happens,” I said, when my knee started to act up just as we were invited to join Martina for a publicity stairclimb in New York City.  “I don’t mind what happens” became a mantra when the fund-raising for our charity slowed down, or when I worried about the million things that could go wrong as we prepared for this expedition.   As it turned out, a million things did go wrong and I was going to learn a big lesson about acceptance. 

AFRICA

                On Friday evening, December 3^rd, Dave and I joined the expedition team at Heathrow for the flight to Nairobi.  Many flights in and out of England had been cancelled the day before due to an unusual snowstorm in London.  Looking back on it, the strange weather in London was probably a sign of the strange weather to come during our climb. 

We checked into our Nairobi hotel, and with little time to recover from jet lag, hopped in a van to visit the Mathare Youth Sports Association, meeting some of the kids who benefit from the Laureus Foundation.   Sunday morning we flew to Mt. Kilimanjaro Airport in Tanzania.  The skies were clear and we could see Kili from our plane.  We imagined ourselves standing on the summit.  In actuality, the summit would be invisible for the next six days and a number of us would not get to the top.  Two vans took us on a long drive to our lodge at 6,000 ft.  Another long, bouncy drive on dirt roads the next morning got us to our trailhead on the northern side of the mountain--the Rongai Route. 

                There were about 100 porters standing in small groups.  On Kili Tanzanians must guide the climbs—a policy that benefits the local economy.  Miki, our chief guide, had climbed to the top 200 times.  His assistant guides had climbed the mountain between 20 and 80 times.  It’s their job to keep close watch on us clients.  From our first step on the trail, it’s clear that the guides are terrific--solicitous and smart.  We learned about Tanzanian culture from them.  I told one of the guides that we were traveling with some famous athletes, but I was just an ordinary person.  Without missing a beat, he replied “no one is ordinary in their own families.”  Unlike the rest of Africa, family is even more important to Tanzanians than their tribes.    

                 

.      DAY 1 – 5:  MIND, BODY & SPIRIT TRAINING PAYS OFF

                The climb was 5 days up, 2 days down.  The rain began about one hour after we started and continued almost non-stop for the next 7 days, changing to snow at the higher elevations.  I was shivering by the time I climbed into my tent at the end of each day.  The thunderstorms during the first night were ferocious and even knocked the mess tent down.  Our tent floor got wet as did some of our gear, including a pair of thermal pants needed on summit night.  My sleeping bag and mat got wet.   Not a good sign.     

                The benefits of being in great shape were tangible.  Dave and I were the old-timers on the team, but hiked strong.   The guides called us Babu and Bibi, which is Swahili for grandfather and grandmother.  As we steadily gained altitude I was always last in the group but didn’t feel physically out of my range. 

It was great to have tried out those mental and spiritual practices.   Along with the altitude, the deteriorating weather wore everyone down, but we had those fallback tools.  Mentally, I would hike along in the present moment—hearing the birds, noticing the changing climate zones.  Is it possible to feel good and miserable at the same time?  That yin yang is just what happened.  We hiked higher, hour after hour, through scenery that changed from heather to barren and arctic.  Almost constant mist and fog meant we never saw Hemingway’s famous snow-capped peak.         

Each day began with a prayer circle, which Nikos, an Olympian from Greece especially loved.  Despite the ordeal of the weather and the increasing concern over Martina’s health as we saw her struggle more each day, I had a strong sense that all would be well.  Even though I am a hard core trekker, I hate camping.  The combination of rain, snow and cold made for a pretty rugged time.  My husband and I were amazed at my unexpected cheerful attitude while squeezed in our tent between damp duffel bags, hiking poles and sleeping bags as the rain pounded us.  Maybe the mountain heard our prayers and showered us with good feelings as well as rain?  The kindness of the guides, who often carried our packs and our teammates, who shared their camping gear, was deeply touching.   It seemed natural to hike these old paths and be moved to tears as the guides sang Swahili and Bob Marley songs for us. 

NOTHING SHORT OF A MIRACLE

At 9,000 ft., on the first night in our tent, a potentially serious eye problem made me consider leaving the expedition.   My symptoms were worrying and I needed help from every source I could think of.    I reminded myself that I was meant to be on this expedition, and that all would be well.  The miles  passed quickly by as I meditated on taking in all the wishes for my safety from Bishop Hubbard’s blessing (even though I couldn’t remember the lovely way he said it), my friends and even the 5^th graders I spoke to about Kili.  Karen, a wise teammate from England, sat me down on a giant boulder and offered an energy healing.  That was a tipping point and I knew my eyes would be okay.  Upon arriving home, I was diagnosed with a retinal tear which required immediate surgery.  A doctor told me “I was very lucky.”    I believe there was more than luck going on.   This was nothing short of a miracle.  For seven days I lived Jesus’ words:   “Whatever you ask in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours.” 

The higher we climbed, the deeper became the camaraderie of our teammates.  There is a Swahili word, Shikamoo, which means “May I touch your feet.”  It is a term of respect that children use when greeting their elders.  Shikamoo became the way we all treated one another and it had nothing to do with age.   We struggled together, day and night, to stay warm and dry.  Martina was the most miserable because she started the climb with a stomach bug.  She couldn’t eat and we were worried about her.  By the fourth night it was clear that she had HAPE - high altitude pulmonary edema.  Six porters saved her life when they carried her down the mountain.     

                Four porters also had to descend with altitude sickness and another climber needed to be taken off the mountain on the way to summit camp.  Mark, our leader, said that he had never led a climb, anywhere in the world, with such bad weather.  It was hard not to feel unnerved.   Dave and I felt strong and our altitude sickness was bearable.  We slowly (“Pole, Pole” in Swahili) hiked towards Barrafu Camp at 15,300 ft.  Our guide said we were looking good for our summit bid that night.  For the millionth time, I visualized myself standing at the top. 

Torrential rains turned to snow.  For the first time, I felt seriously cold.  One of the guides had run a few hours ahead to catch up to the cook and returned with hot soup.  It warmed us to the core.  I wished those energy bars I had left behind to save weight were in my pack.  We were in a moonscape, headed to a remote headwall, climbing one steep pitch, only to see that there was yet another big ridge a long way off to be climbed.  My legs were sore and we were thoroughly soaked.  I began to consider the shocking thought that I would not bag the peak.

Barrafu Camp was on an exposed, steep slope covered with boulders.  By the time the porters set up our tents, they were covered with fresh snow.  At dinner, Mark said he considered canceling the summit bid.  With much compassion, he offered everyone a chance to stop here.  He explained that many people back home would not understand, but only we knew the true circumstances.  I thought that most of the team would take up his offer.  They didn’t, but Dave and I did.  We were concerned about hypothermia.  It was a relief to stay behind, but not totally.  The top guides and leaders would take our team to the summit at midnight and be gone for 12 hours.   We would be at the highest elevation we had ever experienced, with no one with medical training.  We were very cold and a bit altitude sick when we climbed into our sleeping bags.

The storm stopped and the stars of the southern sky came out.  At midnight, we heard everyone leaving for Uhuru Peak.   About an hour later, in the cold, night air, I woke to singing.  The guides were encouraging the climbers by serenading them!   Two of the fittest climbers started to vomit and had to descend.    The rest of the team crawled and suffered their way to the top.

I have lived my life by the principle that, if you try simply hard enough, you can succeed at anything.  But now Mt. Kilimanjaro was teaching me another way—I had succeeded, even without standing at the summit.   Deo Gratias.           

TAX-DEDUCTIBLE DONATIONS TO LAUREUS SPORTS FOR GOOD CAN BE MADE ON MY BLOG:                     www.burtisandkilimanjaro.blogspot.com