So, I'm trekking up Kilimanjaro in a few weeks. I'm not quite sure why. When I told people in the local pub, they said "Wow. Is it on your list?" "What list?" I said. "You know, the one you have for things you want to do before you die." Actually, this was all news to me, so I just shook my head and looked perplexed. I've been thinking about that list ever since if I'm honest. "So, why are you doing it?" they asked. Why indeed? Well, there's this lunatic at work - you know the type: runs marathons and actually enjoys them, collects money for an awesome charity, gets off her arse and does stuff. Anyway, seemingly it's on HER list, and she wouldn't stop going on about it and trying to persuade me to come along. And because I thought it would shut her up (it didn't) and I don't like confrontation, in the end I said yes. OK, there was a bit more to it than that. I don't really like the idea of missing out on potentially life enhancing experiences and I thought it might be a good craic. That was before I did a bit more research.
But before I did that, I had to persuade my partner that it was a good idea. "Climb Kilimanjaro?" he said, "are you mad? You can barely climb the stairs without getting out of breath". After that the jibes came thick and fast. Over the next couple of weeks I think we covered most of the following: you can't even... stagger back from the pub without twisting an ankle, walk up a west berkshire hill without complaining about sore feet; run 100 feet without pulling up with a sore knee; leave the house without straightening your hair; sleep in a mere 4 star hotel, let alone a tent; go out in summer without a cardy on; go more than 3 days without a pint of peroni or a vodka and tonic - or 6... and so on. My fault really for falling for a scouser. They do make jokes all the bleedin' time, don't they though? "And anyway, you'll probably die". The thing is, he's probably right, apart from about the last thing. Hopefully.
The truth is, I am, or rather I was, a trekking virgin. I don't think I know anyone less suited to doing this type of thing than me. I have never slept in a tent, I've never shat in a hole, I've never even successfully broken in a pair of walking shoes (actually, still not). The only walking I've ever done is between pubs or along stunning, mostly tropical, coastlines. And I like luxuries, like washing, having a roof over my head and using a fully functioning toilet. And fine wine and gourmet food. And central heating.
But I'm in on this rustic, shit-in-a-hole experience now. So I'm trying to prepare for it properly. At first it was just a big excuse to go shopping. I'm pretty sure I now own every single make of base layer in every type of material known to man, from silk to merino. I've splashed out more money than I'm willing to admit on anything that says that it's made using modern technology and will keep you reet toastie, from underwear and balaclavas to fleeces and waterproofs. As long as it's in purple. After all, it's important to look the part, even if you do fail. After that I put together a brutal training schedule that I never keep to, mainly because I'm a lazy arse, but also partly because my joints keep giving up on me and some stupid ilio-something band in my upper leg keeps breaking. My doctor says it's because I'm no spring chicken, and my physio says I need to learn to walk again because I'm not doing it right. Which is just super. Someone might have mentioned that before, perhaps when they were teaching me the first time around. Heaven only knows how I've managed to get from A to B in the last 41 years. Luckily you can use sticks, and I've seen the videos on youtube. It's really more of a shuffle than a trek. Apart from the top bit, obviously. And coming down. That looks like an absolute nightmare. But what's really keeping me awake at night is the though of not drinking alcohol for 8 days and shitting in a hole. I tell you what, it'd bloody better be a good craic. If it's not, I guess at least it's for a good cause.
dj
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