pushing to my limits and beyond...

I don't sleep much (no change there then - and neither wonder I'm beginning to feel rather more strange than usual, acute sleep deprivation being a standard torture technique). My porridge goes cold after three trips to the pit latrine (I should have known beer wasn't such a bright idea), so I can't face much breakfast, either. I manage a milky coffee which at least gives me a familiar kickstart.
It's our toughest day today, and leaving camp my heart sinks into my walking boots at the prospect ahead...
The good thing about giving in to being a bit of a pisshead is that you get pretty determined not to give in to the hangover...
What's much weirder than feeling hungover in the Himalayas is the feeling that my prayers for help are being answered... in a most unexpected way. I feel supported and enabled - by my dad... Puzzling though this is, I'm grateful - though hopeful that the consequent catching of tearful breaths is fairly discreet as I'm straggling at the back...
Soon, we're high enough to look down to the knoll where we were camped (clue: miniscule building atop the terracing).

I leave one of my garlands, with a blessing for dad, at this spot - which seemed impossibly high from camp...
Our lads pose for a photoshoot.

And then we carry on up... and up... and up...

I can hardly believe they tend cattle this high up...

One of my shoulders begins to object to hauling my carcass up the mountain. I sit down and try a bit of reiki, but shoot back onto my feet, disconcerted at the strange sensation there is something banging on the turf from beneath me... Freaky.

Meal stop: painkillers and packed luches. The food our porters have provided is delicious - bread, cheese and surprisingly sweet and delicious crackers - but it's such an effort to eat.

In other surroundings, it would feel very different. But somehow the sheer beauty of our environment creates an altered consciousness... All the same, I'm struggling to get into the rhythm which helped so much on the first couple of days.

It takes me ages to realise the increased shortness of breath is altitude induced rather than just my lungs labouring at physical exertion. At one point, I try to sing myself along, but I haven't the breath. Behind me, Karna - who has noted many of my fallen tears - begins to sing for me... like my dad used to... Oh, God, more bloody tears... It's taking all my energy to focus, never mind the effort it takes to clamp down bubbling emotions...

Rainforest; and now we're higher than the surrounding mountain ranges. We walk into cloud (we ARE at the roof of the world) which slowly clears, the mountains back more searingly magnificent than before... (but I can't use any of my precious resources for taking pictures!)

We stop on a high resting stage, and I think it's a good idea to reconnect to MacNeice by this wondrous panorama, being unable to take much in while we're moving. As I read through 'Entirely', to my horror, I don't just shed a few discreet droplets. Maybe it's feeling connected to dad after more than twenty years, or maybe it's exhaustion - or maybe it's something else entirely...
Whatever the reason, it's excruciatingly embarrassing - I haven't the energy to take myself out of earshot.

Our party now straggles into three distinct parts; Sergio, Trish, Sam and Tracey ahead, Jeff still mopping my emotional incontinence, and behind us Petra with Tanka coaxing her through the problems she's been having with the altitude for some time.

We come out of the rainforest onto bare rocky mountain slopes, made terrifyingly slippery by a sudden hailstorm.
This is so hard. Not quite impossible, but only just. If I was on my own, I'd give up. But I'm not, and I can't let the others down. So I keep going - somehow.

We're about halfway up this nightmare stretch when the sun sets. Jeff lets me grab a welcome breather while he shoots what must surely be the most spectacular sunset I've ever been blessed to witness - but I haven't a shred of energy spare for appreciating it. I can barely lift my head!

It's now dark. By the light of our head torches, we pick our laborious way towards camp. I can feel Jeff's anxiety, but once the terrain levels out, my worry has evaporated. I can't stop moving, or I'll fall over, but while I am moving, it feels as if a power from outside me powers my muscles. It's exhiliarating and euphoric - like mainlining something extreme.

Then we reach our busy little encampment, and reunite with the others.
I'm cold - so cold! My heart is warmed by the bear hugs Jeff and Sergio give me, but my exterior continues to chitter pathetically. Even with my hot water bottle filled and strapped under my t-shirt, I feel chilled to corpse-like levels. I shake myself into thermals and a few more layers and wonder how I'll survive the night... Particularly as I find I can't eat anything that needs chewing - I haven't the energy. Soup, custard and steaming mugs of hot chocolate will have to suffice. Jeff broaches the subject of tomorrow's plans - none of us, bar Sergio, up to the extended altitude trek tomorrow. Sounds fair enough to me. I might have argued if I believed a good night's sleep would restore me - but Sergio will have to be up at 5.30am. I'm not putting my hand up for that.

Tucked into the four-season sleeping bag and fleece liner, Sig bottle and platy to supplement my hot water bottle, I warm up. Soon, in spite of cooling rapidly each time I have to get up to pee (ironic that I sweat so much in the day I barely pee at all), I'm toastily cosy.

The wonder of what we've just done begins to dawn on me - we MADE it!!!!!