False Start…....

Millennium Camp – 28^th February 

Needless to say the atmosphere over dinner was electric and it was somewhat grudgingly that we all made our way to our tents around 6pm to try and get some sleep.

My mind was swimming with thoughts as I lay in my sleeping bag, I had reached this point feeling stronger than I could have ever hoped for and whilst I knew I was within touching distance of achieving my dream I also knew the worst was yet to come.

Every blog, guide book and account of the summit day talks about the hellish scree slope that you have to climb to reach Gillman’s Point and over the last 18 months it had become something of a mantra for every time I wanted to quit on a run “you’re not going to quit on the scree so you’re not going to quit NOW!”.

Eventually I drifted off and whilst I slept well, it felt as though I was awake again barely minutes after my eyes had shut.

The darkness surrounding the tent confirmed that this wasn’t the case and a quick check on my watch confirmed that it had just gone 10pm.

Knowing that it would be nigh impossible to get back to sleep again feeling this excited I lay there mentally checking my kit until suddenly there was an unwelcome flash quickly followed by the menacing rumble of thunder.

The next half hour was agonising, I knew that there was no way we’d be setting off in the middle of an electrical storm and so I was left contemplating the devastating prospect of heading home having gotten this close.

At times it felt as though the storm was mocking us as it would appear to move on giving us a glimmer of hope before suddenly returning right on top of us and more violent than ever before.

It may have been foolish optimism or just a bad case of denial but I refused to believe that my Kilimanjaro dream was about to be scuppered by the weather, so at 10:45pm I started to get myself ready.

My heart refused to believe what my head knew was inevitable and I paused straining to hear John and Mweke discuss our options.

I knew what was coming as John approached our tent, the light from my headtorch having betrayed me:

“Who’s that?”

“Simon”

“Go back to bed mate, we’ll have another look at 2am”

I’m not a religious man and so I cannot describe what I did as I slumped back into my sleeping bag as praying, however what I did do was hope.  

I hoped with the very fibre of my being until it felt an almost physical act to be allowed my shot at the summit but as I drifted in to sleep the storm rolled on.