Day 10 (November 21, 2013) - Tagnag (4700m) to Dzonglha (4830m) via Cho La pass (5420m)

Already dressed in my trekking clothes, which are becoming increasingly grimey and stiff, I awoke from a deep sleep at 0345. Em stirred next to me, but stayed zipped in her sleeping bag. In the light of my headlamp, I quickly packed my mochila. My breath felt strong, my head free of aches, and my mind was ready and full of resolve. I whispered to Em at 0400 when she still lay cocooned in her bag. Seemingly paralyzed with the the thoughts of the daunting day ahead, the familiar wave of nausea was surging through her stomach. Finally, she emerged and joined me for some morning tea. In the light of my headlamp in the freezing dark dining room, I ate a pancake that froze into hardness on my plate. Unable to stomach anything, Em just sipped on ginger tea. 

Leaving a few minutes after the L.A. couple, we began our ascent up the narrow river gorge behind our lodge. We crossed over the frozen earth, picking our way through patches of snow, and gingerly hopscotching onto dry rocks at points where the river ran steady downward. With only the light of our headlamps, we followed Bishnu as he navigated up the gorge. Ahead, we could see the lights of dozen or so other trekkers. The pass must be crossed earlier in the day to avoid the strong winds that often whip across it in the afternoon. Departing from Tagnag, the next village isn't until Dzonglha, seven to eight hours away. 

The only picture I snapped before my camera died.

Emerging from the narrow ravine, the light of day strong enough to dismiss our headlamps, we walked upwards into a wide sloping plain nestled between snowy hills. Large bolders were dropped around the plain, providing clutch cover for "mountain toilets." Cresting a snowy hill, capped with a tall white flag, we caught our first glimpse of the pass. It was depressingly far away, appearing as a face of white between two mountains. A long stretch of rocky gray and snow lay before us to even get to the base of the pass and begin the steep slippery ascent. The vistas in all directions were astonishing, and much to my dismay, my camera wouldn't turn on, despite the fully charged batteries. Pulling out my iPhone as a backup camera, that powered on only to shut right back down. The extreme cold had sapped my electronics of all of their power. I couldn't even spare the energy to be frustrated that I would have no pictures to document this epic day. 

Descending into a snowy, boulder strewn valley, we winded our way delicately to the left and towards the forbidding pass. Unbelievably, as far as the steep ascent seemed, it pulled closer and closer until we were standing on the last stretch of snowy flatness before the up, up, up. Having just scrambled awkwardly with our packs up a rocky embankment, we rested a minute. Around us was a giant trekking group made up of 8 trekkers and 3 guides. Sipping water and eating chocolate bars, they slipped crampons over their boots. In the meantime, I discovered my water bottle was frozen shut, went knee deep in snow when I tried to find a place to blow my nose Nepalese style (sans tissue), and my hands were too encumbered by gloves to navigate the chocolate bar wrapper. Em asked Bishnu whether we too should be wearing crampons, but honestly, at that point we were committed. 

Following this large group, we slowly picked our way up the snowy, icy, steep embankment. Our side of the pass was still in shadows, so despite the climb, it was bitingly cold. Grooved into the 45 degree angled snow slope, switchbacking upwards was a deeply imprinted staircase of footsteps. By following these footsteps, careful to avoid the slick icy blue parts, we steadily climbed, digging our trekking poles for leverage. My heart ringing in my ears, I felt myself in the action of completing this seemingly indomitable task, and it wasn't even as hard as I had feared! It cannot be believed how the fear of the unknown can play such a factor in our self confidence! Doggedly determined, we breathed and stretched and moved up the slope, till finally, I could see the faces of the people at the top of the pass peering down at us. I focused on their faces, their noses, checks, mouths, eyes, and I knew I was almost there. The squeak of my poles in the ice, and crunch of snow underfoot were my soundtrack of progress. 

Em at the top of Cho La pass!

With a final push, the sun crossing into our faces, we gained the top of the pass, and gazed around us in wonder. All around us, breathtaking vistas of the Ngozumpa glacier, peaks of white, of the sloping mound of the pass downwards, at the multitude of colors of prayer flags and trekkers.

My face was so frozen, that I actually thought I was grinning in this picture.

Finally gaining a freedom of energy, I shared a chocolate bar with Em and Bishnu, wrestled my water bottle open, and after observing the genius of a fellow trekker, took my camera battery out, warming it against my hand, and restoring it to life. 

Nothing like chocolate to celebrate.

After a cold and windy 15 minutes we began descending down a considerably less steep sloping hill of snow, slipping and sliding, catching ourselves with our trusty and indispensable trekking poles. Snow gave way to a steep downward rock scramble that actually called upon some rock climbing dexterity. Continuing downward, down a narrow ridge and across a small river, we finally landed on a flat, muddy plain. Ama Dablam, in all her glory was beautifully framed in the opposite distance of the valley. Walking in this mercifully flat area, I felt strong, capable and magnified in my own ability. We had made it! We were on the other side of the pass! 

Em in wonderland.

Ama Dablam's changing aspect.

The stress and physical exertion of the day finally overwhelmed me in the last 20 minutes to Dzonglha. Cresting a small hill to see the village below us, my mind and body felt wasted. It was actually the most difficult stretch of the entire day, so drained was my everything. Seven hours and forty-five minutes after setting out from Tagnag, we were collapsing in our lodge in Dzonglha.

Watching the sun set bright orange over Ama Dablam and the surrounding peaks, both Em and I felt a mighty thing accomplished. The lovely, silly girl who staffed the dining room, laughed at our exhausted expressions, but was careful to sit near us and smile kindly in our direction. Bishnu, who is clearly relieved after our delay in Gokyo, is relaxed and all smiles.

Tonight, brushing our teeth in the freezing, dark, courtyard of the lodge, I looked up at the brilliant night sky. Planets beamed bright against the inky blackness, and the Milky Way expanded towards my senses in a wispy cloud of white. All is good, and all is well, and I say namaste to Cho La pass.

Day 9 (November 20, 2913) - Gokyo (4800m) to Tagnag (4700m)

Holding myself in dreams of hope, I finally spent a peaceful night. I woke up this morning sans headache, giving me the green light to push on. Mochilas packed, and our belly's full of pancakes we trekked out into the morning sun.

Gokyo is stunningly beautiful. Even if it was under the circumstances of our being sick, I am glad to have spent the extra time here. Instead of one night, three, instead of Em missing out on Gokyo Ri, she was able to see the vista. The time lost in our trek shouldn't have dire results. Because we have so much time, we are flexible, and we will simply have to shorten our return trek from Gorak Shep, our final destination, back to Lukla. Longer days later on, but at least we can continue with our itinerary. 

Crossing a glacier, no big deal.

Today we crossed the Ngozumpa Glacier. Dunes of gray crumbled rocks, interlaced with white snow, crater like depressions of rock and reflective pools of green. It felt like we were walking across the moon, the glacier falling away in all directions into mounds of stone, mountains rolling away in the distance. The glacier groaned and shifted, even in our passage. The still surfaces of small lakes were disturbed by the collapsing of rocks, the snow marked and reformed into new paths. If it weren't for Bishnu, we surely would have gotten lost in the passage.

Sadly, a small headache began to pound 30 minutes from Gokyo. At this point, I had already slipped and fallen twice on the snowy narrow paths of the glacier. It just didn't feel right. Stopping, I turned to Em, and I felt like my spark was gone. What a massive breaking point. Turn back now? Go on? Tagnag, our destination was at 4700m, so it would basically be another night of acclimatization before attempting Cho La. In a quiet conference with myself, Em and Bishnu waited. I struggled through endless minutes of indecision. Fear of AMS, of getting halfway up the pass and failing boiled up inside of me. The turning point came when two American trekkers we had met in Machhermo and Gokyo walked by. Knowing I had been sick the day before, they asked me how I was, and when I told them of my headache, they just smiled and reminded me that Tagnag was a short distance away. And with that simple mindset, my decision was made and we continued walking. 

Walking behind two porters, we came across a flat trail beside a crumbled steep hill. Suddenly a shower of rocks came crashing down towards the porters. Even under their heavy loads, they scrambled up the opposite slope of the trail to avoid the rockfall. In a flash of seriousness, Bishnu turned to us, saying that we must traverse these next few hundred meters quickly. Taking deep breaths, we moved more swiftly than we had the entire trek, the whole time, warily watching the unstable rock hill. Again, a few rocks fell, and I watched in dread as they tumbled towards me. At the last moment, the largest rock, about the size of my fist, glanced off a boulder and smacked right into Em's calf. "Didn't really hurt, but didn't feel good," was her response to this, as we walked even faster.

Walking across a brush tundra, we reached Tagnag in a little over three hours. More garlic soup, followed by quiet naps on the sun spotted benches of the dining room. My thoughts are swarming, retracting and aggressing over the apprehension of Cho La pass. Is it possible that this may be one of the hardest physical challenges of my life? I don't know what to expect, which is the hardest bit to swallow. Just shear trepidation. 

In the gathering dusk, five other trekkers came into the lodge. An America triathlete and a Dutch man wearing a chicken beanie, had just completed the passage over Cho La from Dzonglha, in the other direction. Another, a young man who had been walking almost continually since midnight the morning before from Tengboche in order to avoid the pass, and an American couple from L.A. The two who had made the passage described it as the most "exciting" and difficult day of their entire trek. Beautiful to be sure, but physically and mentally exhausting. They suggested on at least three occasions that we try to secure some crampons before making the crossing. And to top off their tales of slippery slopes, and collapsing snow, the told me that the week prior, four trekkers had died of altitude sickness in Gorak Shep. Needless to say, although they are both very entertaining, they aren't sending our confidence soaring. 

In the darkness of the dining room, only illuminated by the flame of the dung powered stove, we passed a lively and communal evening. I think neither Em nor I want to hasten the morning, so we are lingering here, listening to the stories of the Halloween inspired horror company the American couple own, of the wild saga of trekking from the young Czech man, and stories of Ironmans and Amsterdam in Summer. But we must sleep, and inexorably, tomorrow will come, and we shall take in what it brings.

Day 8 (November 19, 2013) - Gokyo (4800m)

Agony. One of the worst headache of my memory. All night, my head felt like it was splitting. Cowering in my sleeping bag, I felt my body shaking with unshed tears. Falling into fitful, blessed moments of sleep, only to awaken myself with a slight movement and the accompanying ring in my head. Around 0600, I was seized with an intense, wet cough, bringing up a wad of mucous into my mouth. Thrashing about in my sleeping bag, desperately trying to sit up and unzip the perpetually jammed zipper, I thought I was literally going to choke to death on my own phlegm. Disgusting. 

Finally freeing myself, hobbling to the squat toilet, and returning in a shaken heap to our room, I felt as though my trek was over. It was the same feeling of sadness at unfinished dreams that I felt the morning I had resolved myself to take a cab to Finisterre. Only this time, Tobias wasn't walking in to the cafe with sunshine on his face. I feel trapped in my own physical weaknesses, nothing external, but everything internal. It isn't that I shouldn't go on, it is that I feel I can't go on. The elevation has stripped me of everything other than this pounding headache, and I am afraid that I am incapable of acclimatizing. Indecision, doubt, fear. An ugly cocktail. 

Yesterday's climb feels like a dream.

As Em stirred from bed, I croaked my sad condition to her. Giving me two NyQuil, covering me with a giant fleece blanket, she headed down to relay the news to Bishnu. 

Three hours later, emerging from a drug induced deep sleep, my headache had abated enough for me to crawl from bed and seek Em out on the sunny patio. The verdict is that we were going to stay in Gokyo for an additional day. Depending on how I feel throughout today, and most importantly in the morning, we will continue with our planned trek, or head back down. 

The day was a series of naps, interrupted only by consumption of water or soup. The most wonderful part of this unexpected day of rest was that Em was able to climb to the top of Gokyo Ri with Bishnu and revel in the beauty of the mountains and lakes.  

Em and Bishnu on top of Gokyo Ri!

Em's view of Everest!

Finally around 1530, I emerged from nearly 20 hours off off and on sleep, and felt somewhat restored. Soup in the sun, seeing pictures of Em's climb to Gokyo Ri and enough water to burst me, my headache abated, I felt the inkling of possibility. Sitting in the sunroom, the German couple again offered to test my blood oxygen levels. Against better judgement, and mostly because people seem to have an insatiable desire for numbers and prognosis on their own health, I agreed. Another confidence booster. My oxygen levels were up to 88%. Despite my the day's headache, I took this as a sign of acclimatization, and ate my dinner of garlic soup with a slight restoration in my self-confidence. 

Em is struggling with her own fears as well. Although she feels physically strong, despite yesterday's nausea, we both have a huge mental block about Cho La. I know that Em is already fulfilled with our accomplishment of making it this far, so fortunately, I don't feel a pressure to push through pain in order to not disappoint her. I know my ego is involved, and I do not want to fail. I have, for years, longed to trek to EBC, and I don't want to admit defeat now. Although my body hurts, the mental anguish at indecision, at not knowing when to stop or keep going, is proving to be the greatest challenge of all. 

Again, I go to sleep tonight and just hope and hope for relief from these headaches. My heart is beginning to falter, but I know I must keep pushing myself, lest one day, I have any regrets. I feel the pressure of the decision to go down or continue on. It seems it is up to me, and this night of rest, to see what state I am in tomorrow. Oh, this is hard, indeed.

Day 7 (November 18, 2013) - Gokyo (4800m), Side-trip to Gokyo Ri (5363m)

Our insistent watches chimed their alarms at 0350, and Em and I shivered from our beds. At this elevation, the nights sink down to well below freezing, and our rooms aren't but one to two degrees warmer. Wiggling into cold underclothes, our breath coming in gasps from the cold and elevation, we packed up our mochilas in anticipation of a quick departure after Gokyo Ri to Tagnag, and donned our headlamps to meet Bishnu a little before 0430. 

In the darkness of pre-dawn, I piled on the layers of clothing. During the warmth and sunshine of day, I have been wearing only my Smartwool t-shirt and Patagonia thermal layer to trek. And even then, I am pulling up my sleeves from the heat of exertion. Layers are key to trekking in the Himalayas. Freezing cold in the morning and evenings, it can sometimes feel like shorts and t-shirt weather during the day. This morning, I was wearing the full arsenal: four layers on top, including my fleece and puffy jacket, and my fleece pants and rain pants on the bottom. Two pairs of socks, ear warmers, a fleece hat, two pairs of gloves and a scarf completed my get-up. 

Quietly we followed Bishnu through sleepy Gokyo to the northern edge of the lake, hopscotching over rocks that stuck up from the ice and water of the lakes shore. One benefit of trekking in the dark, although this can also be a burden of imagination, is that you can't see how far you have to go. In the ray of light illuminated by our headlamps, we can only see the area in vicinity of our feet. Immediately we began our steep switchbacked ascent, leveraging ourselves over tall rocks with our trekking poles. Little did we know that this seemingly straight up switchbacks were just a prelude to the hunched over steepness of the direct path on the second half of the climb. 

After twenty minutes of breathless climbing, our three headlamps the only light we could see on the hill, Emily suddenly stopped and collapsed heavily onto a rock. She had taken two ominously long rests on the way so far, made even more unusual by the fact that up until this morning, I had been the only one of us to initiate rests. Something was definitely wrong. Her stomach was cramping, close to vomiting and tears, Emily made the call that she could go no further. Without hesitation, we headed back down the switchbacks we had climbed. Crossing the stone pathway across the lake, Emily walked back up the hill at the base of our lodge, back to her sleeping bag, and Bishnu and I turned around for a second attempt. Swiftly regaining our position, the only sounds were of my labored breathing and the swish of my rain pants. It wasn't long before my rapid pace slowed down to a torturous crawl, as the switchbacks ended and we began to scurry up the steep hill. Somehow we found ourselves off the trail, walking in random switchbacks, following long frozen footprints in the mud. Scrambling over some boulders, we began walking over a steep grade of snow, as I dug my trekking poles in to prevent from slipping. 

Taking a few rests, I shared my water bottle with Bishnu, as his had completely frozen shut. The pace seemed agonizing, and still I told myself to move slowly and deliberately. With every step I took, I was at a higher elevation than I had ever been before. I felt physically and mentally strong, a stark contrast to the previous evening. Although I was still in a state of severe apprehension regarding Cho La, it felt like every step up Gokyo Ri was a victory for my confidence that I could do it. Granted I was only carrying a day pack, but still, I was pushing my own limits, slowly but surely. 

Inexorable. Kelsey and my mantra for the passage of distance and time over El Camino came back to me. 

Finally the flag pole at the top of the Ri came into view, distantly waving in the upward distance. We regained the trail, and cairns marked the path. I began to use them as way markers for my labor. Counting my steps, up to ten, then starting over, making it to this pile of rocks, then a breather. The white flag disappeared and reappeared as bumps in the hill were overcome. I tried forbidding myself from looking up at the flag, as sometimes it was deceptively close, and in the next moment, unreasonably far. 

I finally admitted an inner and outer smile of near victory, when, with the newly risen sun at my back I could hear the whip and crack of the prayer flags in the wind. The last fifty meters felt an eternity, and what I could have charged up at sea level, required breathing breaks every fifteen meters. After an achingly long two and a half hours, Bishnu and I completed the 563m climb up to the top of Gokyo Ri, standing at 5363m. I felt triumphant, but missed Em. It had felt even more solitary, even with Bishnu's patient and quiet urges and encouragements. 

As the sun touched down on the mountains, eating up the shadow of night, I was rewarded with a 360 degree panoramic of Himalayan majesty. It is such an incredible feeling, to overcome a hurdle placed before you. Throughout my time on the Camino, I never once doubted that Kelsey and I would make it to Santiago. It wasn't even a question of "if" or even "when." I just simply saw myself at Finisterre, and it was so. But this trek has felt totally different. I feel sincerely challenged, on both the physical and mental level. I cannot see into the future, the destinations and the goals met, it is hazy with uncertainty. But standing on top of Gokyo Ri, I was awash with happiness. I had made it, my body and mind had not failed. It was a victory, and allowed me the freedom to think more is possible on this trek. 

Everest in the background!

Looking down to the South, at the emerald green lakes, to the West at a distant Mt. Everst, Nopse, Makalu, to the North at Cho Oyu and Thame Peak. And more, more peaks. I felt true exaltation. 

Bishnu and I spent a cold 15 minutes at the top. A few minutes after we reached the top, another group of four arrived and we clambered around the flag laden hilltop together. 

Sadly, I wasn't on the summit more than a few shaky minutes, proud and joyful, when a tiny headache began to creep into my temples. In the act of taking pictures and gazing at the horizon, my head began to pound, everything becoming more intensified. Relinquishing the summit, we began our steep, knee crunching trip down the hill, my headache pounding and thumping, traveling from my temples to the base of my head. Even going downhill, I found my breath catching from any unnecessary jarring movement that sent tiny spots behind my eyes. My breathing was still labored, despite the downhill, but and hour and a half later, we were at the base of the hill. I knew I was off when I took three breaks on the small hill leading up to our lodge. The warmth of the day, the pounding in my head, and I started to feel weak and exhausted. 

Em lay cocooned in her sleeping bag, but was feeling better. We have decided to take this day to rest in Gokyo, rather than move on. Had we maintained our planned schedule, we would have walked another three hours today to Tagnag, and been up early again tomorrow at 0430 to cross Cho La. Too much.

Together, Em and I, have spent the majority of the day shuffling to the sunniest spots in the dining sun room. Feeling wasted, I am only focused on maintaining stillness and drinking prodigious amounts of water in an attempt to relieve my headache. It has dawned on me that this headache has everything to do with altitude, and I just hope that by tomorrow I feel up to movement.

We were clued into a hot shower by the German couple, and after a false start, with Em standing in the shower, with only a towel around her, while two male staff tried to fix the water heater, we have taken our first showers in 6 days. Working the all in one Campsuds through my greasy hair, I felt free from my headache for the first time since standing atop Gokyo Ri. 

The lethargy of this higher elevation has wrapped its mellowness around us, and we laze about. My headache is simmering behind my eyes, under my scalp, around my jaw. After this dinner of dal bhat, I will try to restore my balance with sleep, 40 more ounces of water, and a strong prayer for health and energy. Till tomorrow...

Day 6 (November 17, 2013) - Machhermo (4410m) to Gokyo (4800m)

The dining room haze of smoke, whether it be powered by kerosene or yak dung, is beginning to take its toll on my respiratory system. It was another restless night of sleep, this time with the added symphony of my throaty cough and sniffling. So far, it has not progressed to a rattling sort of cough, but the prospects tell me I will get worse, before better. In effort to keep the reoccurring headaches (dehydration? Or something more?), I have taken to drinking obscene amounts of water. My goal is 4 liters a day, especially due to the Diamox. The times I am deeply asleep, my mind is filled with life like dreams. At higher elevations, you experience periodic sleeping, spending more time in the state of dreaming. Last night, I dreamt of punk rockers and elves. 

Full of pancakes and ginger tea, we hoisted our packs and clambered up the hill from Machhermo. Calves and lungs burning, we switchbacked up the relentless hill until it leveled off into a more civil sloped plain. We walked in an all encompassing silence, the three of us lost in our own private internal monologues. My thoughts repeatedly turned to life in Kathmandu after the trek. Try as I may, I just couldn't place myself in the choreography of the city for any length of time. Animal Nepal felt off somehow. I walked conflicted, part of me respecting my intuition to redirect myself, and the other consumed with thoughts of my own directionless, and maybe even selfishness. Am I ready to be alone, living in a foreign place by myself? I had Kelsey on the Camino, Maks and Molly in Italy, and now I have Emily. But even the few days I was in Porto alone, I felt very much alone. After years surrounded by friends, roommates, coworkers, I am finding the adjustment to internal friendship as a daily sustenance a bit intimidating. 

Amiga!

Bishnu broke the silence, his voice resonating against the snowy slopes like a clap of thunder. Around us he called the names of giant mountains, drew our eyes downward to the Dudh Kosi river, a milky blue blur of water, the gray rocks painted with sea green moss. In my mind, I embraced this gameplay of trekking. SLOW. Slow my roll, arrest my speed, stroll, mindfully and deliberately place my feet, plod, walk with aloha, slooooow. Repeating this mantra of physical forgiveness, I feel like it will be the only way I can accomplish this entire trek. The seed of doubt, has been magnified by the informational talk in Machhermo, and I am beginning to second guess myself, even as I walk onwards.

Yaks with Gokyo in the distance.

We have fallen into a particular order, Bishnu, Em, then me. What a difference from the rhythm and strength I felt walking on El Camino! Here I feel breathless, the relentless beating of my heart drawing my attention in a most unnatural manner. It is so strange that the automatic functions of our bodies, breathing and heart beating, can feel so foreign. My walking has taken on a fractured state: step, breath, walk slow, stop, pant, drink, blow nose, step, stop. For the first time today, I begin to fall behind and hold up Bishnu and Em. They stop and wait for me, and although it is programmed in me to eschew being a slow burden, I force myself to continue my slow, strange flow. I am forcing myself to truly listen to my body, and move at the appropriate pace. 

Finally we reach a steep, stone staircase, climbing until we reach the top, and a small bridge crossing the height of the river. A little beyond, we come into view of the first of the five lakes. Longponga Tsho, reflects back the white mountains around it in a green-blue still surface. Only the northern area of the lake is disturbed in ripples by a family of Brahminy ducks that live here. They sing and chase each other across the lake, drawing the attention of the small group of trekkers we pass taking a break by the lakes edge. We picked our way through a lichen encrusted boulder field, curving around the lake and coming up on the second lake, Taboche Tsho and finally the third lake, Dudh Pokhari, where the town of Gokyo is nestled on its banks. Behind the town, runs the rocky moraine of the Ngozumpa Glacier, that we will cross on our way to the Cho La Pass. Snow kissed mountains and the emerald green lake provide a stunning backdrop to this village, and it feels we have reached a real destination. 

Checking into the Gokyo Resort, a long established trekkers lodge which boasts the world's highest bookstore, we downed a lunch of dal bhat. I had been challenged even on the relatively short 4.5 hour walk this morning, and sitting in the warmth of the dining room lit by the sun, I was so grateful to have made it this far, to 4800m. Looking beyond the northern edge of the lake, we can see Gokyo Ri, the snow topped hill, whose summit of 5363m reveals stunning views of Everest, the lakes, and surrounding Himalayas. Tomorrow we are going to climb Gokyo Ri in the morning then cross the Ngozumpa Glacier to the pre Cho La Pass stopping point at Tagnag.  

Charging my solar charger by the window, a German couple asked if they could use it to charge their phone. Reminded of the Camino, a pilgrim asking a fellow pilgrim for help, I charged their phone (and sadly in the process, drained my entire solar charger). They had recently quit their jobs, and had traveled to Mongolia and South Korea before arriving in Nepal. In exchange for charging their phone, they offered to let me use their small finger-clasping device to read my blood oxygen level and heart rate. Hesitantly, I accepted, and somehow, I knew the results were going to be bad...75% blood oxygen levels! And a resting heart rate of 110. With a look of pity, the German man actually said "I'm sorry." 

Smiling, despite the nerves.

This evening I am sitting here, and I am beginning to acknowledge the knot of actual fear that has taken residence in my heart and stomach. Am I too weak? Am I not genetically attuned to high elevations? This strange voice of defeatism has me turning within myself, and against myself. I am continually thinking back to the 19 days following reaching Finisterre that I filled with pasta, pizza, and gelato, instead of runs and hikes. This downward mental spiral is really just my frantic reaction to nerves. I am daunted by and frankly scared emotions of crossing Cho La Pass. The pass, at 5420m, has taken on crux like proportions for both Em and I. We cannot hide our dread. I just envision a tightrope thin trail, covered in snow hiding black ice, and us teetering on some edge of a dark abyss. And as exaggerated as my fears are, I think Em's are even worse. Our sinking into this fear of the unknown together, I am sure will make the preparations and execution of the pass even more difficult. I hope so much that my mental strength will hold itself together, because right now, I am feeling so sickeningly uncertain. Oh, self-doubt is such a dream killer. 

As if I needed even more bad juju, I lost one of the blue Hawaii earrings, and don't have an idea where it could be. Worst still, I don't have the energy at this elevation to launch a search. Lethargy has definitely begun to set in, and Em and I are fairly sedentary, conserving energy at every turn.

I am closing the evening with a big bowl of smelly garlic soup (it's supposed to help with AMS), and headed to bed for a 0350 wake up to walk up Gokyo Ri for sunrise. Goodnight fears, and goodnight doubt. I hope tonight for the sleep of beautiful dreams. 

Em on the rock bridge to Gokyo Ri.