To the top of Mount Fuji!
Recently, my wife and I had the pleasure of vacationing in Japan. It was a great trip and I may be writing more about it in the future, but for this entry I’m going to share just one experience from that adventure and highlight how it relates to recovery from BI.
Early in the trip, my wife and I gave ourselves the challenge of climbing Japan’s highest mountain, Mount Fuji. What’s more, due to our timetable and circumstances we decided that we must go Up and Down in a Day. To be clear there is nothing extraordinary in such a task, as the mountain is a highway of climbers, but for inexperienced climbers (us) it would be a challenge. The preferred method is to climb halfway up the mountain in the afternoon, then get a few hours rest in a hut and finish the hike in the morning. We tried to arrange this, but according to the internet all the spots in the huts were booked – it was likely some spots might open up, but for tourist VISA purposes we needed to have a booking for every night we would be in Japan and as inexperienced climbers we didn’t want extra risk. Still, researching the possibilities and paths beforehand made us confident in our decision as we do consider ourselves moderately fit, and we felt confident that the adrenaline of a new experience would inspire us.
A cellphone snapshot of Mount Fuji from the ground.
For most people, the Fuji climb begins with a bus ride that takes you to a park station partway up the mountain – the 5th station. Our goal was to take the first bus to the station, but as we were a few minutes later than intended and the bus filled up with just two couples in line ahead of us. No problem, this meant we would take the next bus and arrive just an hour later. This would cut down on our time some, but if moving at a good pace we should still be able to make it up and down before everything shut down. We were aware of the time but trying our best to not feel pressure.
The bus arrived at Station 5 and the world was on display. A vantage point took our gaze off the mountain and cast it upon the glory of nature – fields, forest, mountains –everything was far below us but if we turned around the mountain peak, our goal, towered above.
For new hikers, it is highly recommended that you take an hour at Station 5 to let your lungs get used to the thinner air and help avoid altitude sickness. There are plenty of places to sit, rest, drink some tea, enjoy the views, become intimidated by the high peak, and get ready for the excursion ahead. The bag on my back felt like we packed enough trail snacks to feed a small nation, so munching would help lighten the bag for the hike. This would also give us a better idea of location and help to pump ourselves up for the power hike ahead.
That was the plan. However, as we had arrived almost an hour later than expected, the phantom of time was peering over our shoulders and glancing at our watches. Up and down in one day, and we were losing time. What’s more, while gathering ourselves together we started chatting with a lovely French couple, and they had decided that they were going NOW (they also wanted to go up and down in a day). It seemed we naturally formed a nice unit, so we decided to join them. To be sure, the air at Station 5 was a little thinner, but I felt like I could manage. Anya, my wife, was a more cautious as her head had been a little light getting off the bus, but decided the 20 minutes we had already waited was enough and she was breathing well enough now.
What’s more, the trail began as a hike with hardly any climb. At one spot the trail started to go downhill, and we asked some returning hikers if this was the right way.
“Oh yeah,” they said. “Don’t worry, you’ll start going up soon.”
That’s what they said, but at this point I was starting to feel a bit disappointed as there was no sign of actually climbing the mountain. It felt like we would take this path with a slight incline for 8 kilometers (the supposed length of the trail) and be done in no time. Still, it was beautiful and I could appreciate looking over the side to the land far below, but it was the bus that took us to this height and I was afraid there would be very little sense of accomplishment – we would be finished in no time and the gear and food I was lugging on my back would be an unnecessary precaution.
Still, we trudged along at a brisk pace for perhaps a kilometer and a half before we came to the stairs. I use the term “stairs” in a loose manner, for these were not a clearly carved set of equidistant steps but rocks carved by thousands of people following the same path each day. The path was well marked, and I’m sure the park caretakers have spent a significant amount of time arranging these steps to ensure relative safety for visitors, but I also appreciate how the path did not ruin the mountain aesthetic. This was it, we were climbing a mountain and quickly. All fears of a casual walk were tossed away as the trail took us upwards, consistently getting steeper.
Huffing, panting, pushing, my pace began to slow. Anya and I stayed near each other, but our (younger) French friends would be in front and waiting at each rest/marking station we came to. There was no pressure intended, and our new friends graciously waited for our bodies to reform as we slumped into each stop and munched the store of snacks we had packed for some sort of energy. While in theory it did lighten my bag, with the strain and exhaustion the change of weight provided minimal relief.
The steep assent continued, and my hiking stick was abandoned in favor of fingers gripping rocks and pulling my queasy build up still higher. I was feeling it now, the strain, the lack of air. A cloud covered us, and we pushed through the top to where we were standing above the clouds. It was surreal to know I had the potential to reach down to my ankles and scoop a puff of cloud like it was ice-cream, and I considered doing just that only for the millisecond it took to realize that if I bent over, I had no idea how I would get up again. Refusing to give up, we were near the top when I reached a point of thrilling terror – I was last in the group as our French friends had understandably abandoned us at the last check point – they needed to reach the top and go down so that they could catch their own bus back, and Anya had moved ahead as well. My chest was pounding like the bleachers at a high school sporting event. I know I have a good heart as doctors have commented to me on its strength, but the sensations rolling through my body made me wonder. My head was absurd with confusion, stomach wanted to wretch but couldn’t summon the strength, needed to take just a moment, and my ass collapsed onto a rock for a seat.
“Are you okay?” a passing climber asked.
“Ye-yeah…just need to catch myself…I – I’m fine. Thanks.
I have no idea how long it took for me to gather my soul together, but what I do know is that about halfway through this rest, a young man in his mid to late 20s power walked up the rock steps wearing shorts and long sleeve shirt and carrying nothing but a water pouch slung across his back. He glanced at me – my body wrapped in a fleece and warm pants and jackets (two jackets) and gloves and a hat, looking like I had barely survived an earthquake – and he asked, “You cool, man?”
“Yeah…just resting.”
“Kay.”
And I hated that young man. I hated his physical invincibility, his calm, his ignorance of how devastating this self-abuse is for those of us who are 15 to 20 years his senior. I’m nearly 42 years old, and never have I been so conscious of my age as I was at that moment, when I felt each moment of my existence stretched out to the point all sixty seconds of each minute could be dressed with a blunt blade pressing against my lungs and heart and gut and here was this young man who had the gall to ask if I’m “cool.” This young man who reminded me that just a few short years – or maybe decades ago – I could have sprinted up this mountain with hardly a blink, but now my heart was considering if it might be easier to just explode in my chest. That young man might be very nice and could be a great benefit to society, but at that moment, oh how I hated him.
I allowed this hate to propel me forward, and it took only an hour to climb the last 200 meters. Looking back I realize this wasn’t just my age, but also doing a high altitude climb for the first time in my life, and my body didn’t handle the heavy workout with this thin air. This was altitude sickness.
I reunited with Anya at the top, and she was struggling with her own case of the queasiness (also altitude sickness). But we made it. I’m sure the view was amazing as we were walking in the sky, clouds below and realities of the world even further away and the pictures confirm this, but although we did try to find appreciation our conditions were abysmal enough that the excitement was scarce.
In retrospect, I can see that if Anya and I had taken the suggested hour at the base of the climb our bodies would have been better adjusted to the altitude change. And had we not felt the pressure of time, we could have waited longer to recover at each rest station. There’s no way to know, but in the long run, it might have even saved us time as we could have done the climb much faster, at least faster than that final 200 meters taking nearly an hour. Or maybe it wouldn’t have saved us time, but we could have enjoyed our success more in the moment.
We did not dally at the top of the mountain as the sun was already past its peak and daylight would quickly run from us. Also, at the time our thoughts were limited to, “We did it, get a picture. Don’t puke. Do you want to walk around the top of the volcano? No, neither do I. Let’s go down.”
And the climb down was significantly easier, though there were still moments that required rest to avoid vomit, and with our bodies still not used to such exertion at this height sometimes even that rest wasn’t enough. Yet as we descended, the mountain revealed itself to be the dividing between night and day – the sun setting on one side of the slope with the moon rising on the other. This was a beautiful image and felt like a positive symbol for our day. We paused to take this in and as our health was getting marginally better, we were able to appreciate this natural miracle until it occurred to us that the moon rising meant that it would be dark soon and we did not have a flashlight.
That’s a possible new terror right there, but fortunately we connected with a group of three young adults from Germany who caught up with us, they had lights, and they joyfully accepted our companionship. In truth, one member of their group had also gotten altitude sickness on the climb so everyone understood the situation. In truth the five of us shared a lovely chat walking at an easy pace on the dark way down the mountain.
Now, I will point out that it was dark as we descended so the details of our new friends faces were obscured by shadows, at least until we made it to Station 5, spoke with security, ordered a cab, and settled to wait for our ride. As we collected ourselves and shared in conversation, I looked at the face of one of our rescuers and realized, low-and-behold, it was the young man I had decided to hate earlier in the day.
Turns out he’s a really nice guy.
That’s a lot of narration, but now that it has been written and read, I’m going to highlight one point in the story. You’ll remember how Anya and I insisted on making the journey in one day – the intention was to speed through the feat so that we could check It off the bucket list and continue to explore Japan. We had researched the climb and knew it would be difficult, but we also knew it was possible. During the climb itself, because we felt the pressure of time we would not acknowledge our bodies protests against such a plan, and this resulted in the altitude sickness that became downright terrifying at times. We did push through it, reaching to the depths of our determination to complete the challenge, and several friends have applauded our perseverance. Now, looking back, I am proud of this achievement, but at the moment of completion I did not fully appreciated the wonder of being at the peak of Mount Fuji – of feeling the crisp winds chilling sweat soaked skin as my gaze soared above the clouds – appreciating the folklore and symbolism embedded in this natural treasure of Japan – applauding my muscles and lungs for allowing me the ability to make this climb. The grandeur was lost as my focus was returning to a lower altitude with everything remaining in my stomach.
Anya and I succeeded in our ambitious goal and we were able to return to the hotel without a problem, if a little later than expected. I’m grateful that we made the trip, but I think we would have enjoyed the time more if we had allowed ourselves to slow down and wait for our bodies to be ready for the next steps.
Recovery from Brain Injury is another sort of mountain with a frighteningly unique set of challenges and rewards. What’s important is that if this journey is ahead for you, be sure to climb at whatever tempo that is best for YOU. Appreciate friends you meant in your journey who might accompany and assist you (be they French, German, or any nationality), but always be clear that you must determine the pace for yourself. After brain injury we all recover at different speeds and with different results. No one who went before can determine what your recovery be. It can be a beautiful and rewarding journey, but you can only fully enjoy your accomplishments if you allow a tempo that is best for you and your body.
On a connected note, if you read my previous blog entry you know that I like to run. Because we’ve been on vacation, today was my in a month – life has been busy and I didn’t make the time for it, but just prior to writing these thoughts I decided to go. I planned what I thought was a reasonable goal, stepped out of my apartment, and felt the soggy hot blanket of summer humidity drape over my body as I started to pound the pavement to reach my goal. As I neared the halfway point my body started to scream for a rest, but I had my goal and I pushed another ten steps before I thought about the climb up Mount Fuji, and I decided to listen. I slowed down, walked a bit, and when my body felt ready I ran some more – and I enjoyed every moment of the journey.
