by Ed Jackson
After my third muscle-jarring slip in under five minutes, my friend, Emily, approached us.
‘I did bring these with me,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure if they’ll fit you, but we could give them a go.’
She pulled a small set of snow spikes from her bag.
She crouched down and looped them around the bottom of both of my walking shoes. They were a bit tight but I tested them out for a few paces. They would give me a fighting chance.
The wind chill dropped to minus twelve degrees and we passed several of our party skidding their way back down to the train stop. They had to bow out with grace as they were wearing trainers. Without proper walking shoes for these conditions, they stood little chance of making it to the top.
On we climbed and the group thinned out even further. By now, I could only see a ten-metre circle around myself. My pace slowed when my hip began to tire. The studs on the bottom of my shoes were making it almost impossible for me to lift my foot high enough to clear the next step. The howling winds whipped around me, battering me from both sides, threatening to push me off balance.
I had to keep going; turning back wasn’t an option now as the route down would be just as fraught.
There was no clever technique that we could think of to get me to the top; all I could do was rest my weight on my right leg and walking poles and slide my left leg all the way. Even though I was wearing only a T-shirt, the sweat was pouring down my face.
After another couple of hundred metres, the path narrowed. The wind picked up and I had to stop for a moment.
‘I have to pee,’ I said, turning to Josh. ‘Right now!’
I handed one of my poles to Wyn and turned to the near vertical drop to my right. Josh tensed and held onto my backpack as I tried not to look down at the craggy rocks and swirling fog below.
‘I can confirm that it is most definitely minus twelve degrees!’ I shouted over the tearing winds.
Bladder emptied, I edged away from the side of the mountain and took my pole from Wyn.
It began to snow. The flakes swirled around us; we could only see five metres in front of us now, but on we went. Right foot forwards, left leg sliding behind.
A cheer of applause drifted through the fog. I had heard the summit before I could see it.
‘Come on!’ Rich shouted from the top. ‘What took you so long?’
‘Where the hell have you been?’ Lois’s brother, Joe, joined in. ‘I’m freezing my nads off up here!’
I gave a large grin and the cheers continued as I rounded my way onto the large, rocky outcrop that is the peak of Snowdon. Through the falling snow was the outline of my whittled down group. They were perched amongst the other climbers who had made it to the top. Once they saw me limp around the corner, all of the climbers who I didn’t know joined in with the cheering too. The last ten metres were ice-covered steps that had been sheered out of the rock. As I made my way up the twenty steps, right leg leading, I looked around at the strangers, friends and family who had made it to the top with me. My support system had got me here.
I took the final step, bent over and kissed the circular stone trig point that marked the summit.
Looking up, I was met with smiling faces waving bottles of beer and hip flasks at me. Someone had even popped some champagne. I had hardly drank during my training but I wanted to join in with the celebrations. After carefully making my way back down the stone steps, I took a swig from everything that was offered and went around thanking everyone who had made the journey with me. My climb was more special because I had shared it with others.
I had been pretty confident that I would make it to the top but I hadn’t been sure of my reaction when I got there. It wasn’t until I turned to Lois, the wind whipping her hair across her face, that I realised this wasn’t just about climbing a mountain.
Without warning, I was transported back to the intensive care hospital bed, muttering to myself that it would all be okay but not really believing it. I’d been motionless, peering down at my body, willing it to follow the instructions I was sending it to move but getting nothing in return. For a few seconds I was there, as real as stepping back in time; I had thought I’d lost it all.
Lois touched my arm and the pressure snapped me back into the present.
‘Congratulations,’ she said, reaching up to kiss me on the cheek. ‘I knew you would do it.’
‘Thank you,’ I responded. ‘For everything.’
I couldn’t have done it without you …
The moment was broken by Rich handing me a hip flask, which I swigged from after he shook it in front of my face several times.
‘Gah! What was that?’ I asked, as I swallowed down the concoction that took part of my oesophagus with it.
‘I’ve been working on a few new blends,’ he responded, with the air of a man who had been on a weekend mixology course. ‘I call it “Mountain Chaser”.’
‘More like “Mountain Debaser”,’ I responded, wondering if the aftertaste would ever leave my mouth.
All too soon, it was time for our descent. Taking my walking poles from Pete, I took one last look at the stairs to the summit and turned for the descent … to fall straight onto my face.
No harm was done, but I found it hilarious that my only tumble was when I was standing on top of the mountain. Chuckling to myself, I was dragged to my feet. Mountain Debaser had had its revenge. Settling my features into the serious expression of a mountaineer, I tried again.
‘To base camp!’ I shouted, brandishing my walking pole high above my head.
By the time we stumbled back into town, everyone I was with was now limping and groaning in pain – and I didn’t think it was an expression of their solidarity with me either. It must have seemed that the zombie apocalypse had rolled into Llanberis. Fortunately, the pub didn’t board up its windows at our approach.
Seven hours, ten miles, five thousand, nine hundred and thirty-eight kcal, and four hundred and thirty-two pee stops in total.
It was done. I had climbed a mountain.
And now for our reward – our trip to the Philippines. This holiday was our gift to ourselves. Lois and I needed a change of scenery, so when Souto and his girlfriend, Vicki, invited us with them on holiday we jumped at the chance to get away.
Snowdon had made me realise that there are so many benefits to visiting places you are not familiar with and I wanted to share them with others. It’s a form of mindfulness where you can take some time away from being bogged down with your own thoughts for a while.
I also knew that you don’t have to travel to the other side of the world for this; any stretch of the outdoors will do. A change of scenery works even if it’s only a few miles from home – a walk in the countryside can also help stave off low mood. Our ancient ancestors were all nomads; we are meant to wander. By returning to what we are designed to do, it can often help promote feelings of well-being.
After wandering to the other side of the world a week later, I had found myself sitting directly underneath the air conditioning unit in our hotel room. As a man who had comfortably worn a T-shirt at the top of Snowdon, I knew I was going to have problems with overheating in the Philippines.
As I enjoyed the cool air blasting over my head, I couldn’t decide whether I’d be able to make it to the boat that was taking us to the island of Bohol without having to change into a spare T-shirt. One of the ongoing effects of my accident was an inability to sweat below my nipple line. My body had lost 70 per cent of its cooling efficiency and everything above this line was determined to make up the difference.
Looking around the hotel room, I realised that I certainly hadn’t travelled this far to sit indoors all day. Heat regulation issues would just have to be dealt with; I’d come here to explore. Hoisting my rucksack onto my back, I glanced longingly at the air conditioning unit before departing the room. Our mantra for this holiday was ‘Just attack it’ and that’s what I was going to do.
Sand is not the best surface for someo
ne who can’t lift their foot. Gone were my sliders and flip-flop days and instead I had to wear trainers most of the time while on the pale white beaches. I didn’t mind. Fashionable footwear was an easy trade for being able to visit a succession of near-deserted island beaches with few tourists and plenty of coconuts to sip from.
Whilst on holiday, I’d carried on with my rehab every day. There were no massive lie-ins or full days spent around the pool. Perhaps it wasn’t what most people would call a relaxing break, but I already felt re-energised and ready for what was coming next.
Today, one of the locals had offered to take us out to the edge of the reef. As we approached his boat, all four of us eyed it up. There was no pier and we would have to wade our way out to it. It was pretty small, and this meant that it bobbed up and down with every rolling wave.
‘I’m just going to attack,’ I said, looking at the frown of concern on Souto’s face.
‘Perhaps we should ask some of the locals if they can help lift you in?’
‘Nope,’ I responded. ‘Attack.’
This was the thing – boats have steep sides (I am reliably told that it helps keep the water out). And my foot lifted three inches on a good day. I therefore had to figure out how to raise something that lifted only three inches up another three feet. This was particularly a problem if the boat in question had all the stability of a seesaw.
Thankfully, Souto is a pretty big guy and could give me a leg up. With the water up to our thighs, I had no choice but to launch the rest of myself over the side. And that’s how I ended up flat on my back in a canoe-sized boat off one of the smaller islands of the Philippines.
Once I managed to right myself, we puttered out to the edge of the reef. With my snorkelling mask firmly in place, I half-rolled, half-fell into the sea. An explosion of colour awaited me under the surface. Brightly coloured fish of every shade swam in shoals around the drifting coral. I swam towards them; the ease of movement in the salted water had put me on a level playing field with the others in our group. I could dive, turn and twist in a way that I would never be granted above the surface.
When I was younger, I would regularly snorkel in the ocean with my younger brother. Often we would swim down fifteen or twenty metres and tap the divers on the shoulder. They would turn, expecting to see their wetsuit clad friend and instead were confronted by a 12-year-old in speedos. I therefore knew that if I wanted to find the more interesting (bigger) fish I would need to locate the reef wall and drop off.
Leading the way, I glided above the ten-foot-deep reef. An inky shadow was up ahead, and I swam towards it. With little announcement, the reef dropped away into blackness. All along the reef wall, facing the darkened well, were the brightest corals rippling in the sea.
I took a deep breath and down I dived. There was a shimmering pink fan coral perched on the edge of the wall and I aimed for that. Feeling good at this depth, I decided to equalise and kicked on past it to stare into the abyss. There’s a heady feeling that comes with staring down into the darkness of the sea. It’s partly fear of something that is so deep that sunlight can’t penetrate it and partly exhilaration that you are on the edge of the unknown.
Deciding to be sensible, I began to surface for air. On the way up, I passed a turtle snoozing amongst the corals. If you have never seen turtles in the wild before, you might not know they are without a doubt the most docile creatures you will come across. He turned his head to study me. I hung there, watching him; it was just the two of us sizing each other up. Not wishing to disturb him, I kicked my way up to the surface and took a lungful of air.
An hour later, after hauling myself back into the boat with all the elegance of an aged walrus, I sat back and gazed out at the sea. I tried to process what had just happened. I had seen all of those sights before, I hadn’t gone deeper or longer without air. Far from it. So why did I feel so happy? Why did I feel like I’d just had the experience of a lifetime?
It was because in the water I was free again. Free from all of the problems that I faced on land. Underneath the surface of the sea, no one had to wait for me to catch up, or help me negotiate a particularly tricky section. I was back to being the 12-year-old boy who used to dive too deeply with his brother. The sea had gifted me a short reprise into my past, away from my physical limitations, and I was grateful.
Chapter 16
A Fireman and a Ballerina
Eight years earlier …
The party was fancy dress and the theme was ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’ At the age of 21, I still felt that this was a valid question, so I went all out.
Straightening my rented fireman’s helmet, I rang the front doorbell. As with most student accommodation in Bath, the flat was pretty snug and there were twelve of us crammed into the living room. One of my rugby friends was dating a university student and it was her birthday that we were celebrating on that cold January evening.
Sitting on the floor, surrounded by friends in various costumes, I thought that there was no better way to chivvy along the early January weeks. The doorbell rang again, and I turned to see who would be joining us. We already had a pirate, doctor, snow boarder and a guy who was ironically dressed as himself. In entered a tall blonde in a tutu, leotard and pink tights. Her smile lit up when she realised the party was already in full swing and I watched as she greeted the birthday girl. She had an air of openness that I liked and seemed completely at ease in her surroundings.
As the room heated up, I ditched the helmet and jacket as my outfit was entirely polyester and I was starting to boil inside of it. I patted down my newly zipped hair, pleased that I’d managed to cut out all of the bleached blond spikes. It had been turning a light shade of green from the chlorine in the pool I swam in every week and there had finally been an intervention by Rich and Tom. Apparently, I had looked like a chorus puppet from Sesame Street.
An hour later, the ballerina plonked herself down next to me.
‘Bloody hell,’ she said, ‘my tutu got trapped in the oven when Clare put the pizzas on. I think I’m better sitting down for a bit.’
I smiled at her and shifted over to make way for the sprays of netting.
‘I’m Ed,’ I said, putting my can of Stella down to shake her hand in a mock formal way.
‘And I’m Lois,’ she said, grasping my hand.
Six hours later we were drunkenly singing ‘Purple Rain’ by Prince at each other in the Second Bridge nightclub in Bath. We had already cleared the dance floor and together we pirouetted off to get our coats.
Outside, I plucked up the courage to ask her something that I never asked other girls. I faffed around with the collar of my coat until I forced myself to meet her eye.
‘Can I have your number?’ I asked, the cold stinging my cheeks.
‘Ed,’ Lois said, staring straight at me, ‘this will be the third time you’ve asked me that, and the third time I’ve given it to you.’
‘Oh,’ I responded, checking my phone. Sure enough, there it was. ‘I must have drunk a bit too much tonight. Can I buy you a kebab then?’
Lois linked her arm through mine. ‘Of course you can. Mine’s a doner, please. And don’t spare the garlic mayo.’
Eight years later, I was standing under an air-conditioning unit in only my pants and Souto was advancing towards me with a pair of scissors.
‘It’s just that tufty bit at the back,’ he said. ‘It’s got to go.’
It was thirty-five degrees outside and I really didn’t want to leave my prime spot under the cooling air. Equally, I didn’t want Souto to cut my hair.
‘I’m sure it’s fine,’ I said to Souto, while keeping my back firmly up against the wall.
‘Right,’ Rich said, checking his watch. ‘We have twenty minutes to go until it’s game on. So you have to get into your suit.’
I glanced over at the linen jacket and trousers that were hanging on the outside of the wardrobe, freshly pressed by my mum that morning. The air outside was so still that it felt l
ike forty degrees. I knew I’d sweat through my suit within half an hour, so I was trying to leave it off for as long as possible. Lois would look stunning in whatever she wore and I didn’t want to let the team down.
Rich was right, it was time for the suit. Excitement bubbled up in me as I pulled on the dark trousers and light-coloured jacket I’d bought especially for this occasion. I was going to get married … I was going to marry the girl that I loved.
The sound of scissors snapping together made me turn around.
‘Got it,’ Souto said, holding up a rather large lock of hair. ‘Much better now.’
I looked at Rich who shrugged.
It was game time.
Twenty minutes later, holding onto Rich, I made my way down the four stone steps from the villa. With him walking close by my side, I carried on along the uneven white gravel until I reached the garden where the ceremony would take place. Rich slowed and moved behind me, and I walked down the aisle by myself without the use of a crutch or walking pole. This is what had spurred me on all those months ago – I didn’t want to use a wheelchair or stick when I walked down the aisle to get married. I took it slowly and grinned at everyone who turned to face me from their white cane chairs.
The scent of lavender and rosemary filled the air. We were in the rustic gardens of the villa and behind the officiant was an ancient olive tree that had been decorated with glass beads. It was the perfect setting.
Standing at the end of the aisle, I listened to the saxophonist as he played through the gentle melodies that would accompany the service. Rich, as my best man, stood by my side holding a folded hanky for me to wipe the perspiration from my face. There wasn’t a puff of air to break the intense heat and the low buzzing of the cicadas only served to intensify the stillness surrounding us.
The saxophonist slipped seamlessly into ‘L-O-V-E’ by Nat King Cole and I looked up to see Lois approaching on her father’s arm. She was radiant, wearing a tight-fitting silk dress that suited her to perfection. The cream hues complemented her summer tan as the long veil trailed behind her. My heart swelled with pride that this woman would be my wife. As she broke away from her father’s arm, she stepped towards me and we kissed. Everyone cheered and we grinned at each other. The kiss was supposed to be at the end of the ceremony, but we didn’t care.