I hiked Machu Pichu in 4 days and 3 nights… mindbendingly ill.
"So you hiked up a mountain," I hear you say. "What's so tough about that?"
Let's call this one a rather personal challenge, shall we? Titties were most definitely toughened in the story you're about to read.
How it all began...
I initially did some research by asking exhaustive questions of everyone I knew who’d already trekked Machu Pichu. I read everything I could online and contacted a friend of a friend who just so happens to run adventure tours throughout South America, and thus has been to Peru and trekked Machu Pichu more than a few times. I stocked up on everything I needed so that I’d be dressed appropriately for all types of Peruvian weather. Knowing my propensity for travel sickness I also loaded up on Dramamine and candied ginger. In preparation for the four days up and down a mountain trek I upped my exercise level and took the stairs at every opportunity.
I knew to arrive in Cusco a few days earlier in order to acclimatize to the weather. I also began chewing on coca leaves and drinking coca tea at the first offering. (Locals find the coca leaves energizing and are known to chew on the leaves as coca acts as a mild stimulant and suppresses hunger, thirst, pain, and fatigue. (All I was sure to experience whilst on my trek.) What I was not prepared for was being hit, full force, with altitude sickness. I hiked most of the four days in the rain with flu-like symptoms, a high fever, no appetite, moving at a snail’s pace, all the while praying for it to end.
Somewhere along the 12 hour hiking mark it hit me that this was a physical challenge. This was hard for me. I always loved a challenge, or so I said, but until that point I thought of challenges as mental obstacles. Well, my mind certainly came into play as I accepted the fact that this was going to be hard, even painful; that a lot of it would be spent alone as I was a good two hours behind the front runners, and that the mountain wasn’t going to change. What I could change, however, was my attitude towards that mountain.
After turning down the offer to be carried by one of the porters and hiking most of the first two days on my lonesome, I soon joined my travelling partner and another girl who was beginning to succumb to the challenge that was our new swear word – Machu Pichu. The down hills made me feel I could finish this, and no longer did I ponder the salvation of a donkey ride.
The company added a good dose of laughter and comfort to my travels. I finished – last. Well, tied for last with the new girl whose company I enjoyed keeping and whom I soon began cheerleading as the mountain was truly bringing her down and while I understood how she felt, I knew how we’d both feel when we finished. It was hard, but we did it! The next 24 hours I spent completely ill and practically bedridden but it didn’t matter. I had a great story to tell.
I felt I’d done almost everything I could to prepare for this trek. But none of the preparation stopped me from becoming ill. This was one of the hardest physical, and funnily enough, mental, challenges I’ve ever faced. The alone time allowed me to recognize that life is going to be hard, but that doesn’t mean I can’t find enjoyment in that challenge. After all, I was surrounded by some of the most glorious scenery on the planet. My super slow pace allowed me to appreciate that single bright flower growing out of the rock face. My complete lack of energy meant that while I didn’t have the physical strength to get my camera out of my backpack, I now carry two stunning mental pictures with me always. In knowing the overwhelming feeling of loneliness as I hiked miles behind the pack, I used that experience as an opportunity to instil laughter and motivation in another, once she fell behind.
My best friend, who at times hiked by my side, was also inspired to stay positive as she saw how painful each step was for me and that my attitude each and every night remained one of humourous damnation. (I’m not ALL good.) This was hard. Parts of it weren’t even fun.
But I did it.
And the next knock-me-on-my-ass difficult challenge I face, I know now not to waste my time with a defeatist attitude but to find the humour or beauty in it straight away. Laughter is the best medicine after all, once you’re done puking.
Let's call this one a rather personal challenge, shall we? Titties were most definitely toughened in the story you're about to read.
How it all began...
I initially did some research by asking exhaustive questions of everyone I knew who’d already trekked Machu Pichu. I read everything I could online and contacted a friend of a friend who just so happens to run adventure tours throughout South America, and thus has been to Peru and trekked Machu Pichu more than a few times. I stocked up on everything I needed so that I’d be dressed appropriately for all types of Peruvian weather. Knowing my propensity for travel sickness I also loaded up on Dramamine and candied ginger. In preparation for the four days up and down a mountain trek I upped my exercise level and took the stairs at every opportunity. I knew to arrive in Cusco a few days earlier in order to acclimatize to the weather. I also began chewing on coca leaves and drinking coca tea at the first offering. (Locals find the coca leaves energizing and are known to chew on the leaves as coca acts as a mild stimulant and suppresses hunger, thirst, pain, and fatigue. (All I was sure to experience whilst on my trek.) What I was not prepared for was being hit, full force, with altitude sickness. I hiked most of the four days in the rain with flu-like symptoms, a high fever, no appetite, moving at a snail’s pace, all the while praying for it to end.
Somewhere along the 12 hour hiking mark it hit me that this was a physical challenge. This was hard for me. I always loved a challenge, or so I said, but until that point I thought of challenges as mental obstacles. Well, my mind certainly came into play as I accepted the fact that this was going to be hard, even painful; that a lot of it would be spent alone as I was a good two hours behind the front runners, and that the mountain wasn’t going to change. What I could change, however, was my attitude towards that mountain.
After turning down the offer to be carried by one of the porters and hiking most of the first two days on my lonesome, I soon joined my travelling partner and another girl who was beginning to succumb to the challenge that was our new swear word – Machu Pichu. The down hills made me feel I could finish this, and no longer did I ponder the salvation of a donkey ride.
The company added a good dose of laughter and comfort to my travels. I finished – last. Well, tied for last with the new girl whose company I enjoyed keeping and whom I soon began cheerleading as the mountain was truly bringing her down and while I understood how she felt, I knew how we’d both feel when we finished. It was hard, but we did it! The next 24 hours I spent completely ill and practically bedridden but it didn’t matter. I had a great story to tell.
I felt I’d done almost everything I could to prepare for this trek. But none of the preparation stopped me from becoming ill. This was one of the hardest physical, and funnily enough, mental, challenges I’ve ever faced. The alone time allowed me to recognize that life is going to be hard, but that doesn’t mean I can’t find enjoyment in that challenge. After all, I was surrounded by some of the most glorious scenery on the planet. My super slow pace allowed me to appreciate that single bright flower growing out of the rock face. My complete lack of energy meant that while I didn’t have the physical strength to get my camera out of my backpack, I now carry two stunning mental pictures with me always. In knowing the overwhelming feeling of loneliness as I hiked miles behind the pack, I used that experience as an opportunity to instil laughter and motivation in another, once she fell behind.
My best friend, who at times hiked by my side, was also inspired to stay positive as she saw how painful each step was for me and that my attitude each and every night remained one of humourous damnation. (I’m not ALL good.) This was hard. Parts of it weren’t even fun.
But I did it.
And the next knock-me-on-my-ass difficult challenge I face, I know now not to waste my time with a defeatist attitude but to find the humour or beauty in it straight away. Laughter is the best medicine after all, once you’re done puking.
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