Me either.
My husband and I have become enthralled with everything Everest. We are deeply fascinated by the special breed of human spirit that attempts this feat. These people can endure unrelenting mental suffering that comes with each step towards the summit. I admire the over 2,000 people who've stood on Everest's summit, as well as every capable mountaineer who descends its slopes, weeping in defeat.
We found a reality show documenting real Everest expeditions. The first season had a double amputee, a chronic asthmatic, and a man whose every bone was held together with metal bolts and contraptions. (AKA, he rides motorcycles.) After months of climbing, the double amputee stood at the roof of earth. Mark Inglis is the first man to reach the top of our world with no legs. The asthmatic and metal guy came within a few thousand feet of victory.
My eyes were opened to real endurance. I felt like God was asking, "Do you see what my children are capable of?" Thanks to this man, I now understand that my limitations are grassy hills dotted with spring in comparison to his 29,000-foot avalanching, -40-degree mountain. This image flashes in my mind every time my brain screams at me to stop and trek back down my mountain.
"Mark Inglis climbed Everest. I can certainly finish a 30-minute run!"
"Do you think Mark Inglis complains about grocery shopping? The answer's 'no.'"
"Relax. Breathe in the voluptuous oxygen levels at 1100 feet. Then deal with Darcy's sweet potato painting."
