Well, who’d'a’thunk it?
Turns out that recovering from mountain climbing is actually far, far worse than climbing the wretched thing in the first place.
If I thought I was tired this time last week, after our stiff hike up from intermediate camp to high camp…forget it. Seriously forget it.
A week later, struggling with a sling on my right arm, and ice packs and painkillers that send me straight off to sleep in the middle of the day, is actually far worse.
Give me a steep uphill slog in thin cold mountain air any day.
So here I sit, wilting in the grey dampness of Delhi, waiting for my stupid shoulder to get right (surely 2 days is enough, yaar?) but at least I am back to my pre-climb weight, thank the good Lord. I’ll spare you all the sordid details, but suffice it to say that once back in Leh, I ballooned up in a truly blimp-ish, Michelin Man way, all due to water retention I think.
On my own admission, I looked truly scary on arrival in Delhi.
It is a tribute to the intrinsic good manners of my family that they were too polite to gasp in horror as I waddled out of the airport, all fat and bloated.
No, I am serious.
Well over 5 kg weight gain (all gone now, thank goodness) which I think was entirely water. Sort of reverse altitude sickness.
So now I am no longer waddling around like a blimp, just falling asleep at the oddest moments.
Which is why I say - gimme huffing and puffing up to the summit of Mentok Kangri any day.
This time last week, we were in our minimal, windy, pared down high camp. Just a tent to sleep, no mess tent, no cooking tent, no loo tent, so it was pretty basic. But oh what views…
This was my view exactly a week ago…