At 2 a.m., the world outside was still. Inside my head, it was anything but. I was close to 11,000 feet above mean sea level, trying to sleep in my hotel room.
The ceiling fan whirred softly above me, a steady rhythm that somehow made the silence louder. I thought I was sweating. I turned on my side.
I closed my eyes. I opened them again. Sleep wouldn’t come.
The body wanted to sleep. My mind had other plans. It started believing that my body had developed acute mountain sickness.
It replayed conversations from my previous treks about the symptoms and dangers of AMS. I had no headache in reality. I wasn’t tired. I had no problems eating. Last night’s dinner starting with a hot bowl of garlic soup had been sumptuous.
Old memories about people caught with AMS shuffled in like uninvited guests, bringing along new worries. I got up and drank water. Some more in addition to the four litres I had in the day wouldn’t cause harm, my mind said. I checked my saturation with the pulse oximeter. 96%.
Yet, everything seemed magnified in the dark. Tiny worries ballooned into catastrophes.
Simple choices turned into impossible dilemmas. I opened up my phone and googled – a fall into more worry. I decided to turn around tomorrow to go to a lower altitude. For no real reason.
The past and future fought for attention, while the present sat quietly, ignored.
I turned my pillow over, hoping the cooler side might calm my thoughts. It didn’t.
As the hours crept by, the stillness outside began to fade.
A faint light peeked through the curtains. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.
The world was waking up just as my mind was wearing itself out. Nothing had changed — except me. I was now exhausted, ready for sleep, precisely when the day was ready to begin.
I woke up fresh in time for breakfast. The body was ready for the journey. I wasn’t sure about the mind.
Sometimes, the longest journeys we take are the ones inside our own heads.
The world was asleep. My mind was wide awake.
***