All idealists should climb a mountain. Anyone foolhardy enough to believe in the good of all men, the beauty in all things, that right that exists in all wrong, should strap on some boots and scale a mountain. A tall one preferribly, in the middle of a cold, quiet Japanese night only to arrive at the summit at sunrise. It was something so much more than beautiful. It was an epic score.I did it! Or rather, we did it. Scaled Mt Fuji. CELEBRATE!!!!
I took the 6:40 shi
nkansen to Tokyo to run around and do Tokyo type things with friends Tara and Matt. This weekend was touted a big reunion as 6 of our 7 initial Amity trainees we're meeting to climb the biggest mountain in Japan. Some new editions entered the fold, Kevin and David, and I was able to eat a mexican (?!- in Japan!?) dinner for proper nourishment pre-climb. This seemed sensible because everyone knows how nutrient dense chips and salsa are.
Arrival. Hooray. Celebrate! We gear up and begin our ascent. The path is nearly deserted and unlike anything I've ever traveled. For sometime we feel completely enclosed in our small bubble of friends and worry that we're descending or taking the road less taken. The first hour or so saw solely our headlamps and singing and shouting.
Whoa.
We watched the
sunrise. Silly, I've never seen a sunrise. I usually rush about my everyday doings. I have to move, move, move that I never allowed myself the simple pleasure of this everyday event. And now I'm hooked, although I fear nothing will compare with this particular sun. It moved in stages, like a controlled ballet and turned the sky a milieu of colors. It was stunning. Everyone at the peak huddled around the makeshift wall and watched with simliar amazement. Cameras flashed, keitais clicked and we each captured a moment our minds will never forget.
There is nothing romantic about the descent. It is not scenic. It is not exciting and it
most certainly is not easy. Despite its downhill draw, the descent is murder on the knees. You escape the summit in steep terrain, on a sandlike surface that requires you balance yourself with every step to keep from falling forward. I cursed Fuji in my descent. I fell four times. I cried and ran screaming for the final base station. But then, some 2.5 hours in, it's all over. I browse the gift shop, buy, buy, buy for students and school and am filled with pride and accomplishment. I climbed Fuji! Me! And I smile and smile.
nkansen to Tokyo to run around and do Tokyo type things with friends Tara and Matt. This weekend was touted a big reunion as 6 of our 7 initial Amity trainees we're meeting to climb the biggest mountain in Japan. Some new editions entered the fold, Kevin and David, and I was able to eat a mexican (?!- in Japan!?) dinner for proper nourishment pre-climb. This seemed sensible because everyone knows how nutrient dense chips and salsa are.What followed dinner was chaos and confusion. We couldn't find the bus that would take us to the mountain. Our backpacks were locked away somewhere in Tokyo station (and anyone with any knowledge of/or an imagination realizes that this game of find and seek can potentially take all the days of their lives), and Owen (another friend traveling from Fukui) was running late, late and later and feared missing hte bus. Apparently Fuji was on our side as, at the last minute we found our bus, bought our tickets, extracted our baggage and boarded the bus. Something so sad, or perhaps tragic: Owen arrived just in time to watch our bus pull away. I did see him the next day at the base of the mountain and I've no worry that he had a lovely climb.
Arrival. Hooray. Celebrate! We gear up and begin our ascent. The path is nearly deserted and unlike anything I've ever traveled. For sometime we feel completely enclosed in our small bubble of friends and worry that we're descending or taking the road less taken. The first hour or so saw solely our headlamps and singing and shouting.The mountain is peppered with another 5 stations where we could purchase provisions, if needed, and stop and rest. The distance between each station was enough to warran
t a rest whenever we approached one. Initially, with all the excitement and low level terrain I moved quickly and found the climb manageable. After the sixth station, however, I began to feel the burn. We were nearly vertically climbing. Holding onto big rocks, haphazardly placed atop one another like a Lincoln Log set. Most of my group had previous climbing experience, but I merely run the roads and found the ascent increasingly difficult. I kept my pace. I didn't outdo it, and marched along with the leade
rs of our group. Looking like an Addidas astronaut, I wore my silver running tights to wick off sweat and maintain heat. This was all good and great, and my gear was appropriate, but my pisspoor athletic ability was tested to the limits. After an hour of vertical climbing and acclimating my body to elevations of some 3000 meters, I began to familiarize myself with akward climbing technique. I enjoyed jumping from rock to rock and even humored myself a badass adventurist. I convinced myself I was made to rock climb. I started calling Mt. Fuji my darling lover. I couldn't stop smiling.
t a rest whenever we approached one. Initially, with all the excitement and low level terrain I moved quickly and found the climb manageable. After the sixth station, however, I began to feel the burn. We were nearly vertically climbing. Holding onto big rocks, haphazardly placed atop one another like a Lincoln Log set. Most of my group had previous climbing experience, but I merely run the roads and found the ascent increasingly difficult. I kept my pace. I didn't outdo it, and marched along with the leade
rs of our group. Looking like an Addidas astronaut, I wore my silver running tights to wick off sweat and maintain heat. This was all good and great, and my gear was appropriate, but my pisspoor athletic ability was tested to the limits. After an hour of vertical climbing and acclimating my body to elevations of some 3000 meters, I began to familiarize myself with akward climbing technique. I enjoyed jumping from rock to rock and even humored myself a badass adventurist. I convinced myself I was made to rock climb. I started calling Mt. Fuji my darling lover. I couldn't stop smiling.2/3rds into the climb, climbers began appearing in droves. We're they materialized from, I know not. Many climbers hike during the day, spend the night in the few huts scattered at each station, and ascend in the early hours of the a.m. to see the sunrise. Regardless, we were engulfed by them and what followed was an eerie procession of hushed voices and lowlit lamps that moved in accordance with one another, pursuing a common goal. I was happy to walk in step with them. We regulated eachother's breaths. We felt one another's sore heels. We moved in one unit. In rhythm and time.
And then, the summit.
Whoa.I've never seen anything like it. Sky for days, no mountains to surround. I felt as though I were on top of the world, and while there were hundreds of people surrounding me, speaking loudly of their adventure and hopes and dreams, the moment was muted and there was nothing but clarity and control and hope and happiness.
We watched the
sunrise. Silly, I've never seen a sunrise. I usually rush about my everyday doings. I have to move, move, move that I never allowed myself the simple pleasure of this everyday event. And now I'm hooked, although I fear nothing will compare with this particular sun. It moved in stages, like a controlled ballet and turned the sky a milieu of colors. It was stunning. Everyone at the peak huddled around the makeshift wall and watched with simliar amazement. Cameras flashed, keitais clicked and we each captured a moment our minds will never forget.Then, the descent. Oh doctor. Now I'm regretting this fool decision.
There is nothing romantic about the descent. It is not scenic. It is not exciting and it
most certainly is not easy. Despite its downhill draw, the descent is murder on the knees. You escape the summit in steep terrain, on a sandlike surface that requires you balance yourself with every step to keep from falling forward. I cursed Fuji in my descent. I fell four times. I cried and ran screaming for the final base station. But then, some 2.5 hours in, it's all over. I browse the gift shop, buy, buy, buy for students and school and am filled with pride and accomplishment. I climbed Fuji! Me! And I smile and smile. 
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