One of the goals that I set for myself before I turn 30 was to reach the summit of Mount Kinabalu. It’s been a source of much regret since 2005, which a group of us tried to reach the summit, only to be beaten down by the rain and terrible weather and lousy trails and silly time constraints…
In truth, it wasn’t the mountain, it was us. We were clobbered by the mountain the first time around. It was like the mountain was Ben Grimm, and we were one of those foot soldiers. “It’s clobberin’ time,” Mount Kinabalu yelled, as it lay upon us the fury of Mother Nature itself.
When you are young, you are not just young. You are naive, gung ho and sometimes plain dumb. The first time we decided that climbing the tallest mountain in South East Asia was going to be a cake walk. So we decided to go in our berms. And carry a lot of stuff up the mountain.
Bad idea.
By the time we were at the midpoint rest house, we were cold, tired, and tired of eating the unsavoury museli bars that we had convinced ourselves to bring. It would only get worse as we reached cloud level. I remember Jay’s girlfriend (now wife) putting on her disposable poncho which was basically a big transparent plastic bag when it started raining. It was flapping around so wildly in the wind that I feared slightly that it would catch a sudden draft and transport her away from the face of this earth. Yes, there was delirium too.
While the previous motto of the climb was “Fastest man is the best”, this time it was “Respect the Mountain”.
We got guides. And then we got them to carry our stuff for us 
Hiking boots? Check. Walking sticks? Check. Headlamps? Check. Assortment of snacks? Check.
The ascent was lovely. It was tough. But the goal of reaching the top was what drove me. After years of talking about how we almost made it, I wanted to make it. I really wanted to prove to myself that, given a second chance, I could do this well. Not just well, but to finish it. A racer’s goal is always to complete. That one time of failure wasn’t going to be the albatross around my neck. So I just kept telling myself to move my legs and somehow, by God’s grace, I made it. Part of the climb probably exorcised the demons of my sporting past, where for years I was reminded how I gave up my talent at swimming and how good I was and could have been. I can do it. I think I can?
I know I can.
What’s next on the list?
