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I take my first step on Mount Kinabalu at 8 a.m. and within half an hour, I regret it. The first ten minutes is an enjoyable nature hike through rainforest. The sun begins to seep through beautiful, lush shades of green and yellow trees and leaves. I look up; I want to go slowly and take in everything. When will I ever climb a mountain again? I soon know the answer to that question: Never.
Each step is an act of desperation. I soon fall behind, my legs entirely unprepared for the constant repetitive movement up the mountain stairs. My back is slick and sweaty from my day pack. I only let myself look at my watch at each rest stop. I arrive later and later at the rest stops and only have a couple of minutes to lean against a pole before my group starts walking again. I want to scream.
Martin, the English guy I’m dating, is cheerful. He doesn’t seem concerned about me, and I don’t give him reason to. I hide my pain as well as I know how. We climb from 8 a.m. until 1 p.m. It is uphill the entire way. Step after step, up another twelve inches, meet the group at the overhang, feel like a sweaty, out-of-shape, pink-faced fool.
When Martin notices I am clearly not having fun, he says a few words of encouragement. “You’re doing fine. Just take it slow and steady. We don’t have a deadline,” he says, though I know I’m slowing him down. He tells me if I climb slow and steady, it will combat altitude sickness. I nod. I don’t feel like I’m doing fine, but I’m not going to quit. Even if I never climb a mountain again, I will climb this one.
When we reach the hostel on the mountain at 1 p.m., I remember that I’m halfway done. I feel a resurgence of determination. I’m not climbing to impress Martin. I’m not climbing to brag about it later. I’m climbing to finish what I started.
After a few hours of playing UNO and a little sleep, the ascent continues at 2:30 a.m. I feel like a spaceman, gingerly stepping on steep slabs of granite rock that threaten to stop me in my quest. It is a harrowing experience—looking back to where I can fall if I don’t hang on to the rope.
We reach the summit at 5:30 a.m. I’ve made it! Martin and I have to sit on pointy slate rocks to wait for the sunrise. Martin is in his own world, and I am in mine, despite our mutual accomplishment. We are literally above the clouds; I have never been so high without being in an airplane. Even my 12,000-foot sky dive was 1,450 feet lower than this.
The summit gets positively crowded with tourists by the time the sun appears: dull blood red, then reddish-orange, finally orange. Martin puts his arm around me for a photo while I manage to balance on the edge of a rock. I force a smile. Inside, I’m on the verge of collapse. Exhaustion, leg pains, and frustration all meld with the realization that I have actually done what I set out to do. I’m proud of myself.
I didn’t think it could get worse, but the climb down is much more painful than the climb up. As much as I keep my game face on, Martin can tell.
“Are you all right?” he asks, nonchalant.
“I’m okay. It’s just steeper than I thought it would be. My shoes aren’t grippy enough,” I say, letting him know why I’m gripping the handrail like a granny. “But I like the scenery.”
“Come on. You’re hating this!”
“No, I’m not. I just wasn’t prepared for it,” I say. “I like walking slowly and taking in the nature.” I told him this yesterday, but he seems to have forgotten.
Martin has no response. He doesn’t need to take in the nature around him. That is how he is: he blurs through the places he goes.
I don’t really know how I reach the bottom, with the slick mud, the pouring rain, and the sharp pains in my legs, but I do. Martin saunters easily towards the minivan waiting to take us back to the park office. I think about stopping but know if I do, I won’t reach that heroic, mirage-like van.
At the canteen, I quickly leave Martin and go into the bathroom. You did it! I tell my reflection over and over. I even smile a little. Then I straighten my ponytail and wipe off my sweat.
When I return, I ask politely, “Did you enjoy the climb?”
“Yeah, I did. It was nice. I know you didn’t,” Martin replies.
“I enjoyed some parts,” I lie. “I like to hike more slowly and enjoy the nature around me.” Pause. “I’m sorry I held you back.”
“It’s okay. Not everyone can go as fast as I would like. You did fine.” He means that I finished and didn’t pass out. He exudes a sigh of resignation that he also finished, but not in good time and not with a woman who loved every moment of it.
I don’t feel sorry for him anymore. It is odd to sit with the man who I had such strong feelings about before but now feel resentment towards. Not that he made me climb. I wanted to climb. In fact, I’m glad I climbed. Martin was just so cold. On the way down, he sauntered along, hands in pockets, probably wishing he hadn’t brought me along because I was holding him back. Tough crap. So he didn’t climb up in six hours, but in eight. He didn’t come down in four hours, but in six. Does it really matter?
Back in Kota Kinabalu, we find a restaurant that seems popular with the locals—always a good choice. Men watch TV and barely glance at us. That is what I will miss by being on my own; I know if I go into a restaurant like this alone, I will get stared at and questioned. I enjoy meeting locals if they aren’t going to treat me like a freak or a prostitute because I am traveling alone. With Martin by my side, I feel safe.
We eat and talk about our past relationships. “What are you looking for?” I ask.
“I was with the same girl for ten years,” he says. “Ten years! Everyone was waiting for us to get married. We did get engaged. But every time I took a vacation, I felt like I was compromising. I would go on climbing trips with my friends or alone because she didn’t want to come along. When we took a vacation, we went somewhere she wanted to go. We lay on the beach for two weeks once. That’s not my idea of a vacation. With her, I felt like I couldn’t do things I wanted to do.”
“Like climbing mountains.”
“Yes, like climbing mountains. I like climbing mountains. When I have two weeks off work, I want to go climb a mountain. I want to be with someone who wants to do that with me.” He challenges me to respond.
I smile. I don’t want him to compromise on this for me. He would resent me like he resents his ex-girlfriend. All that time lost being with her, when he could have been conquering more mountains! I tell him, “I hope you find this mountain-climbing diva. There probably aren’t loads of women in the world who want to do that on their vacations.”
Martin acknowledges this. He says, “I know. I’ve thought about that. I just can’t be with someone who doesn’t enjoy doing that.” He looks down at his plate. He knows I hated the climb, I know he knows I hated it, and I’m not that girl he’s searching for. I feel relieved, though, that we actually talked about it.
I now know what he wants. I also know what I want—to wander around observing the cultures around me, meet new people, listen to their stories, and appreciate our differences. Martin never expressed any curiosity toward the cultures we visited together. As much as it hurts to be rejected, I know that I want to be with someone who is curious about other ways of life.
There is a way to know if someone is your soul mate. Go on an adventure together. Be in a strange place. See how you each react to different and difficult circumstances. Notice how you each treat local people and speak with them. As much as I want to find my soul mate on this trip, and as much as I want to have a male travel companion for those times when I want to walk around in the evening but can’t leave my hotel room after dark alone, I can’t stay with Martin. I’m glad I climbed one mountain, but I know I can’t put on a smile and climb another one. Martin knows he can’t marry someone who doesn’t want to do just that. If it were possible, I’d say, let him marry a mountain. I’m on a search for a lover of the plains.
Copyright © 2007 Lisa McCallum
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