Listos & Vamanos

Feb 24

Over six days in Mexico attempting to climb two dormant volcanoes, those words were on repeat: lista, vamanos. They existed in my head and issued through my voice.

Their frequency increased at every switchback on the 1,700 ft glacier topping Pico de Orizaba. Leaning on my poles, trying not to throw up, breathing hard at 18,000 feet. Swinging my leg forward, planting the handle of my ice axe in the snow. We stopped often so in order to move again - Lista, I would say. Ready.

Yo soy lista. I am ready. I spend most of my energy off the mountain making sure this is true. I plan, organize, and prepare so I can put my steadying hands on the future, or at least trick myself into thinking so.

But I never say it out loud because I never feel it. It also might be an invitation to the universe to ruffle the hair of my plan. To playfully show me that no, in fact, I am not ready.

But on the shoulders of that volcano in Mexico, the time I felt least ready to do the big thing ahead, was the time I spoke it aloud the most. I said “I’m ready” more times into that Mexican alpine air than I have in twenty years.

I suppose I needed to repeat the falsehood until it became truth. Like wearing down the edges of a paper containing gospel until the actual meaning was revealed.

The mountain heard me. So did the people in my group, the ones attached to me with a rope.

And so did the rest of me – it heard I was ready and responded by taking me to the highest altitude I’ve ever experienced. Through the longest day of movement I’ve ever performed, through a few hours of nausea, disgruntled guts, and a body revolting to its circumstances.

And after I said “ready,” I would follow with vamanos – “let’s go.” Although I needed to stay warm, which meant moving, it was a battle to get going again each time.