Forty-Six - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 91

to lean on my ski poles as I sucked at the cold air through my
face mask. Sometimes I'd feel as if I couldn't get enough oxygen
and pulled open a wider gap in my mask to gulp mouthfuls of
unfiltered and unfettered air. It was always a mistake. The air
was fresh but also dry and the extremity of it caught at the
back of my throat as I drank it in, making me cough violently.
I repeatedly glanced at the sky trying to judge the
meteorological omens. Cloud formations shifted ominously,
some of them dense and menacing, others as fine as gossamer. As
they jostled restlessly in the jet streams and currents of the wind
there was the permanent threat that they would once again close
over me like a carapace of doom and swallow me up into that
swirling insubstantial dream-world I knew so well. I watched
them froth and billow at the periphery of my vision. Several
times all but a gap directly overhead filled with cloud. I would
resign myself to the fact that I would soon be engulfed and said
longing goodbyes to the rays of warmth and light in readiness.
But each time I watched in wonder as the sun seemed to melt
back the edges of gloom, chasing away the threat. I sent silent
bids of thanks skyward to my blazing protector.
The power of the sun was enough to keep the teeth of the
wind at bay but as soon as a bank of cloud encroached on
the sunlight, the wind bit through my clothing and made me
shiver. Usually I wore nothing under my windproof jacket but
insulated salopettes over thin thermals - the body heat created
by the effort of skiing was enough to keep me warm - but
lately I'd added a fleece jumper for extra insulation. It was
getting noticeably colder. Despite counting down the minutes
until each break and looking forward to the pleasure of a
pause, I noticed that once I stopped I was increasingly eager
to get moving again. If I was stationary for too long I'd get