Forty-Six - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 92

perilously cold, my body seeming to stiffen so that it felt almost
impossible to drag my limbs into motion again. Even with
breaks lasting no longer than a few minutes I'd set off with
my ski poles trailing limply from their straps around my wrist
while my hands worked my fingers inside my large padded
mitts to bring them painfully back to life. Today I noticed that
I was having to work my hands almost continuously even
though I wore my warmest mitts. I'd repeatedly clench and
re-clench my fists, curling my fingers within the warmth of my
own palms, pricking each fingertip in turn with my thumbnail
to make sure there was still feeling in every digit. I rarely kept
my thumb in the insulated space provided for it in my mitt
while I was skiing. Without the warmth of my other fingers
it would get too cold very quickly. My toes too felt worrying
cold for the first time. Usually they were snug all day in their
felt encasing but today I had to work them constantly to keep
the blood circulating.
Stopping to pitch camp I knew that kicking off my skis as
usual and pressing my boots into the snow would only make
my feet even colder. I moved quickly, working methodically
around my tent, exaggerating my movements to keep my heart
thumping and the blood moving round my body, warming my
extremities. The plan worked a little too well. In a surprisingly
short space of time I was wheezily out of breath, pausing to
cough as the cold, dry air caught in my throat as it had done
repeatedly all day. Eventually I pushed myself through the tent
door, kneeling in the vestibule for a second to savour the sudden
relief from the wind. I pulled the face-covering away from my
skin, glad to be free, but I couldn't rest for long. Already I
could feel the pinch of the cold working on my toes within my
boots. I pushed sleeping mats flat on the floor of the sleeping