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on an old towel, I faced the toilet and gazed down at the loo
bend as I put the funnel in place. Realising that the loo seat
was in the way, I instinctively lifted it.
'Ha!' I thought in sudden understanding. 'So this is why men
do that.'
It felt completely wrong to be peeing while standing up and
at first I was struck with stage fright - but then I have to admit
a sense of glee at this new liberation. Over the days and weeks
that followed I used the device every time I needed the loo but
several times I ended up peeing down my leg and throwing
my jeans straight into the washing machine. There were days
when I was forced to change my clothes so often that I felt like
a potty training toddler. During the expedition I would have
only one set of clothes that I would live in day-in, day-out, so
the thought of the consequences if anything went wrong put
me off using the device in earnest. I decided that, yet again, on
this expedition I would stick to the old-fashioned technique
and simply brave the cold.
But now that cold was so brutal that the stops brought
on a kind of panic, a sense of desperation that I might be
incapable of warming myself again. I was acutely aware how
vulnerable I was and how narrow the margin between cold
and perilously cold.
With the support of a team it is possible to push this margin
to a greater extreme, working on the very limits of exhaustion,
because if the worst happens there are capable team-mates to
pick up the slack. On my own I was conscious that there was
no one to lean on if I pushed too far, no one to put up the tent
for me while I concentrated on stamping the circulation back
into my feet, no one to light the stove while I kept my freezing
hands in the warmth of my armpits. I had to be capable of
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