Life Raft - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 118

end, I thought truculently, regardless of where they went. They
must, after all, lead somewhere. I set off recklessly fast without
pausing to replace my face-covering properly. I was blind to
caution in my haste to push forward. I felt the same sense of
panicky anticipation that comes when late for an important
interview. I skied on and on, aware that the ventilation zips
of my jacket were open and letting in snow, aware that my
goggles were so iced up that I could barely see, feeling my jacket
uncomfortably riding up under my sledge harness, noticing that
my sledge bag was a little open letting spindrift blow inside it.
I did nothing about any of these potential disasters, blinded by
my hurry to be at the Pole and made stupid by my desperation.
The snow under my skis felt soft and deep where drifts had
formed banks and mounds. It didn't seem that there had been
much traffic along the flagline, which worried me, but I wouldn't
allow myself to dwell on the thought - as if I could ensure I was
going in the right direction by stubbornness alone.
After what seemed to be hours of effort I still wasn't sure
I was travelling in the right direction and there was still
nothing to be seen in the haze ahead. I was hungry and thirsty
having not stopped for a break, I was uncomfortable from my
clothing being neglected and I was exhausted, both physically
and mentally. I had had enough. I threw down my ski poles
and roared at the wind. It wasn't fair to face such frustration
when I was so close to the end. Feeling utterly sorry for myself
I burst into tears, ripping off my goggles and face mask to yell
at the weather in anger. I wanted nothing but to be able to
stop. I wanted to sit on the ground and let the snow cover me.
I didn't care about the cold, about frostbite or dehydration or
hypothermia. I would accept anything as long as it meant that
all this effort and discomfort and frustration would stop.