Life Raft - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 119

The yelling and the tears exorcised some of the anger.
After the tantrum I felt deflated and just a little embarrassed.
Antarctica was not going to stop; the weather would not pause
for me. The South is relentless and that is both its challenge
and its lethal edge. It was up to me to see myself through this
last trial. There was no reason why the last hour would not be
as difficult as any other and the conditions were as dangerous
within the station compound as they had been at any other
point of my journey. My proximity to safety didn't make me
safe. I realised I had been lured into a false sense of the end,
that I'd relaxed my self-discipline in anticipation of an arrival
that was realistically still a good ski away. I needed to press a
mental reset button, sort myself out and start again.
Still snivelling I took off my harness and started from my
base layer outwards, zipping up collars, tucking in edges, and
patting Velcro securely in place. I refastened the ventilation
zips on my jacket and scooped the snow out of my sledge
bag. I had something to eat and something to drink before
replacing my face mask and putting on a new pair of goggles
to give me ice-free vision. Then I set off, noting the time so
that I could stop after ninety minutes as usual. I felt relieved
from the panicky anticipation that had made me taut and
anxious beforehand, as if I'd been released from the coils of
a large snake that had been gently but insidiously squeezing
the sense out of me.
In my head I reassured myself in a series of commands:
'One way or another you will arrive at the Pole today. You
will not get lost. If you miss the Pole in this weather, you will
see it tomorrow when things are clearer. You will be perfectly
comfortable spending another night alone. You have food, you
have fuel. You will be safe.'