Sundogs and Haloes - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 178

skied more than forty-six nautical miles, so I had reason to
feel confident but, as ever, I was careful to strap down tightly
any rising optimism for fear of a jinx. As I prepared breakfast
quietly in the stillness I unzipped the door of the tent so that I
could look at the mountains on the horizon. Sunlight exploded
from the polished snow surfaces of the high plateaus, linking
the mafic black of individual peaks. I was unwilling to sully
such a perfect morning with the horror of porridge. Even after
forty-four days I hadn't managed to override the aversion I'd
developed on my first day. It still made me gag and required
attentive will-power to force digestion of what I could now
only see as unappetising gloop. I pulled an evening meal from
my sledge and ate pasta for breakfast instead. I took my time,
lingering over my coffee and treating myself to extra chocolate
from that evening's rations. Sunlight was everywhere, beating
down on the tent and radiating through the fabric as if the sun
was deliberately trying to attract my attention.
'Good Morning!' I called from inside the Hilleberg. 'Thanks
for such an awesome day. It is really appreciated.'
I sensed that the sun was in a charming mood and was
relieved. Recently my companion had become increasingly
petulant, demanding endless flattery and compliment for its
brilliance in return for its continued presence. It was getting a
little trying.
I set off feeling as if I could float. Today, rather than me
pulling myself over the snow, it seemed as if the landscape
was being rolled around on a conveyor beneath me. I was
reduced to playing the role of an actor pretending to ski in
front of a bluescreen. It felt almost effortless. After an hour or
so I gazed down at my feet in contemplation, watching them
push forward one after the other in turn. I noticed that with