Getting Out of the Tent - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 225

dot low over the mountains. It grew and expanded until I could
see the dark slash of its wings and the distinctive silhouette of
a Twin Otter. It brought back memories of standing beneath
a different range of mountains on the opposite side of the
continent and once again I couldn't quite untangle how it
was possible that I'd skied across an entire landmass. I didn't
have any special abilities, I wasn't superhuman and yet here
I was on the far coast of Antarctica. It was clear to me that
the success of my expedition had not depended on physical
strength or dramatic acts of bravery but on the fact that at
least some progress - however small - had been made every
single day. It had not been about glorious heroism but the
humblest of qualities, a quality that perhaps we all too often
fail to appreciate for its worth - that of perseverance. Critical
to skiing across Antarctica had been the distinctly unimpressive
and yet, for me, incredibly demanding challenge of finding the
will to get out of the tent each and every morning. If I had
failed in that most fundamental of tasks, then my expedition
would have been over.
The plane landed in a flash of glinting metal and a roar of
thrumming engines. I sheltered my eyes from the sun to watch as
it dragged a nebulous cloud of ice vapour around itself, before
turning and trundling back towards me. As I watched, I made
an internal pact with myself to remember that it is as vital to
celebrate daily successes - even those as marginal as getting out
of the tent - as it is to analyse failures; that one small success
every day will eventually add up to a greater achievement; that
looking back to fully appreciate how far we have come is as
essential as looking forward to where we want to be.
The shadow of the plane's wing fell on the snow around
me and the rush of backdraft from the engine lifted spindrift