Every Step - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 19

muscle and bone wanted to give in? If I sat quietly and closed
my eyes I could put myself back in a cold, draughty tent with
the noise of the weather outside loud in my ears. I could recall
vividly the sense of inertia that comes with mental and physical
exhaustion, and remember how easy it is in that moment to
convince yourself that it is rational to stay inside a little longer,
perhaps sensible to spend an extra hour in your sleeping bag
or that an additional rest day is not only deserved but entirely
wise. I could see that being alone would make it very easy to
allow myself false excuses.
Previously it had always been the presence of a team that
had stopped me caving in to these mental vices. A mix of pride
and stubbornness would make me determined not to be the
weak link in the group. When leading a team I had always
been aware of my responsibility to those I was leading to be
the best I could be. It was knowing the impact my actions and
behaviour would have on others that stopped me falling apart.
I wanted to identify what it was that would motivate me to
keep going when there was no one to witness my weaknesses.
As I made final preparations for Antarctica, Britain was
experiencing an unseasonal heat wave. It was October but
the temperatures were soaring as high as 30°C - a return
to summer. Wearing a light T-shirt and tracksuit trousers I
dragged two heavy car tyres onto the street and attached
them to a harness around my waist with a long rope, to
mimic pulling a sledge. With an old ski pole clenched in each
fist I set off away from my front door towards the sea. I'm
fortunate to live close to the coast, and within a few hundred
metres I was on a wide concrete path with crumbling chalk
cliffs on my left and the brown waves of the English Channel