Paying Attention - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 35

myself moving unnecessarily softly as if frightened of disturbing
the calm around me. Every instinct tightened to the point that
I felt brittle, as if a sudden movement would crack my bones.
Pitching my tent took twice as long as it should have done.
In an effort to distract myself from the emotional turmoil in
my chest I went through my routine with unusual attention to
detail, making sure every anchor was perfectly secure, every
guy rope symmetrically placed and as taut as a tightrope.
The tent was a dark green Hilleberg, specifically designed for
extreme expeditions. Inside, it had two areas; a deep vestibule
at one end by the entrance that I used for cooking, and a zipped
canary-yellow sleeping compartment at the other end that was
just long enough for me to lie down stretched out without
pressing my toes against the back of the tent. It was tall enough
that I could sit cross-legged in the very centre without touching
the inner lining but sufficiently narrow to be able to stretch out
my arms and place my palms flat to each of the sides.
Eventually I crawled into the yellow and green shade of my
little shelter but spent longer than necessary carefully placing
all my belongings where they were designed to be in the
two compartments. When I was done the tent was snug but
somehow I couldn't see it as cosy. I was too aware of what
was missing, too sensitive to the emptiness and the quiet. I
had a meal to cook but the very thought of food made me feel
sick - my nerves were still quivering in my stomach and the
tension made it feel bloated and full. I glanced at my watch and
realised that it was almost midnight even though the sun was
still radiating brightly through the side of the tent. Grabbing
one of my colour-coded bags I took out my satellite phone and
switched it on. It was no bigger than my hand but was now my
only contact with the world.