Forty-Six - Alone in Antarctica: The First Woman to Ski Solo Across the Southern Ice - page 76

on my skis trying to ignore the clammy discomfort of the close-
fitting material around my face. I could not bear anymore
the moment I would be forced to expose myself to the cold,
hastily refastening stubborn clothing with painfully numbing
fingers, only to repeat the agonising process a few hours later.
I couldn't countenance another day cramming tasteless half-
frozen food into jaws that ached with the repeated exertion
of chewing such toughness. The relentless struggle just to stay
safe, never mind move forward, was more than I could take. I
understood now, categorically, that the distance ahead of me
and the number of days to come, as well as my alone-ness,
was more, much more, than I could face. It wasn't that I was
giving in; it was a calm and rational realisation that I didn't
have the physical or mental capacity for the challenge ahead. I
had found what I had come for. I had found my limit. All that
remained was for me to decide how I was to get home. As this
knowledge sank in I didn't feel regret that my journey was
over, only slight surprise that I had reached the end so soon.
Revelling in the feeling of relief and release that came with
the thought that I didn't have to leave my sleeping bag or
the safety of my flimsy shelter, I planned when to make the
phone call to Union Glacier informing them of my decision.
Absorbed by the practicalities, I didn't at first notice a
growing sensation welling in another part of my mind. The
sensation wasn't yet a conscious thought; but it would slowly
reveal itself to be the knowledge that I couldn't give up but
had to find the determination to continue. As soon as this
thought made itself heard, my mind was torn by a war of
wills, split between the complete resolve not to go on and the
simultaneous understanding that I didn't have any choice but
to keep going.