Throughout the process of writing this book I have been asked, “Why now, after all this time?” Becoming the first North American woman to summit Mount Everest catapulted me into an accidental career as an inspirational speaker for three decades. Although my climbing has had an impact on who I am, I never expected this one climb to permeate my life to the extent it has. Not a day has gone by without some reference to Everest, whether from a friend or a stranger; from a journalist, a student or a speakers’ bureau; or from an aspiring mountaineer or an autograph hound. I have been surprised and sometimes dismayed to discover Everest is not going away.
Everest has opened doors for me and expanded my world. But at times, Everest has felt like an overbearing friend. It has often preceded me, elbowed its way into rooms, sashayed across floors, cut swaths through conversations and embarrassed me. Outside of my work as an inspirational speaker, I have been quiet about this particular mountain. Some friends have accused me of being coy when I do not let Everest speak for me, but this is how it is: complicated.
When people in my audiences asked when I was going to write a book, I would tell them: “When I’m old and wise enough.” And I would tell myself: never. However, much has changed. Access to Mount Everest has increased exponentially. Still, despite the mountain having been desecrated by commercialism, reality TV, garbage, and sometimes, questionable motives, a fascination with this icon of human achievement has endured. I’ve had more than thirty years to ponder why some folks can’t hear enough about it. Climbing Everest reveals the best and the worst of the human condition. The story I have told to over a thousand audiences conveys the former: a story of exceptional teamwork and the impact it has had on my life.
My realization that Everest was going to remain both a part of my life and the public consciousness coincided with my children leaving home and resuming my original career as an alpine guide. Returning to my guiding work was a relief and a comfort. I realized how much I love to show others the elegance of moving over rock, snow and ice. More fulfilling than teaching specific skills, however, is helping people find themselves in the mountains. By showing others, I reminded myself that the mountains are a powerful teacher. All these factors inspired me to delve deeper into the story I usually tell audiences in less than an hour.
As overbearing friends can be, Everest wanted this book to be about it. But the mountain merely serves as a stage and a timeline for the real story. I did not know this until now. I had to write this story to “live the questions” and discover that the most important thing Everest has taught me is the value of relationships: my relationship with myself, with some remarkable people and with the world around me.
I have had to answer for my motives many times during this writing process. Who am I to talk about myself? I had considered this indulgence an unwholesome luxury until I realized one of the reasons I read memoir is to know I am not alone.
I have taken advantage of the liberal rules for non-fiction narrative to inhabit the young woman I was then, when the events were newborn, and I, less aware. I have recreated scenes and conversations to convey the events, the character of myself, my teammates and friends, and our relationships, to the best of my recollection. This story has been with me long enough to make me wonder whether I had it straight, especially after retelling it for so long. To this end, I asked a few teammates to read the manuscript to make sure events lined up with the facts.
My teammates have also helped me with several questions: How did we succeed on the seldom-climbed West Ridge of Everest when so many had failed? Eight men before us had died on this route out of a total of thirteen who had attempted it. And why was it that only two of us out of all the talented climbers on our team reached the summit? Then, why me? And perhaps the most vexing question: Why did I struggle with my Everest acclaim?
A buffer of three decades has given me the courage to expose both my frailties and my motivations, and allowed for admissions that I would not have had the insight or courage to disclose when I was younger. The years have seasoned my perspective and softened some edges. I squirmed with discomfort as I wrote into such self-centred focus and how seriously I took myself then. I passed the manuscript to more readers, this time to make sure I was accurately depicting myself. One friend told me he believes we could not have achieved what we did in our twenties without having taken ourselves so seriously. We were compelled to strive and put ourselves first when it came to realizing our capacities and who we were in this world. But to what end? This is another question I have wrestled with since my time on Everest, giving me both cause to cringe in shame, and fodder for growth and insight.
The questions, I realize now, are more important than the answers. After having raised two high-spirited boys I understand this. All I’ve ever wished for them, beyond good health and love, are challenges and questions that engage and compel them. As ambivalent as I may sound about Everest, I am grateful for how it has continued to challenge me even more so in writing this book.
So here we are. I had to rise to climb Everest, and rise to integrate that experience into my life. This need to engage in the questions is the irrepressible engine for writing my story.