Turning my thinking around, I found fuel: I saw myself a year down the line, fuming at my inability to pull through at the end. I thought of the people that had put their faith in me, the friends I had made along the way – and most of all I considered Suchi and the family. They needed me to get back. Finally, I envisioned the finishing line, my ascent on Shishapangma and the reception in Kathmandu as the world learned of my successes. The fug of despair was lifting. Just make it happen. You can’t give up here.
