As I reflect on my Kilimanjaro climbs, it's hard to recall the hard. When people ask me what they most need to know when thinking about tackling Africa's highest mountain I'm all like "You'll do great!" and "It's so fun!" and "Just do it! Don't over think it!" In that way, I think climbing Kili is a little like college. You rarely, if ever, hear anyone say "well, here's the really awful part of college .." or "You know, given the chance, I'd never go back to that place where I experienced freedom and found myself for the first time." Sure there are difficult things about college - all night studying, the endless labs, the relentless homework, the constant fear of letting the GPA slip, the reoccurring chin zit that you swore you weren't going to squeeze this time but ALWAYS DID RIGHT BEFORE A DATE- but the further you get from the slog/sleeplessness/acne of college the less you remember the hard parts.

It's the same with Kilimanjaro. Once you've been away from the difficulty of it for, say, 6 or 7 hours, once you've had that first hot shower (which, unfortunately may take a while since Tanzania sorta randomly decides when you're going to have water) and once you've gulped down that first celebratory Kilimanjaro Beer you will have forgotten most of the really not great things about the mountain.  Except for one. 

Lesson number two (aptly named) : The Long Drop

First, watch this video.

Next get on the phone immediately with your tour operator and add a private potty to your gear list. (A private potty is a chemical toilet that a porter - lovingly called "toilet boy" - will carry up the mountain so you have a place to crap. It's basically a small Igloo cooler with a lid, don't get too excited. And if you ever need solid proof that you're American, or British, or simply not a porter, then this is it - That you will pay someone to literally carry your shit up that mountain. And you will justify it by saying "it's employment!" Which it is, you're right. And if you ever EVER need a lesson in how to not be such a douche-bag at your job, then watch the toilet boy happily set up your private potty and smile and be so grateful that you've hired him. That, my friends, will humble you. I don't care what you do for a living, after watching these men deal with your crap - figuratively and literally- for seven days, you will realize you could use an attitude adjustment.)

After you've arranged to have a private potty then take a deep breath and relax. But not completely, because - Guess what?

You still may have to use a long drop. (Cue "dum da dum dahhh" music.) Yep. There may be times when you have no choice but go in the longdrop or go in your pants. Go ahead. Sit with that for a while... rather, squat with it.

If you've only traveled in the US or Europe, you probably aren't familiar with long drop toilets. Or scurvy. I put those two things at about the same level of pleasantness. A long drop is basically an outdoor closet - with a hole in the floor and with a whole lotta poo ...both in the hole and (somewhat impressively) scattered around the hole. It's sort of like an old-timey outhouse, but with no place to sit. Which means you squat. You place one foot on each side of the poo hole and drop it like it's hot ... which, given the amount of chicken curry you ate, it just might be. Occasionally you can find a super nice long drop that has raised pieces of wood on either side of the hole to place your feet. But mostly it's just a hole. And if you have to Number Two this will be your number one job - don't fall over. That's right, it can happen. It's difficult to balance in a longdrop, and honey, if you haven't been doing squats to prepare for this trip you need to start. Now. Between trying to keep your pantcuffs from dropping into droppings and desperately bobbling around on your toes so you don't launch forward or topple backward and worrying about how stable the wood is upon which you are standing, well, you very quickly understand not just THAT a bear shits in the woods but WHY. Because it's way better than a longdrop. Them bears are smart.

But don't let it scare you away from the mountain. If you don't rent the private potty (or if you do and still find yourself in the longdrop - which you might for reasons we don't need to discuss here) here are some hints.

HINT 1- take your TP and some wet wipes with you. Not surprisingly, longdrops don't seem to be well stocked. And there is no cleaning schedule or way to alert the management if your longdrop has become a not-so-long drop.  It's unpleasant all around. And your life will be better if you just accept it and move on. If at all possible, bring biodegradable paper and bag your wet wipe to be disposed of properly. I carried a ziplock with me that I could stuff my used wipes in - I know ... I KNOW - it's disgusting - I get it! But remember that toilet boy??? No complaining from you.

HINT 2- Roll your pantcuffs up before you squat down. Most hiking pants will roll and stay rolled. This is essential. There is a scant few inches where your pants can hover safely. And when you pull your pants down make sure they are well out of the way. In fact, if you are worried at ALL about this just take your pants off. Yes. I'm serious. You can either toss them over the wall of the longdrop or wrap them around your neck. If you are going to "be there for a while" then you'll be much more comfortably knowing your potential "shit pants" (which is how you will think of them forever more should the unthinkable happen) are well out of firing range.

HINT 3- The best position to use in a longdrop is fully squatted with feet flat on the floor. All the experts say this is the most comfortable and most effective method for - uh - success. If, like me, you haven't practiced this move since you were drinking from a sippy cup, you will probably find yourself doing a half-squat-elbows-on-the knees type thing. If this is your position, you need to realize your poo-hole and the longdrop poo-hole aren't going to line up. This will take some adjustment. I can't help you beyond this. In fact, I'm sorry I ever brought it up.

HINT 4- Don't be confused by the sign above some longdrops declaring it a "tourist's toilet". This is only to separate those toilets from the porters toilets. It is NOT a photo op.

HINT 5- This one goes out to the ladies. You know that plastic funnel you have in the kitchen drawer? Bring it. Or something like it. In fact go ahead and throw down the dollars for a nice Freshette. You won't regret it. What is it? It's the answer to your childhood dream - it's a contraption that allows you to pee STANDING UP! and it is a MUST on Kili. The first couple of days on the mountain you will have lots of cover. And if you need to pee - which you will since you are hydrating like a champ up there - it's no issue. After day 2, however, options for cover are limited. If you are equipped with a built in funnel this won't be a problem. If you naturally have an innie and not an outie, peeing discretely will be a challenge. What to do? Well, if you've prepared properly you just grab your pink plastic wee-wee, whip that puppy out and whiz right out there in front of - well, don't actually pee in front of people. Turns out that's considered rude. But you can simply turn your back, step behind a small rock and let 'er fly. Another benefit to using a stand-up pee device - if you live with a boy, you will finally understand the dribbles. For real. From what I can tell, shaking is completely ineffective.

HINT 6 - While we are on the topic of bodily functions let's just get this out of the way - You're gonna fart. A lot. It's a good thing. In fact, if you are farting well, you are faring well. That's science. And brother - chances are you will fare very well on Kilimanjaro. It's an altitude thing. So let er rip. The beautiful thing is your guides are used to it. When confronted with our gassiness, our sweet guides would say "Is okay! Is good for health!" or (my favorite) "Be free".  It's good advice. Be free. No worries. Hakuna matata. Gotta honk? Simply step to the side (a courtesy to the hikers behind you) and rooty-toot-toot. Say "samahani" (excuse me) and get back in line. We're all adults here. Which, actually, will be hard to tell because it turns out farts are funny in ANY language.

:giggle:
Farts.
:giggle:

The first time I climbed Kilimanjaro I went with my sister, Carrie. Carrie is a uberplanner. And because I figured she'd have most things covered, I didn't really worry about doing much research. A few weeks before we left, I did start to watch a YouTube video about how to pack for Kilimanjaro but then I got caught up in a weird YouTube related video string and ended up watching a botfly get removed from some poor bastard who visited Bolivia. Bottom line I learned from that little internet search: Don't go to Bolivia. And - YouTube is awesome.

So my learning curve was steep when I arrived on the mountain (steep - get it??? steep .. like the mountain is steep. Umkay, moving on). And I had to learn some things the old trial and error way. Which is okay and truthfully, the way I learn best.  In fact, even if I'd read ahead, I'm not sure I would have listened. I'm not really known for compliance. Or even comprehension. So reading ahead may not have helped me when, say, I pee'd all over my pants on day 1. But maybe you aren't like me. Maybe you are more like my sister - who never once pee'd on herself or her pants the whole trip - and you'd like to know some hints. I'm down with that. Here's what I've got:

Lesson One: Pole pole.

As you climb Kilimanjaro, if you pay attention at all, you will learn a handful of Kiswahili words. One of those words is "pole pole". I know, it looks like two words. It isn't. Not really. Two "poles" - "Pole pole" means something completely different than just one "pole". Kinda like two back-to-back shots of tequila mean something totally different than one. And "pole pole" isn't pronounced like you think. It's not "pole" like a stick in the ground or the thing you use to vault. It's pronounced "poe-lay poe-lay", like you're pointing out a couple of Edgar Allen's girlfriends.

"Pole pole" simply means, "slowly".  If, unlike me, you've done any reading about Kilimanjaro at all, you've probably already know about going slowly. It's one of the first things people tell you. Easy does it. The slow way is the only way. The tortoise beats the hare. Blah blah blah. And I know you *think* you know what slowly means. But you don't. Not really. Slowly on the mountain is not like normal slowly. Slowly on the mountain is like the gear before you get to first gear. It's like idle, on a bike, on an incline. I'm talking SLOW.

Why go slowly? Since I don't think "because I said so" will work, I will give you the actual reason. It's pretty technical. Try to keep up. Ready? Here's it is: Because if you don't, you'll crap out. (That's a climbing term you may not be familiar with. In layman's it means "get ready to pay for some hotel rooms at the base of the mountain cause you aint seein' the top. Brother.") The bottom line? Your body isn't used to altitude - and it takes time to get used to it. It needs you to go slowly so it can adjust.  It can, I promise. But it takes time. Your body needs you to slow-the-jack down so it can physically adjust to the changes you're asking it to make.  If you rush it, you're not going to like it. It's sort of like having sex the first time - it's not a complicated process but maybe let's not try to get it done during a commercial break of Dancing with the Stars. I just realized this analogy only works if you're female.  If you'd like a more technical explanation of how your body adjusts to altitude, you can find it here. I'm assuming it is accurate. Truthfully, I didn't read the whole thing. Mostly because I scanned it and there didn't seem to be any botfly extractions anywhere on the page.

For myself, I thought going slowly wouldn't be a problem. Having completed a handful of marathons and a couple of IRONMANs, I know the importance of pacing. I'm well acquainted with how important "take it easy and save it" can be. I've had to learn to dial it back and let the race come to me. Actually that's not really true. I go slowly because I really suck at running. In marathons, Ironmans, half-ironmans, olympic distance triathlons, 10Ks and 1 mile fun runs I go slowly because I don't really have a choice. That's my speed - None miles per hour. But, as it turns out, I'M SO GOOD AT WALKING! and that's what Kili is - a walk. And since I'M SO GOOD AT WALKING - I wanted to go faster ... because it was hard. Walking on Kili is hard.  It's uphill (which shouldn't be a surprise to you) and it's rocky and there isn't a lot of that stuff, what's it called again? Oh yeah - air.  So walking Kili is hard and when something is hard I just want to get it over with already! So maybe I pushed a little on that first day. Thankfully, I had a guide that was smart enough to recognize I was going too fast and gently reminded me of the importance of "pole pole". He gently reminded me by saying "Jenne, do not ever walk in front of me again. You stay. Here. (:::points to area behind him:::) Behind me." Got it. Direct and to the point. All clear. Roger that.

So we went slowly. And we reached the top. That should be enough to convince you. If it isn't, think about this:
what's the rush?  Why not go slowly? Slowly is good. Slowly is great, in fact. Slowly allows for observation, reflection, enjoyment. Each day you have ONE thing to do. Just one. Get to the next camp. That's it. When you get there, your tent will be set up, your dinner will be prepared, your hot water for washing will be waiting. All you have to do is get to the camp. That's your one and only job. So chill. Downshift. The mountain isn't going anywhere.

This mountain, this highest free-standing mountain in the world, has been here a long time - years, centuries, millennia - it's been keeping watch over the rainforest below, over the prowling lions and migrating wildebeests, over the nomadic Masaai and the banana-farming Chagga. It's grown trees so massive they rival buildings in any American city. It's crashed and tossed boulders the size of minivans half-way down it's slopes. It's seen the dawn of centuries, the dawn of progress, and the dawn of man. It's been there a very long time.

But you won't be. You will be on Kili basking in her hospitality and wonders for a very short time. She will amaze you with her beauty and terrify you with her harshness. She will rock you to sleep under an ocean of stars. Like a Geisha, she will peek out at you from behind a thick wrap of clouds only occasionally to show you her beauty and then quickly hide behind that curtain again - closing a cloudy kimono. She will reset your previous beliefs about what's possible and what's comfortable and your very western view of showers and the need for flossing. She will make you cry, she will make you laugh, she will silence your voice while your heart babbles on and on in an ancient language translated through gasps and exhales. She will thrill you. She will seduce you. She will enrapture you.

And then you will be gone.

You will swear you will remember her lessons. You will close your fist around the memories and pledge to never let them go. You will say, "I will remember" and "I won't forget". And you will mean it. But. You will forget. You won't remember. Your life will crash in around you. Your flight will get canceled. Your kid will spill milk on the car rug and not tell you. Your dentist will call to schedule your cleaning. Your house gutter will fall off in a storm and need fixing. Your check engine light will spotlight out on your dashboard when YOU JUST HAD THAT FIXED LAST WEEK! and you will forget. Because that's life.

But Kili is living.

So go slowly.
Don't rush.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
And climb.

Pole pole.