REPORT | I’m not a superhero

After two days rest in the base camp, there are changes in the starting grid. Even assimilating what has been lived up there, it is too early to draw conclusions and still less to make decisions.


There should be no rush; we have just started; we need to keep a cool head and try to guess with the weather. That climbing the walls will be very good for you, but what I intend is to stop for a moment to catch the breath.

I think people have a wrong opinion of us, supermen, crazy, uncontrolled, insensitive; of iron men or perhaps of not being afraid of death. Someone will even think we are immature.


But it’s not like that. We feel, we suffer and we do not want to leave here; but we assume the commitment and the risk of our acts, sometimes with more courage, and sometimes with more success.

I feel very strong, wanting to face a Chomolugma, along with my friends and team, which by the way is working perfectly. I have to thank all of them one by one for their impeccable work, and for their dedication.


Alex Txikon is nobody, but thanks to all of them we still dream of being able to go up there and down there because without them we would not be here, in nothing, in silence, in absolute solitude.

Each time I have passed under each of those collapsed seraks, (sculpted as works of art, so beautiful, precious indeed, spectacular but at the same time so dangerous), my throat narrows.


Sometimes even I can feel a lump in the throat; the throat is dry; my heart is accelerating, not because I accelerate my climbing pace to be less time under these works of art, but because of the fear I feel.

Every time I have had to go under each serak, I have stopped before; You breathe deeply, you take the risk, but you always ask permission of each one of them so that it does not crack, and you end up buried under hundreds of blocks of ice, neither you nor any of my friends and companions.

IMG-20170113-WA0016 (1)

It is the same fear that I have felt these days ago and even until yesterday, of not freezing like that frigid morning of the 23rd day above the 7,500 meters.

I have to tell myself that it has not been until yesterday, that is to say, more than 24 hours after having gone down, that I have not had the courage to take off my socks: out of cowardice. Yes, for fear of not seeing my feet, thinking that they may be frozen. Now, they hardly hurt me, but the pain has been so intense that I have feared that everything will end here.

Therefore, supermen do not exist, nor the superwomen. At least, I am not. Look how scary I am, and it will not be the first or the last time I’ll be afraid to take off my socks.

I’m not a superhero.






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