Greenland - A Grand Adventure

Greenland - A Grand Adventure

Ski across Greenland they said. What a grand adventure I thought. But does anyone else have this problem with wearing rose tinted glasses when dreaming up the next big adventure? Magical images come surging into my head about how it is going to be. It always involves perfect weather, and me looking like a strong warrior goddess who is absolutely in her element. My hair blowing theatrically in the wind while I throw my head back in laughter. It is a classic image that accompanies each new far out dream I have. Pity they never quite work out that way. But to hell with happy endings. Ultimately, we are in it for the story.

Skiing across Greenland was one of the most difficult journeys I have ever completed.  I was part of a small handpicked team, led by the New Zealand based Antarctic Heritage Trust, for their third Inspiring Explorers’ Expedition. The Trust are the guardians of the early explorer bases down in Antarctica, and the aim of their expeditions is to connect young people with the spirit of exploration. 

As an adventure therapist, encouraging youth to step outside of their comfort zones and be more curious about life is a huge part of the work that I do. I had lost touch with that feeling myself though, and this expedition helped me regain it by throwing me over the edge with its continuous challenges. 

I have always been strong and I have always been a leader. I grew up in remote western Queensland and I guess all that country air and farm life prepared me for the rough and tumble of the outdoors. We were constantly adventuring as children, and this bubbled over into my adult life where I became an outdoor instructor and therapist. In my twenties, I managed to live and work on every continent, taking up every strange and wonderous opportunity that came my way; charging through life full of vibrancy and flair.

Greenland however, was a different story. While I envisioned myself as a graceful and powerful ski warrioress, there was nothing glamorous about that crossing at all. Most days I felt completely useless. It would take me 15 minutes every morning to pull on my rock-solid frozen boots. After slipping those dreaded ice-blocks onto my feet, my tentmate Hollie and I would clumsily take down our tent. With three layers of mittens on, our dexterity was seriously debilitated. 

Photo by: Keith Parsons

Photo by: Keith Parsons

From there, it was anywhere between 10 and 16 hours of skiing before we would set up camp again. We would ski in a line, one behind the other, and have a 10-minute break every hour. It was a world of vast nothingness. The best way to describe it is to imagine being on the inside of a ping pong ball, white stretching out all around you. Some days the blizzards were so intense I didn’t know where up or down actually was. I just felt like I was floating in a cloud, waiting to fall out of it. 

We battled wild weather conditions including two hurricanes. Each time we had to dig down our tents into what I imagined was their own grave. Then we used the excess snow we’d dug out as a huge wall to barricade us against the ferocious winds. I had never been in a situation like it before; I couldn’t stand up against the wind or was blown upwards in my tent from the wind howling underneath it. We bunkered down for 36 hours at time, snow falling like cement and enclosing the tents in on us. These delightful moments were considered our ‘rest days’. There is nothing like the steady drum of 180 km/hr wind against the tent to lull you into sleep. 

We often talked about why people are crazy enough to do expeditions like this in the first place. Our magnificent guide believed that people did it for the suffering. While in those first few weeks we were still having a great time, our fair share of suffering was going around. Both gastro and a terrible chest infection swept through the group and caused me to cough up blood every day for a week. 

We often dealt with temperatures of minus 40⁰C. Even though there was no real exposure, my legs became riddled with frost bite – believe it or not, the fat in my legs had frozen. It turns out ladies that cellulite is the gift that just keeps giving, not only does it look fabulous in bikini’s, but it can also catch frostbite. Because of the illness plaguing us and poor weather conditions, we had to extend the number of hours skiing from 10 hours to 16 hours per day. My body was exhausted and the extra hours started to bring back brain injury symptoms. 

Five years ago, I was involved in a dog sledding accident where a client lost control of their sled and ran over my head. The sleds we used were 250 kg plus the weight of two people on top; heavy enough to crush a skull. My vestibular system was severely damaged, and my brain forced me to sleep for days at a time to repair itself. I lost my short-term memory and my ability to balance. It took months of physical therapy to be able to function normally again. 

These days, my brain injury affects me mostly when I am tired. My body goes into survival mode and shuts down everything that isn’t needed to function – including my personality. I lose my sense of balance and fall over a lot. My vision becomes foggy, and my brain feels like it is on fire. I find it incredibly hard to concentrate on anything at these times and noise or over stimulation is like a knife being stabbed over and over in my skull. 

This added challenge threw me into having to rely on others to help me make it through. I needed extra sleep, so Hollie boiled water for me at night before she went to bed herself. The boys carried extra weight for Hollie and me, so it was less strain on us. This didn’t sit well with me at all. I felt like a complete burden on the team. Deep down, I know that everyone needs extra help at certain times, but I just wasn’t comfortable with being that person. 

I realised that my sense of self-worth was wrapped up in my perceived level of productivity. This belief system was instilled in me throughout childhood and moulds its way into my life in many forms, one being perfectionism. Believing that if you are not the best or doing your best, then it is not enough – that you are not enough. If I was sick I would consider myself to be weak and ‘less than’ because I was not as productive as usual. 

Throughout the time on the expedition, when my head injury symptoms returned, and I couldn’t contribute much to the team physically, I felt so much shame. This shame ate away at my soul, affecting my mood and my state of mind even more. It was like a deep seeded sense of fear that I was the weakest link – the primal part of me was expecting to be kicked out of the tribe. The brain is a remarkable thing. The thoughts you feed into it become ingrained within your reality. In short, your thoughts become things. 

Imagine the scenario: there I was in Greenland, telling myself for ten hours a day that I was useless and going to be kicked out of the tribe. This affected my emotions and my energy. My emotions were rock bottom and I couldn’t find pleasure in anything around me. My headaches got worse with the strain of intense emotions, affecting my balance and vision. It was a vicious cycle.

I knew this about the brain though. This wasn’t new information to me. What I needed was a massive shift in my perspective about the situation. That shift came in the form of Hollie my beautiful tentmate. Both of us had been struggling through a lot, and I was just so lucky to have such an incredible person to be with each day. We made each other laugh through the suffering, and she inspired me with thoughts of what we could become. Every day we would pull out motivational quotes she had carefully prepared before the journey to keep our spirits up. On one particular day the quote was ‘Pain is inevitable, but misery is optional.’ I realised I hadn’t been able to step out of my misery to see past the pain of what was going on with my body and the shame of being less strong than I expected.

As women, we are expected to be many different things:  A nurturer with the patience of a saint; a passionate warrioress; a fashionista but also an adventurer who likes to get grubby; an empowerer; a pillar of strength yet a gentle carer; a lover, but a lady on the street; a brilliant cook; an intelligent woman who stands in her truth but doesn’t voice her opinions too loudly. The list goes on and on. It’s exhausting. And if we don’t measure up to those labels and expectations, we are led to believe we are not enough.

Photo by: Keith Parsons

Photo by: Keith Parsons

What was beautiful to me about the expedition was the friendship I had with Hollie. How she accepted and loved me for me – for what I thought was my ‘less than’ and ‘not enough’ self. If she and the others could accept me in this state, then why couldn’t I? 

On the last few days of the expedition we crossed paths with another team. We had first met them weeks earlier, when they raced for days to catch up to us. As a team we were on the slow side, largely due to the sickness and weather obstacles. In the early days we had compared ourselves to them, but now here they were: battered, beaten, and just in front of us – they were a total emotional wreck. They had pushed themselves far past their limits and were barely talking to each other. 

I was so grateful towards my team for having such a sense of unity and giving it all to help each other through the journey. Witnessing the other team’s lack of empathy towards weaker members made my compassion for those women soar. I really came to appreciate that, even though we are taught to value strengths – like being the fastest, strongest, or best at something – there are far more important traits to value, like emotional strengths. I was not doing myself justice by judging myself on lack of physical strength when I have so much more to offer. My migraines and symptoms had finally started to ease at this point and my energy surged. I was no longer worried about being a burden, but rather focussed on making life for these other women more bearable. Even though there was still some pain, I shifted my energy into joy. 

The most awe-inspiring scenes enveloped us in the last 21 hours of the expedition. It was a magical, fantasy-like day. We started to see mountains emerge out of the vast whiteness around us – the first real thing we had seen in 27 days. As the mountains grew into view we skied closer to the sea; our unified team giggling, laughing and finally going downhill. We were having such an amazing time and feeling so pumped up on good energy. As the day grew into night, the sun set over four or five hours, blanketing us in stunning light that sparkled off the snow. The moon rose, a huge gorgeous fiery orb, and it looked like we were skiing down on a sea of clouds to meet it. It was the most beautiful evening of my life, and the images will forever be imprinted on my memory. 

The night turned into day and we were still skiing. Somehow, through all the exhaustion we could still carry on. 

The gravity of the expedition only truly sank in when I returned home. I had walked across an entire country.  Even though, at times, the dramatic part of me felt like I was being marched to my death, I continued to put one foot in front of the other. The human body is capable of way more than we give it credit for – the human mind even more so. We get so caught up in what we expect ourselves to be that sometimes we forget to see the beautiful gift that we can be at all. I am so appreciative of the fact that I am still able to adventure after the accident, and that I am capable of the feat that I had completed.

My physical strength doesn’t define me. Neither does being the best or perfect. The greatest thing that this journey taught me is to accept my body and myself in all its seasons. While I generally operate in a flourishing state of Summer and Spring (my vibrant self) – especially while I am travelling and working – I find it so difficult to accept it when my mind, body and soul are exhausted. Giving myself full permission to be in those states, and feel those emotions without feeling shame, has been one of my most powerful learnings. 

I am enough in all states and seasons.  

Instagram: @adventuresofawildchild





Shifting Perspectives In the Shifting Sands of Jordan

Shifting Perspectives In the Shifting Sands of Jordan

Plastic is Not Fantastic

Plastic is Not Fantastic

0