Climbing Everest at the age of 69 was not bravery, it was pure stubbornness. From those we cultivate when we still feel alive enough to face an unlikely adventure – even with knees ranging like old door and breath that hides behind each stone. I did not go seek glory or calendar photo. I went, perhaps, to get the chance to laugh at myself at an altitude when even brushing my teeth already seems to be radical sport.
In the base camp, the first discovery: tent is not a hotel, and hard biscuits does not soften even in boiled water. But between a tea of ginger burning the throat and the jokes of Nepalese guides, I realized that mountain rises in groups, even when the effort is individual. The cold crossed three coats and sleep came in pieces, weird dreams and short breathing. At these times, I remembered my daughter – too busy with her own trips to call me crazy – and my mother, with her pragmatic wisdom: “If you will suffer, it is for a good cause.”
The climb mixed pain and beauty. Knee pain, pain in patience, pain in dignity. But also born from the sun painting the neighboring peaks, wind howling as a coral and that beast of victory for being able to melt snow without fire the tent. At this time, even a crumpled chocolate at the bottom of the backpack becomes a banquet worthy of kings.
Getting to the summit was less epic than the magazines promise. No fanfare. Just an overwhelming silence that seemed to ask, “So, was it?” And it was. It’s not about winning the mountain – she doesn’t even realize we’re there. It is about laughing at its own tiredness, of continuing when the body asks for retirement, to know that if it is not now, it will no longer be.
The descent was as hard as the climb, but came with a funny serenity. The one who understands that the summit is fleeting, but the story is. I came back with the certainty that the adventure is still worth it, even if the first part of the challenge, now, is to find my glasses inside the backpack or remember where I left the keys from home.
Because, in the end, Everest will always be there. But me too. Or isn’t it?
The text above was not written by me, but by chat GPT, with the help of a prompt expert, the data that helps the tool to create what we want to develop. There have been several versions, one more corny than another. I wanted something more colloquial, as it would be if I had written it and, especially, as if I had effectively cast Everest – what is known far from my ability. But I enjoyed seeing that artificial intelligence has managed to capture much of the spirit of this column, play with details that make each experience something human.
And why, after all, I wanted to create this false – very well! – Narrative? Perhaps to recommend who thinks they can go out without notion, twinning in the first summit available, which can be better to use the imagination and the machine to play. At the very least, saves lives and saves ransom.
You can even make that very instagramble photo. Preferably, better than this one that illustrates this text, also generated by artificial intelligence with a simple cell phone, at a bar table and in the midst of good laughs.
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