Pole Pole

Swahili for "slowly slowly"

This day last month, my bestie Mar and I were tucking ourselves into our sleeping bags for our final night on Mount Kilimanjaro. We had reached the summit of 5,895 metres, an awe-inspiring experience I will carry with me for the rest of my life.

This week I found out that Ciara Mageean, an Irish 1,500 metre distance Olympic runner and European Championships medallist, has stage 4 bowel cancer. She has stated in interviews that she’ll be considered very lucky if she lives until 40. She’s only 34.

When I read last year that she had cancer, I remember thinking to myself that absolutely no doubt she’ll overcome whatever life throws at her. She’s had to deal with some sticky injuries and still managed to succeed in the Championships and take on two Olympics. So to hear it’s probably the worst prognosis she could get, shook me.

How can someone so young, an Olympic athlete, fit and healthy, with access to some of the best training and nutrition in the world, still fall prey to the horrible illness?

Ciara highlights in one of her interviews how during her training, her stomach pains and bowel movements were becoming much more regular than usual. As soon as she’d begin training, she’d need to run to the loo. As if these moments haven’t happened to all of us?! It makes me wonder how someone with some of Ireland’s top physicians, nutritionists and physios on her speed dial could still get to such a late stage of cancer. Did the system fail her? Should we be better educated about our bodies and responses? What are the warning signs?

I’ll be 31 this day next week, so not far off from Ciara’s own age, and cancer is not something I pay too much heed to developing. I get my smear tests, try to get my bloods done when I can, and move my body as much as possible.

On day three of the seven day Kilimanjaro hike, I was not feeling the most confident that I’d summit. I’d taken a small fall on the first day and my knee felt a little off, and it only worsened as the days went on. Mar and our wonderful guides were so encouraging, but daaaaaamn I was not at all feeling so positive and just thinking about all the negative outcomes; would we need to get the helicopter down, wasting all that money for nothing, what if my knee is in much worse condition than I’d initially thought?

The best crew: Nafika Tours. I also highly recommend buying a disposable camera this summer and seeing what photos you develop :)

Thankfully, after plenty of stretching, so much Deep Heat spray that my knee went numb, and using my walking poles for balance, we made it to the summit successfully. All of that worrying for practically nothing.

Ciara has said that she mourns the adventures she’s not going to be able to do now given the road ahead of her. And that grief is entirely hers to hold. There's no reframe for that, no silver lining I could offer that wouldn't feel hollow. It’s an incredibly horrible situation for her, and I truly hope the outcomes for her - given how positive and strong she is throughout her interviews and writings - will only improve and provide her with the best experiences.

I don't have a tidy takeaway from Ciara's news. It just sits heavily on me. What I can speak to is my own life, and the ways I've been sleepwalking through the bits of it that don't feel “Insta-worthy”. No shit girl, are any of the things we think Insta-worthy actually all that interesting for anyone else?! What are trying to prove to ourselves and others?!

What Kilimanjaro opened up to me, and this is very specifically about my own overthinking, anxious, and over-planning brain, is that I’d been so focused on the summit that I nearly missed everything going on around me while I was too busy worrying about my bloody knee.

I found that it’s a lot less about the summit, and rather about all of the minutiae. It’s about learning the bits of Swahili to be able to say hello (“Jambo!”) to the crew running up and down the mountain with our tents, toilets, food and everything in between. It’s about taking it one step and one breath at a time - pole pole - and sharing a piece of delicious chocolate or sipping on some ginger tea in the middle of the night, the drips of sweat down my back fast turning cold when we stop to rest.

It’s about listening to the crew through the tents while they watch their favourite football team do battle; the cheering and jeering, the whoops for joy when they score. It’s about giggling through the stench of sweat on the final night as we descened upon the crew’s tent to play Uno, not being able to speak each other’s language but figuring out regardless.

Cadi means card! Me toka means I’m out, ndani means I’m in, mimi cheza means I play/my turn. Swahili is such a beautiful language!

Cherished moments & memories :)

And maybe also giggling as I let rip a massive fart and hot box my sleeping bag (and to be fair the whole tent, apologies Mar), and then guffawing as we realise the lads in the other tent could hear said fart. Hehe.

And while it was a great big adventure, I mean it when I say it was made up of all these small parts that gave me such enjoyment. Much as the way life is, washing the dirt out from under your fingernails, smelling the orange blossoms on the trees, rubbing your dogs’ velvety soft floppy ears. Yes, I crave a big adventure every so often, and I am very privileged to be able to do so. But there’s plenty I want to soak up and enjoy in my “mundane” every day life that I want to be more grateful for, that I so take for granted.

I will be going into Limerick city later on this week and my first port of call (after getting my obligatory free STI test in the hospital (I STG if there’s one good thing about the Irish healthcare system it’s the free STI tests! Get tested folks!!)) will be going to O’ Mahoney’s Booksellers, Limerick’s GOAT bookshop, to buy Ciara’s memoir.

Big kiss,

Maria