Narrative Essay On Mount Denali

962 Words 4 Pages
I remember the date, the time, the temperature, and the way I was feeling the day before climbing Mount Denali.

It was May 29, 2017 when I decided I would beat Kilian Jornet’s time of 11 hours and 48 minutes, and it was January 10, 2018 when I finally decided to attempt the big climb. It was cold, but not as freezing as some of the other months happened to be, It was that particular Wednesday when everything went south.

The day before climbing Denali, I decided to take a breather before I attempted beating the world record. My exercises and warm ups were crazy and I loved feeling that burning sensation when you push your body a little harder than was meant. All these preparations were necessary, and I knew it, but that didn’t stop me from
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The sun was starting to set, and the air was already starting to get cold. I looked at my left injured pant leg, and saw that there was dry blood covering the surface of my pants.

The blood coming out of my leg had slightly stopped, but the wound still seemed fresh. I knew I had to put pressure on it, before it was either infected or before my wound got frost bite. I slowly took bandage from the book bag I had been caring containing everything from a pocket knife to a wrap for your foot.

I tied it quickly around my knee, tears streaming down my face, just hoping to stop the blood from seeping through my pant leg.

I knew I had to act fast, there was a limited amount of time before I died. I knew it, the damn Grim Reaper knew it, and I’m sure the whole world knew it to. I was gonna die, and know one knew where I was or that I was even hurt.

I slept for only a few hours that night: my leg was literally killing me, and there was a slight frost bite starting to form on the edge of my leg, in fact I could barely feel my toes.

I didn’t realize how hungry I was, and how little I had eaten before my miserable climb. I had no trace or any access to fresh food, and no source of fresh water to be
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It was more than 29 hours that I had been without food, and I was running on low or nothing at all.

I slowly looked down at my leg, at the juicy meat. Anything right now would’ve been better than nothing. I mean to reason with my judgement, I was already bleeding to death, and I’d rather die of blood loss than of hunger.

I slowly took my pocket knife, it trembling in my hand, and let it pierce me skin. The pain was unbearable, not only was I bleeding from my calf but I was also bleeding from my knee. With my hands shaking, I sliced the rest of knee.

I couldn’t take the pain and I remember trying to will myself to stay awake. The pain was overpowering and I started to fade away, I heart distant voices and the vibrations of people walking, but that could’ve been my imagination playing tricks on me and trying to support my hopes that people were near.

And that’s all I remember before… slowly woke up with needles in my arms and my personal trainor by my side. He looked grim and he had big dark bags under his eyes. The next few words broke my heart and changed my life

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