Those Stairs We Climbed. (My morning at The Great Wall of China).

What words must I put?  What words must I say?  Is it not impossible to convey the truth of my experience using only these limited things we call 'words'?  And yet, I must try.

It begins - a tired morning in a mediocre hotel, slowly rushing to get ready to make it to breakfast to socialise with the others.  Who is it I have yet to meet?

I sit at one of the round tables, as I remember it, with my roommate and some others.  Two physics teachers - a couple - recommend me to the film "Interstellar", as do others at the table who've seen it, and I wonder to myself if it and I shall get along well.

Once breakfast has passed, we make our way, in the manner of a slow, un-urgent rush, to the hotel lobby.

Our attention received, we make our way to the boarding of one of two buses.  I, my roommate, some friends and acquaintances board bus 1, the others, bus 8.  With few seats left I sit next to Sam, whom I originally met at Starbucks in the Beijing International Airport on the day I landed.

We see the wall as the bus approaches, which I found initially unimpressive, but as the bus traveled further, the sheer and utter scope of the wall started to dawn on me.  An impressive architectural feat of humanity if ever there was one.

The group is organised, the climb begins.  So excited, so enthused to be climbing  The Great Wall of China! Climbing ... climbing ... ... climbing ... Dear God, what have I gotten myself into? O_O  I struggle to keep up with the group, as my legs start to ache and my heart starts to pound.  I push myself to continue, barely managing to keep my position in the group. I find a spot to rest and notice blood feels like crimson sandpaper flowing through every fiber of my being, especially in my chest.  It's my heart.  Is it palpitating?  I'm not sure, as I'm too overwhelmingly exhausted to tell.  Thinking I'd lagged so far behind that I was last in the group, I'm surprised when others I know start to pass me.  Those from Bus 8, no doubt.  I'm unquestionably the last in my own group.  More pass, and one stops to ask if I'm okay.  I explain my palpitations, and am told, as much as I desire it and tell myself I can, not to push myself.  "Do I look pale to you?  Paler than usual, I mean," I ask.  "You've got colour in your cheeks."  I think to myself It might be okay. I heed her advice and decide to pace myself.   From now on, I dawdle, taking slight rests at every opportunity, other people from the second group passing me every now and again.

Onward I continue, people now coming back down and I ask them which tower is the top, pointing to the which seems to be the highest from my perspective.  "Nah, not that one, man, the next one," he replies.

Eventually, I climb to the souvenir shop and buy myself a t-shirt, a jumper, and a brand new, long overdue, cap.  I carry onward, knowing that there's not much more to go, knowing that I'd regret it for the rest of my life were I to give up now ... or ever.

Nearing the highest tower, I hear a voice call out my name "Ian!!!".  I look up and see my friend leaning over from the top of the tower, smiling and waving, seemingly happy that I'd made it all the way.  I'm overcome with relief. That voice from on high giving me that last burst of encouragement I need to take those final few steps and make it to the top of the tower.

I'm done.  I've done it.  I'm here.  I'm here right now standing on top of the world.  I made it.

And then I went back down, stopping once again at the souvenir shop, buying myself a medal as proof that I'd achieved the impossible.

And on that day, the day of Our Lord, I had conquered not only the wall, but myself.

Yours,

Ian Hollis, English Language Teacher.