Granite roof top of Borneo

On the day I slid down a waterfall in Uvita Costa Rica, and plunged into the cool refreshing pool below, I committed to doing something each year that scared me.

I've revised the annual goal. It's not really that something has to scare me; instead, something has to challenge me physically and mentally, to count; something that sets me at the edge of my comfort zone.

For example, since that waterfall watershed I bought and house a pet snake. I gave a webinar to over 100 people. I climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro. I biked across Canada. I hiked 100 miles around the base of Mt Rainier.

I continue to push myself for my love of mountains and mountain culture. It's not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves. Mt. Kinabalu was another challenge.

We woke in the sunrise in Kinabalu National Park with a clear view if the mountain. After a decent breakfast at the Balsam Cafe, we took a mini van 5km uphill to the trailhead, where we were issued our permits on colorful lanyards.

The downhill to the Carson Waterfall was a tease. It was nothing but uphill after that. Warm uphill, steep long stairs, well maintained trail with rest stops with modern toilets (likely the modest mostly Muslim Mayla culture for covering up means a nature pee is frowned upon.)

I could feel the altitude most just 400 meters from the Laban Rata rest house, and struggled to arrive at the  Himalayan style bunk house (10k) with a smile. In fact, the shortness of breath was nearly panic inducing and I was holding back tears, as I entered the place. Maybe it was the motivational and mountain life quotes on the pinterest-style gallery wall, but I actually weep, some, with joy at arriving.

A buffet dinner at 4:30 and then quick to sleep. At dusk, I felt the bunk beds rattle. While Mt. Kinabalu experienced a 6.0 magnitude earthquake in 2015, setting off a landslide and rockfall that killed 18 climbers, this was simply my bunk mates admiring the sunset, pulling back the little curtains and oohing and ahhing.

The alarm went at 1:30, giving me time to get to the bathroom and take supper before pushing off at 2:30. The two hardboiled eggs from yesterday's lunch made for a great line-avoiding meal, with Sabah tea.

Again, it's straight uphill. Staircase of dipterocarp hardwoods, rope handles, fade into shear granite slabs above the Sayat-Saysat checkpoint.

The exposure was a shock to me, almost scary, and it took a while to shake it off. In the dark, not clear of the consequences of a fall, and wind knocking off my weary balance. Even with earplugs, my Houdini jacket fluttered like helicopters on my shoulder. It was deafening and disorienting. The ropes are heavy and I straddled them in some places hoping to make it all easier. Then I zigged and zagged.

Then, sunrise and the last 100 meters of hand -over -hand scrambling to the summit. I had a wee glimpse of alpine glow, before cloud cover obscured St. John's Peak. Swirling winds. Othorgraphic clouds up from the ocean. And drifts like a paraglider, curved light, and lofty, swooping looping over our descent.

Imagine a glacier, from 13K to 10K, yet no ice and no crampons. Just smooth granite and some ropes. I would have been more confident and comfortable with crampons and an axe. Then a grueling down hike that pounded the quads so much that three days later, despite yoga and walking, still hurt on every little staircase.

But, again, I found joy in the mountains. During the descent I sat for a while listening. The wind roared through lowland trees. Frogs, and birds, sang to me.