Dear Mt. Kinabalu,

You may be the highest peak in South East Asia and maybe you’re used to hearing people say how beautiful you are, and how your views are stunning – but sometimes you need to hear from the people who you beat down, whose will power you took so easily, as though it were a muffin from a buffet table. 

I’m sure on a normal day, hiking the 6km (as the crow flies) up to the lodge would be doable, and beautiful. It would be a day filled with clouds, giant trees, sunshine and sweaty people. 

But, this was not a normal day – today you decided to pour out rain as though this were a rainforest plagued with a drought and you had one day to fix the problem. 

Today was the day you made me question my faith in dry bags and anything sold as “water proof”. Today was a day that would have had weathermen named “Storm” out in giant yellow ponchos to report on the extraordinary amount of rain and interview the 105 climbers on whether (ha) the rain was a factor in them being cold: “do you think you would be this cold if it werent raining nonstop for five hours?” And then say, “now, back to the studio, where it’s dry as a hay stack in summer.”

Today was a day when it became obvious that cotton dries slower than synthetic material, and that all the cotton I had brought, that is now slowly dripping down the bannister in the rest house will not dry in time for the 2:30am climb to the summit – estimated temperature at 1am is -1C. 

And so, based on the fact that my shoes and my clothes are not going to dry, and I don’t want to pull myself up (by rope) to an icy peak while infact, turning to ice – I have decided (and I’m sure my parents would approve) not to summit 

Instead, I’m going to sleep in and retreat the 6km (more like 16km walking) down to the bottom after breakfast. 

Kinabalu, I hate you, you defeated me. My feet are still cold.