September 3 –  26 km, camped at 7,438 feet

After yesterday’s ice, everything slowed.

The surface had softened overnight, turning from bulletproof to soggy. Skis sank again. The easy glide was gone. Progress took effort. It rained briefly in the morning, then snowed, then stopped altogether. By late in the day the clouds thinned and the sun made a half-hearted attempt to show itself. It wasn’t dramatic weather, just heavy and dull, the kind that quietly wears you down.

Yesterday’s speed had come at a cost. I felt it today. I’d bonked late on the last shift yesterday and paid for it in the legs and head. The kilometers added up anyway, but it felt like work again. Real work.

The biggest moment of the day came without warning.

Elaine had mentioned feeling off in the morning, lightheaded while packing up, but nothing that seemed decisive. We’ve both been taking on a lot of front-end work for the group, often leading two shifts a day and backing each other up on navigation. That’s four hours at the sharp end, and it adds up. At lunch she said she might need to back off a bit, and everyone was supportive.

She led a shift in full whiteout and nailed the line. Kathinka complimented her for it. Then I took over. Not long after, Elaine blacked out while skiing. One moment she was upright, the next she was down. It looked bad. Everyone reacted instantly. Skis came off. A mat appeared. Water and chocolate were pressed into her hands. It was scary to witness, even knowing her history.

Elaine came around quickly and was clear about what had happened. This wasn’t new for her. It happens from time to time, especially under sustained stress. She was embarrassed more than anything, and firm that she was okay to continue. The group wanted to camp, understandably. After some discussion, we trusted her judgment and kept going, finishing that leg and two more.

Looking back, it felt less like an isolated incident and more like something that had been building. Food had been a quiet undercurrent on this trip. Protein was hard to come by. Some of the group’s sausage had gone rancid, and Elaine had been giving hers away. She’s never been uncomfortable being hungry, never one to hold back if someone else needed more. Out here, though, the margins are thin. Bodies keep their own ledger.

The day moved on, but the mood shifted. Not alarmed, just quieter. More attentive.

By evening, the weather had eased. The wet had relented, if only temporarily. Camp went up without incident. We were tired in a deeper way now, the kind that isn’t fixed by food alone.

Twenty-six kilometers in the books. Some unexpected climbing. Less drama than yesterday, but more weight.

Tomorrow, hopefully, things feel a little lighter again.