Polly made her way to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro, the world’s tallest free-standing mountain, on January 18th of this year. The incredibly challenging push to the summit began at midnight in 15-degree weather, climbing up boulders and scree in the starry blackness, until reaching the highest point (8 hours later) known as Uhuru: Swahili for “Freedom”. I decided to bring Polly on our honeymoon for two reasons:
- I figured she would enjoy the view.
- I needed her to get me up that mountain!
Though I’m a yoga / Pilates nut, I’m a New Yorker at heart and the great outdoors for me means Shakespeare in the Park. I was nervous about this trek. If not for acute mountain sickness than the slim possibility of hypothermia. Or cerebral edema. Or just a seriously sucky migraine. But if only 50% of climbers make it to the actual summit, what better marital metaphor for two newlyweds kicking off their lives together? Bringing Polly on our Honeymoon was a no-brainer: it meant making it to the top, not just for myself or my husband, but for her. And on that beautiful morning, as the sun began to peak through the cloud cover, he and I hugged each other and snapped photos of the sky as it softened with light. And Polly took in the world at 19,341 feet.