Summit: Walking at altitude with asthma

When we arrive in Manali in the Indian Himalayas, it’s a lovely day. Cool with sunshine – a relief after the humidity of Delhi. Tomorrow we climb a small peak – well, small in terms of the surrounding mountains that stretch high into clouds. I have been in the Alps but the size and number here take a while for my eyes to see and take in.

I’m apprehensive as we will camp in the foothills and climb up to 4,000 metres (13,400 ft). When we walk out to dinner at eight o clock, we see more stars than I’ve ever seen before, like sequins on one of Liberace’s jackets.

Our guide meets us later and says we must get up very early as snow is expected tomorrow at 12.45. He is precise and I smile as I think of our weather predictions of changeable with a chance of snow! Next morning we set off and head to the foothills – a straightforward walk he says but I already feel my chest tight and my body heavy. I take short steps, right then left foot. Head down.

After two hours we take a break and I see the expanse of mountains. Like the Manhattan skyline but with mountains of varying shape and huge peaks that jut up past my eye line.

The air is lighter and while it is clean and fresh, I feel dizzy. My body’s caving in. Okay, tiny steps, steep track, fuzzy head, chest gasping my face burning pink like new-born. We reach our camp at 5pm. It’s beautiful, beside a wide river that races down the valley. It’s a fitful night, the proximity to water makes me want to pee more. Will the morning ever come!

Breakfast is at 7 and we leave at 8. We need to be on the top by midday because of the weather. I set off fresh despite the night but remember to keep a steady pace. My partner has gone ahead with the other guide and a fit looking German couple.

Ashok is kind, ‘Don’t worry lady, I’ll get you up.’

I love the mountains, the effort, the beauty, stillness and even the scale. But I am not hell bent on the top – the wonder of where we are is enough for me and I don’t want to die just yet. I smile and say let’s see.

I would love to catch a glimpse of the even bigger peaks behind our mountain, to see the Annapurna range. On we go step by step, head down only looking up when I pause for breath. Magnificent. At 3,000 metres, I can see much higher peaks – mountains as far as the eye can see. No townlands, roads, settlements – like the Arctic vastness I have seen on documentaries.

The last 200 metres is rock with a dusting of snow. Big boulders trip my weary legs. ‘Lift high,’ Ashok says, ‘don’t go in between’. I pause for water, look around and the height scares me. I start to cry, blow my nose to cover the tears and sit on the edge of a rough boulder. It’s cold. My shoulders are above my ears, I can hardly speak and I just want to go down.

I am hungry as well but we can’t stop to eat until later. I wonder is this what death will be like, so tired that I can hardly breathe and feeling like a sumo wrestler despite my tall slim frame. I waddle side to side, lift up my foot, decide not to look and I keep going. I feel I’m on a ledge or a precipice although the way up is broad and well protected by the rocks.

At the top I can hardly move. There is no elation yet. My head aches and I feel as if a herd of buffaloes are piggy-backing on my chest. I take a careful look, almost overwhelmed by the height and number of the mountains. It’s beautiful, moving and absolutely terrifying.

We make our way down to our camp, weary and spent. Only when the chef brings a plate of fresh pakoras and fried potatoes do I begin to thaw. First course he says and hot tea. I lie down to rest and wake hours later – my chest has eased and my head is clear.

Tomorrow, the walk down the valley.