From Everest to everyday just like Superman to Clark Kent

It’s been a few weeks now since I returned to civilisation – to cars, noise, and people who don’t find it acceptable to trek around in the same pair of pants for days on end. Life after Everest Base Camp (EBC) has brought me a lot of things: Appreciation for flush toilets, a continued addiction to ginger-lemon-honey tea, and… a bizarre case of the blues. Apparently, this is a thing. Who knew? Certainly not me, as I was too busy congratulating myself on completing something I thought was impossible.

For context: I am not – or rather, was not – a lifelong athlete. My fitness journey only started a few years ago, when I decided that “being able to walk up a flight of stairs without wheezing” was a worthy life goal. Fast-forward to me standing at Lobuche, the penultimate tea house stop before EBC, feeling both exhilarated and vaguely terrified because, as it turns out, not everyone makes it.

You see, Lobuche is a kind of an emotional airport terminal. It’s where those heading to Everest cross paths with those heading back – sometimes triumphant, sometimes defeated.

My husband Donal and I were seated there, inhaling our weight in Dal Baat and sipping yet another round of ginger-lemon-honey tea (a mountain staple that tastes like a hug in a mug), when we overheard a group of Brits discussing how altitude had cut their EBC dreams short. They weren’t the only ones. Lobuche seemed full of people who had to turn back, and as I listened to their stories, I had two realisations:

1. Holy crap, this is actually really hard.
2. I should probably stop taking my ability to keep going for granted.

Suddenly, the weight of what I was doing hit me. I had been so focused on the simple act of not collapsing that I hadn’t fully processed how monumental this trek was. But there, in that tea house, the enormity of it became glaringly obvious. I felt a mix of fear (because I still had another day to go) and pride (because, hey, I’d made it this far!). And when I did finally reach EBC, it felt like I’d gained a superpower a shiny, glorious badge of “You did the thing!”

But now, back home, I’m feeling like Superman post-Kryptonite exposure. That superpower? Gone. I’ve traded the thrill of mountain air and heart-pounding summits for the humdrum of emails, grocery shopping, and trying not to murder my houseplants. It’s like I’ve reverted to Clark Kent mode – glasses on, blending into the crowd, just another person with a Garmin and a to-do list.

Don’t get me wrong; my life is wonderful. It’s rich and fulfilling in all the ways that matter. But once you’ve had a taste of flying, walking around on solid ground feels, well, a bit meh. I miss that soaring feeling – the metaphorical cape flapping behind me as I pushed my limits, one step at a time.

So here I am, back in the ordinary, dreaming of the extraordinary – dreaming of climbing mountains and of feeling invincible again. And while I can’t go back to the Himalayas tomorrow (mostly because my bank account is still recovering), I know this: that superpower isn’t gone. It’s just resting, waiting for the next adventure to wake it up. For now, running is still there as a backup little superpower, keeping me grounded and giving me a small taste of that soaring feeling every morning. Until then, I’ll keep sipping my ginger-lemon-honey tea, lacing up my running shoes, and pretending my suburban streets are Himalayan trails. Because, let’s face it – once you have been Superman, the Clark Kent life is just a waiting room for your next adventure. And trust me, the cape is ready and packed.