It's 1 in the morning. I spin around in my sleeping bag without being able sleep.
I am nervous. Around me, 12 comrades also fight
ing with their fears.
My head is imagining what is going to happen tomorrow, which I have been waiting for a long time, to climb the top of Morocco, the country that I have visited 10 times and that
I have fallen in love with.
Mount Toubkal, with its 4167 metres, is not a mountain too complicated to climb in summer, but in winter, low temperatures, snow and wind can make the walk a real adventure.

At some point I have fallen asleep. I know because "Moha the little one", our guide, has tickled my feet and with his eyes half open he has indicated that we should get going. It's 4 in the morning.
The agreed time for him to check the conditions and make a decision.
No need to wake the rest of the group as no one sleeps soundly. In a few minutes we are all eating bread, mint tea and fruit.

We must leave soon.
Our idea is to climb during the night, with the light of a full moon that hides between mountains.
To put the crampons in the boots and all the layers of coat is not too comfortable at this time.

We walk. Excited. Slowly. We are at 3200 metres and we are missing almost 1000 of unevenness. The row of lights doing zig zag is a spectacle. I wanted to stay close to the group to see and photograph my colleagues. But it's windy, very, and I do not see anything. I decide to focus on walking. I lack oxygen and I feel my lungs more than ever.



Little by little and step by step the group ascends the slope. We've been walking for three hours and the walls have begun to dye orange. I feel a tingle of excitement that runs through my body as I watch the wind lift the snow like waves in a brave sea, while the silhouettes are drawn with the clarity of this day that
is just beginning.

The group unites and the guide tells us not to separate.
The wind blows more than 60km per hour and the temperature is 25 degrees below zero. The last edge is something exposed and dangerous and we walked
firmly, only stopping due to the gusts of wind.

And suddenly, without realising it, I raise my head and watch my colleagues raise their hands. I throw the backpack on the ground to protect the material from the snow that hits hard. I start to cry of joy and I'm afraid the tears will freeze my eye lashes. I make two unique photos before the lenses absolutely freeze and decide to approach the group. I can not see the faces of anyone because I am half blinded by the wind and we all go extremely cramped, but in every hug I feel an excited breath of all those who today have wanted to overcome some of their fears.  Climbing mountains is one of the most beautiful things one can feel, but sharing it, is always the most unique experience.



"Climbing mountains is one of the most beautiful things one can feel,

but sharing it, is always the most unique experience."

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