When I was young, I had no special talent for sports but wanted to be active; climbing a sloping road seemed to be just a simple sport, so I started it when I was in high school. When I was 16, I spent approximately 90 days in the mountains; when I was 17, I climbed in the mountains for 150 days. My school life and city life in those days were brief interludes between mountain climbing trips. While climbing, I often experienced life-and-death situations, which inspired me to live a full life in the city— because of my climbing experiences, I’d gained a greater appreciation for life and for living.
In 1981, after graduating from medical college, I had the opportunity to climb the west ridge of Mt. Everest (29,029 feet). Although, the highest point I reached during this expedition was 26,900 feet, I was impressed with the landscape at the Himalayas—a place of gods—it was the point of contact between life and death.
In 1983, I challenged Mt. Nangaparbat (26,660 feet), the ninth-highest mountain in the world and western anchor of the Himalayas. Just as I attacked the summit, I encountered a tremendous snow avalanche. I was fortunate to come away with a broken bone in my left hand; in that avalanche, I lost my friend, with whom I’d shared breakfast only two hours before. Climbing more than 13,000 feet down that wall—the biggest wall on earth—using only one hand, I was more clearly aware of a will and desire to survive than I’d ever felt in my life.
For the next 20 years, I became absorbed in my life as an IR, a life far removed from mountain climbing…until 2006. My desire to return to the mountains at that point may have come from wanting to renew the deep-seated zest for life I’d experienced in my youth. I may not have been as strong or skilled in climbing as I’d been when I was younger, but I knew that if I chose an adequate climbing route, the mountains would still give me an adequate challenge. There, every result must come to me. I could have chosen an easier path—no one would be watching—but I would know that I hadn’t chosen an adequate challenge and I would need to live with that decision.
In January 2012, I attempted a solo climb of the east wall of Mt. Akadake (9,511 feet, the main peak of Yatsugatake Mountains in Japan). At one point, after spending a night in temperatures that reached -30° C, I faced the most difficult snow wall of the climb. I seriously thought about turning back but knew that doing so would change my life style forever. I also knew that as long as I moved my arms and feet accurately without fear, I would succeed. I needed to hold onto my principle to face challenges with a full effort. A few hours later, I’d reached the windy, cold summit. That evening, back at a lower altitude, I may have been worn out physically but felt abundant life flowing out from my heart. I believe the success of this midwinter solo climb of Mt. Akadake’s east wall will inspire me to contribute all my energy to advancing IR with my colleagues.
