I chew on my coca leaves, willing them to give me some energy, but instead I’m feeling breathless every few paces, like the wind is literally being taken out of me. It’s gruelling and disheartening when I know I’m fit and capable.

‘I can’t do it,’ Vicky says quietly.

We all grind to a stop.

I look over and see her lip wobble as she bends over and puts her hands on her knees.

‘You’re OK,’ Zaza says, rubbing her back.

A few seconds later Vicky takes a few deep breaths. She stands upright and looks at the path ahead. My gaze follows hers, taking in the next part of the challenge that looks even steeper than what’s come before.

‘This is really hard,’ I say, reaching for her hand to give it an encouraging squeeze. ‘It’s not easy.’

‘Think something’s up with my lungs!’ says Zaza, her hand on her chest.

‘Same,’ says Vicky.

‘I know we’re feeling it today, guys,’ Scott says, watching us take a moment to pause in our efforts. ‘This is the toughest day. Last night we slept at three thousand, six hundred metres – which is quite a height. This morning we’re going higher, to four thousand, eight hundred metres.’

‘Fuck me,’ mutters Vicky.

‘We’re not going to be sprinting it,’ I remind her, trying my best to stop her mind from spiralling. ‘Every time we catch our breath, we walk. Every time we lose it, we stop.’

‘Give me your bag,’ Scott says, removing it from Vicky’s back and taking it over to the horseman so that it can be strapped on to the saddle. Scott and Kevin remain a few steps away from us as Zaza and I watch our friend gather her thoughts.

‘You can do this, Vicky. I have every faith in you,’ I say, feeling my words ricochet off her and back to me. As though I’m saying the words I need to hear and am taking strength from them myself. Even though this is hard, I take comfort from being back in this role of support giver, rather than being the one that’s constantly having to receive it. I feel the confidence in myself building with every word of encouragement that comes out of my mouth.

A sensation swirls in my chest. The realization that a little part of me has come back, and that it feels OK. It feels good.

‘We’ve got this,’ I say.

‘Come on,’ says Zaza, grabbing her other hand so the three of us are linked as one.

‘Can I just say before we start,’ I say, turning to Vicky’s tear-stained face. ‘I have never seen you looking more like Chloe than you do right now.’