Preparation: Morning Runs and Butter Tea — Warming Up Body and Spirit
After the decision was made, time seemed to contract and expand all at once. Every sunrise in Lhasa felt more meaningful. I knew that if I was going to walk around Mount Kailash in the Year of the Horse, I needed to be ready physically and mentally. My friend Drolma agreed to train with me. We started meeting before dawn in the large square below the Potala Palace, when the city is still quiet and the sky is painted grey-blue.
Dawn training on the plateau
Drolma and I begin our runs at a slow pace. At 3,650 meters (11,975 feet) above sea level, Lhasa’s thin air demands respect. We focus on steady breathing and smooth, deliberate steps. Watching the lights on the Potala Palace fade as the sun rises feels like a blessing; its white walls turn gold, reminding us why we are preparing for this pilgrimage.
Running has become our daily ritual. Some mornings other neighbors join for a lap or two. We talk about everything from foot blisters to life lessons. I share how cross-country runs in the parks of Melbourne helped me get through homesickness during my years studying in Australia. Drolma reminds me that endurance isn’t just about muscles; it’s also about patience and trust. Our laughter echoes in the open square, and even at this altitude, it warms us.
Butter tea and tsampa
After our run we head home, cheeks flushed and lungs clear. Our neighbor, Auntie Nyima, often meets us at the gate with a thermos of hot butter tea and a bowl of tsampa. In Tibet, butter tea isn’t just a beverage; it is fuel, comfort and connection. Historically, it provided energy and warmth in the harsh Himalayan environment, and it remains deeply ingrained in our cultural practices People serve it at social gatherings, religious ceremonies and as a daily source of sustenance. Auntie Nyima’s tea is creamy and savory, made with dark brick tea, yak butter and a pinch of salt. We sprinkle tsampa—roasted barley flour—into our cups and knead the mixture with our fingers until it forms a doughy ball. Its texture is earthy; its taste transports me back to childhood.
As we sip, we discuss gear and logistics. Drolma has a checklist: broken-in hiking boots, thick wool socks, a warm but lightweight sleeping bag, a water filter and trekking poles. I research ethically made gear and share my findings with the group. We talk about acclimatization—spending a few days in Lhasa before heading higher, staying hydrated, resting when needed—and about packing layers for unpredictable mountain weather. Auntie Nyima adds her own wisdom: carry ginger and garlic to add to soups, take time to greet every passer‑by, and don’t forget prayer flags.
Building strength through community
These morning routines are not only training sessions; they are moments of connection. Sometimes our neighbor Dorje joins us to show stretching exercises he learned during his own pilgrimage years ago. Other days my cousin brings his guitar, and we end up singing folk songs as the sun climbs higher. The physical preparation has become intertwined with the rhythm of our neighborhood. Each shared cup of butter tea reminds me that I am not preparing alone.
As a jeweler, I spend my days threading stones and carving symbols. Training for the pilgrimage feels similar: each run, each conversation, each bowl of tea is a bead on a string. Together they form something strong and meaningful. By the time we will set out for Mount Kailash, our bodies will be stronger, but more importantly, our community bonds will be tighter. That, I believe, is the real warmth that will carry us around the holy mountain.