Cho Oyu, Who Knew?

I've been amused to read the news and comments regarding Marat Safin's decision to skip the next few weeks of tennis, including Russia's Davis Cup semifinal against Germany this weekend. Instead, he will be climbing Cho Oyu, a mountain inside the tiny, tres-chic New York nightclub, Bungalow 8.  Oh, not that Cho Oyu, you say? Sorry! It must be the one in Tibet. Oh no, it's in Nepal, you say?  Sorry!  There appears to be some confusion over that. At his own website, in a touching outreach (or calculated attempt to deflect criticism and rationalize his hiatus), Safin says Cho Oyu is in Tibet, other sources say it's in Nepal, or on the border of Tibet and Nepal.

All I can say is that I hope Maratski knows the rough location and thank God it's not in London, where Maratski has plunged to his death on too many occasions while still negotiating the flat, grassy plain.

One thing I like about this expedition is that Safin showed up in Nepal, or Tibet, or somewhere near the Nepal-Tibet border, wearing a lei, as this popular photo shows. I don't know about you, but I thought you got to wear a lei when you arrived in Hawaii. Are we sure that Marat isn't fooling us, and taking a six-week cruise of the Pacific on a yawl loaded with currently idle NBA cheerleaders?

Earlier today, I made a fleeting reference to Safin's novel expedition in my ESPN post. But let's move past the easy wisecracks and get into something a little more substantial. According the the Marat Safin website linked above, this expedition is part rehab trip for Marat's left wrist, which apparently was the cause of his early (second-round) demise at the U.S. Open.  Man, I wouldn't want to be the dude on this eight-man team who's roped into Safin when the only thing between me and a 3,000 drop is the ice-axe in his left hand. He'll be fixing pitons and securing belays with his right hand, you say? We've already seen how uncertain the right wrist can be, too, even when fully functional.

But this is certainly a novel way to rehabilitate a bad wrist. Maybe Marat doesn't plan to use that left hand too much. You know, leave the heavy lifting to the Sherpas (I've heard that the support team will be led by Greg Sharko and consist of a dozen Playboy playmates, although that visual is somewhat ruined when you consider what they'll be wearing). Still, I've read a few mountaineering books and once spent a lot of time with Ed Viesturs (the first American to climb all 14 of the world's highest mountains without the use of supplemental oxygen ) for an article I wrote for the New York Times.

I know even from my limited experience that this climb is no piece of cake, even though Cho Oyu, while the sixth highest peak in the world (that's according to Wikipedia, which means that Cho Oyu could also just be the name of a waiter at Bungalow 8), is also one of the easiest of the elite 8,000 meter-plus peaks to scale. I don't know if Marat plans to use bottled oxygen or not; I do kind of wish the thought had occurred to him during some of those matches I've seen him choke away.

And did you notice at Marat's website that the Los Angeles doctor who examined him and recommended four to six weeks rest (which coincides nicely with the length of this expedition; do you think Marat, in a panic over how to fill that period, suddenly had this flash: To hail with hanging around in Moscow, drinking cup after cup of coffee -  if I'm out six weeks, let me just go and climb Cho Oyu!). That doctor, BTW, is named Feder, which might be a misprint for "Federer", the noted proctologist who performs examinations on his fellow ATP pros using the toe of his right foot.

Whatever the case, maybe Marat believes that a little exposure is going to be good rehab for the wrist; he certainly is taking the concept of "icing" to a new level, doing for the wrist what flying out to Beverly Hills for a bout of high colonics. . . oh, never mind.

Oh, this is fun. What would we do without Marat? Actually, all the fun we and others have with him seems to me a sign of great affection, although I'm sure that dullards who take things a little too literally might disagree. Safin is an open, self-revealing guy: he's crazy and don't care about nothin'. He's accustomed to saying and doing exactly what he wants, irrespective of what anyone hopes or expects. I like people like that, because they're comfortable in their own skins, and not necessarily in love with themselves. Only a vain and insecure fool need to hide behind an image.

So I look at that picture of Marat in that ridiculous-looking lie and think, Aw, Marat. . . it's a pleasure watching you trying to find yourself. It sure beats the hail out of watching you throw away matches and then indulge in epic bouts of self-bashing, even though I know you're enough of a cad and lout not to bash yourself too vigorously, at least not in any way that really counts.

But in the end, I'm kind of worried about Marat. I know that none of the high peaks is a slam-dunk: I know that Reinhold Messner, the famed mountaineer, failed to master Cho Oyu until his fourth attempt. In 1959, four members of an expedition died in an avalanche on Cho Oyu, and dead climbers have been part of the moutain's mystique since the first fatality in 1958. No need to get over-dramatic; in these days of climbing tourism, there are more fixed ropes on the treacherous parts of the most common routes up than fixed tennis matches in low-grade ATP Tour events.

One thing that some of you may not know is that the Russians have a rich and robust mountaineering history and legacy, which came to some public attention during the fateful Everest expedition chronicled by Jon Krakauer in his compelling, runaway best-seller, Into Thin Air. I thought that was a great book, but it also led me to another volume, Anatoli Boukreev's posthumously published account of the same events, The Climb. Boukreev was the Russian guide who came off badly in Krakauer's book, but reading Boukreev's is a powerful repudiation of some key elements in Krakauer's analysis - not least of which was that Boukreev was selfish guide and peak bagger.  If you know nothing of high-altitude climbing, both books could potentially could leave you shocked and awed. It's a dangerous but complicated and compelling enterprise.

So good luck to Marat. Sometimes it's tough to make pronouncements about professional tennis players and their real or imagined "obligations." At the end of the day, I support anyones' right to do as he or she danged well pleases, all I hope for is an honest accounting - and it helps when the choice someone makes happens to be something that seems interesting, demanding and involves physical hardship and/ or danger -  you know, like attending Fashion Week. It's not for everyone but I like that it's for Marat. Cimbing a big honking mountain in Nepal/Tibet/borderland is a way cool thing to do, and it has increased my respect for my favorite of all knuckleheads.