I even heard online that some dude got cancer from kissing his gf and eating tons of chemical every time.
No shit.
Also, apparently the more toxic the lipstick is, the longer lasting will be. There are many who doesn't wipe away lipstick before meal, meaning they do ingress a lot of these chemical stuff. Yike.
This man right here have so much dedication and passion in what he did. I just have to wonder what was the motivation behind those 8 times scaling the summit of the death? Even after losing much of your everyday life function?
This man right here have so much dedication and passion in what he did.
More like vengeful.
There is an article from the book The Antidote (which I recommended you earlier, how about that huh ?) which talk about this exact phenomenon, it's called "summit fever".
IN 1996, A TWENTY-EIGHT-YEAR-OLD from Indiana named Christopher Kayes signed up with an adventure travel company to go trekking in the Himalayas. His intention, though it would prove ironic in hindsight, was to take a relaxing break. A punishing career as a stockbroker, and then as a corporate consultant, had left him burned out. Kayes had always been interested in the psychology of the business world, and so he had decided to pursue a doctorate in organisational behaviour instead. But first he needed time off, and when he saw an advertisement in a travel magazine for a group hiking expedition to Nepal, it seemed like the perfect answer. As the plane descended into Kathmandu, he recalled later, he was looking forward to ‘a refreshing immersion in Nepalese culture’, surrounded by the beauty of the Himalayas. But what Kayes encountered in the mountains was a troubling psychological puzzle that was to dominate his life for years to come. While Kayes and his fellow hikers were exploring the foothills of Mount Everest, camping at night in tents, a disaster of historical proportions was unfolding near the mountain’s peak. Fifteen climbers died on Everest during that year’s climbing season, eight of them during a single twenty-four hour period that has since entered mountaineering lore, thanks largely to the bestselling book Into Thin Air, by the climber and journalist Jon Krakauer, who was among those on the mountain at the time. Kayes himself encountered some of the climbers and rescue workers who had been involved – exhausted men, emerging dazed into the foothills, struggling to make sense of what had happened. Even in the modern era of commercial Everest expeditions, when anyone with sufficient money and some climbing skills can pay to be escorted to the summit, it’s still not that unusual for people to die in the attempt. What made the 1996 disaster so chilling – apart from the sheer number of dead – was the fact that it seemed uniquely inexplicable. The weather on the peak was not more perilous than usual. There were no sudden avalanches during the period when most of the climbers perished. The paying customers were all sufficiently skilled for the undertaking. Into Thin Air, controversially, attributed the tragedy in part to the stubbornness and arrogance of Anatoli Boukreev, a Kazakhstani climbing guide. There is some evidence for this, but it is ultimately dissatisfying as an explanation, too. Mountaineers, as a group, tend towards stubbornness and arrogance. Yet disasters on the scale of Everest in 1996 are mercifully rare.
In the end, what happened that year looked more like an outbreak of mass irrationality – an episode that reached its apogee around noon on 10 May at the Hillary Step, a wall of rock just 720 feet from the summit, in an event that has since become known as ‘the traffic jam’. Teams from New Zealand, the United States and Taiwan – thirty-four climbers in total – were all attempting the final stage of the ascent that day, from Camp Four, at 26,000 feet, to the summit, at 29,000 feet. The Americans and New Zealanders had co-ordinated their efforts, so as to ensure a smooth progression up and down the mountain. But the Taiwanese climbers were reneging on an agreement not to climb the same day, and an advance team of guides had failed to secure safety ropes at the Hillary Step according to plan, with the result that the smooth progression soon turned into a bottleneck. Timing is one of the most important variables in any assault on Everest, and so climbers generally observe strict ‘turnaround times’. Leaving Camp Four at midnight, a climber can hope to reach the summit by midday, or soon after. But if he or she fails to make it there by the pre-arranged turnaround time – which might be anywhere from noon until two in the afternoon, depending on weather conditions, and the team leader’s attitude to risk – it becomes essential to call off the attempt and turn back. Failure to do so means the climber risks running out of bottled oxygen and facing Everest’s most dangerous weather in the dark. Yet confronted with the traffic jam at the Hillary Step, the teams pushed on, disregarding their turnaround times. Back at Camp Four, the American mountaineer Ed Viesturs watched the climbers’ slow progress through a telescope, and found it hard to believe what he was seeing. ‘They’ve already been climbing for hours, and they still aren’t on the summit,’ he remembered thinking to himself, with rising alarm. ‘Why haven’t they turned around?’ Members of all three teams continued arriving at the summit for two hours after two o’clock, the latest safe turnaround time. Doug Hansen, a postal service worker from Washington state who was a paying client of the New Zealand group, was the last to do so, at the astonishingly late time of just after four o’clock. He had ascended Everest the year before, but had been forced to turn back a few hundred feet from the top. This time, he never made it back down. Like seven others, he was caught in intense blizzards as darkness fell, which made navigation of the mountain impossible, and sent temperatures plunging to −40°F. They lay dying, unreached by the frantic rescue attempts that saved several other climbers’ lives. Years after climbing Everest had become a feasible project for amateurs as well as professionals, 1996 saw the highest recorded death toll in the mountain’s history. And even today, nobody clearly understands why.
Except, just possibly, Chris Kayes. A former stockbroker turned expert on organisational behaviour might seem to have little to contribute to the post-mortem of a mountaineering disaster. But the more Kayes learned of what had happened, and as he continued to follow the case after returning home, the more it reminded him of a phenomenon he had witnessed all too frequently among businesspeople. The Everest climbers, Kayes suspected, had been ‘lured into destruction by their passion for goals’. His hypothesis was that the more they fixated on the endpoint – a successful summiting of the mountain – the more that goal became not just an external target but a part of their own identities, of their senses of themselves as accomplished guides or high-achieving amateurs. If his hunch about the climbers was right, it would have become progressively more difficult for them to sacrifice their goal, despite accumulating evidence that it was becoming a suicidal one. Indeed, that accumulating evidence, Kayes was convinced, would have hardened the climbers’ determination not to turn back. The climb would have become a struggle not merely to reach the summit, but to preserve their sense of identity. In theology, the term ‘theodicy’ refers to the effort to maintain belief in a benevolent god, despite the prevalence of evil in the world; the phrase is occasionally used to describe the effort to maintain any belief in the face of contradictory evidence. Borrowing that language, Chris Kayes termed the syndrome he had identified ‘goalodicy’.
During his years in the corporate world, Kayes had been troubled to watch goalsetting achieve the status of religious dogma among his colleagues. The situation hasn’t changed much today. The hallmark of a visionary leader, it is widely held, is the willingness to set big, audacious goals for his or her organisation, and then to focus every resource on achieving them. Individual employees, meanwhile, are encouraged, and sometimes obliged, to define their own personal work objectives, frequently in the form of ‘SMART’ goals. (The acronym stands for ‘specific, measurable, attainable, realistic, and time-bounded’.) Numerous self-help books advocate ambitious and highly specific goals as the master key to a successful and satisfying life: ‘By this time next year, I will be married to the woman of my dreams/sitting on the balcony of my beach house/earning £10,000 per month!’ One of the practice’s most passionate evangelists, Brian Tracy, in his book Goals! How to Get Everything You Want – Faster Than You Ever Thought Possible, insists that ‘Living without clear goals is like driving in a thick fog … Clear goals enable you to step on the accelerator of your own life, and race ahead rapidly.’
Yet Kayes couldn’t help but notice that it frequently didn’t work out that way. A business goal would be set, announced, and generally greeted with enthusiasm. But then evidence would begin to emerge that it had been an unwise one – and goalodicy would kick in as a response. The negative evidence would be reinterpreted as a reason to invest more effort and resources in pursuit of the goal. And so things would, not surprisingly, go even more wrong. Kayes believed that a similar thing had happened on Everest in 1996.
Chris Kayes is now a professor of management science at George Washington University, in Washington DC, and as he has travelled the lecture circuit in recent years, using Everest as a metaphor for all that is wrong with our obsession with goals, he has frequently found himself giving offence. ‘A businessperson should not study topics filled with such great tragedy and emotion,’ one Russian student lectured him curtly by email. ‘Questions of tragedy and the dilemmas of human existence should be left to the poet, the novelist, and the playwright. These topics have nothing to do with why we study leadership in organisations.’ But Kayes couldn’t let it drop. ‘It would be accurate to say that I think about the Everest disaster probably every day,’ he told me. ‘Almost like it was a death in my own family. “Haunted” would definitely be the right word.’ And there is persuasive evidence for Kayes’s hypothesis about what happened on the mountain, hidden away in a largely forgotten psychology study that was conducted in 1963. The study’s participants were professional mountaineers, undertaking an expedition to Everest.
That year, seventeen climbers were attempting to become the first Americans to reach the summit, and a psychologist named James Lester realised that the expedition presented an ideal opportunity to investigate what drove people to attempt such ambitious and dangerous feats. With funding provided by the United States Navy, Lester and a handful of colleagues gathered the mountaineers in Berkeley, California, where they administered a series of personality tests. Then – demonstrating an unusual degree of commitment to his research – Lester left sunny California for Mount Everest, accompanying the climbers as far as Camp Two, at 21,000 feet. There, he administered further tests on the climbers and their Sherpa guides. In his book Destructive Goal Pursuit: The Mount Everest Disaster, Chris Kayes relates Lester’s basic finding about the typical Everest climber: he was someone who demonstrated ‘considerable restlessness, dislike for routine, desire for autonomy, tendency to be dominant in personal relations, and a lack of interest in social interaction for its own sake. Their felt need for achievement and independence was very high.’ No surprises there: Lester had confirmed the truism that climbers tend to be domineering loners with little regard for social convention. But more intriguing findings were to emerge from the daily diaries that Lester asked the climbers to keep for the duration of the three-month period they spent preparing for, then carrying out, their trek to the mountain’s summit.
En route to base camp, the American team had split into two dissenting groups, each with a very different idea of how best to reach the top. The larger group favoured the well-established route via the South Col, a mountain pass ravaged by high winds, leaving it relatively free of snow. But a smaller group wanted to approach via the remote and never previously attempted West Ridge. (Even today, in a morbid statistical oddity, the fatality rate for the West Ridge is higher than 100 per cent, meaning that more people have died there than have reached the summit that way.) Noting the difference of opinion among the climbers, Lester made sure that their diaries included regular updates on how optimistic or pessimistic they were feeling about their chosen route.
Subsequent analysis of the diaries revealed an unexpected pattern. As the day of the summit attempt neared, the West Ridge group’s optimism began to fade rapidly, replaced by a gnawing sense of uncertainty. That was only to be expected, given that their route was untried. But as the climbers’ uncertainty and pessimism about the West Ridge option increased, the diaries revealed, so did their commitment to it. ‘The more uncertain climbers felt about their possible success in reaching the summit,’ as Kayes puts it, ‘the more likely they were to invest in their particular strategy.’ A bizarre and self-reinforcing loop took hold: team members would actively seek out negative information about their goal – looking for evidence of weather patterns, for example, that might render the West Ridge approach even more risky than usual – which would increase their feelings of uncertainty. But then, in an effort to extinguish that uncertainty, the climbers would increase their emotional investment in their decision. The goal, it seemed, had become a part of their identity, and so their uncertainty about the goal no longer merely threatened the plan; it threatened them as individuals. They were so eager to eliminate these feelings of uncertainty that they clung ever harder to a clear, firm and specific plan that provided them with a sense of certainty about the future – even though that plan was looking increasingly reckless. They were firmly in the grip of goalodicy.
The happy conclusion of the 1963 expedition – much as it spoils the neatness of Kayes’s argument – is that the West Ridge climbers went ahead with their dangerous plan, and survived. Too many of the relevant participants in the 1996 drama perished, meanwhile, for us ever to know with confidence exactly how far the same thought processes were to blame. But Beck Weathers, a paying client that year who was twice left for dead on the mountain – he lost his nose and several fingers to frostbite, having dragged himself back to camp – testified to the plausibility of the notion. ‘You can overpursue goals,’ he reflected afterwards. ‘You can become obsessed with goals.’
Mountaineers, of course, do not speak in the corporate language of targets and goalsetting. But when they refer to ‘summit fever’ – that strange, sometimes fatal magnetism that certain peaks seem to exert upon the minds of climbers – they are intuitively identifying something similar: a commitment to a goal that, like sirens luring sailors onto the rocks, destroys those who struggle too hard to achieve it. Ed Viesturs, who watched the 1996 tragedy through his telescope, spoke of this lure in vivid terms. ‘When you’re up there, you’ve spent years of training, months of preparation, and weeks of climbing, and you’re within view of the summit, and you know, you have – in the back of your mind, you’re telling yourself “We should turn around, ‘cause we’re late, we’re gonna run out of oxygen …” But you see the summit, and it draws you there. And a lot of people – it’s so magnetic that they tend to break their rules, and they go to the summit. And on a good day, you can get away with it. And on a bad day, you’ll die.’
TL;DR: People are susceptible to insanity. And the more insurmountable odds they face, the more they imagine their triumphant victory, the more they march toward it like moths to flame.
It is the dawn of a new day!
You reflected on your journey so far and became a little wiser.
There is an article from the book The Antidote (which I recommended you earlier, how about that huh ?) which talk about this exact phenomenon, it's called "summit fever".
Where did you read it? I can't find online version on Internet!!!
For the longest time I though you can find every thing on the net if you dig around long enough, but apparently it's not so.
There's just so much stuff that it's impossible for anyone to maintain it, even with torrent. all those rare JAV video lost in time, like tears in rain.
Sửa lần cuối bởi Do No Evil; 29-05-2018 lúc 01:20.
Buy your own copy, it's officially available in ebook format too.
Fap should always be free though.
But summit fever huh. That is a fitting name. I could feel some adrenaline addiction there too. You know, some people actually get high on adrenaline, and must actively seek dangerous activities to ease the withdrawal.
Care to give a link? All I hear these days are the 99-year land leasing matters. Just go to show how this whole nation could easily be divided and lead by the nose. Not to say who is in the wrong, everybody just want to win his verbal war without ever listening to what the other side has to say. To be frank I am sick of it.
J All I hear these days are the 99-year land leasing matters.
well who know's what's going to happen in 100 years ?
maybe by that time we will leave this this Earth behind to fight alien and the concept of nations will be obsolete.
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