Me Vs The Mountain

Read time: 6 minutes

Welcome to The Ascend Archives Tuesday Tale, a weekly newsletter where I share a story about a transformation, revelation, or change in thinking that has helped improve an aspect of my life.

In less than 12 hours, I’m going to be at the top of the tallest freestanding mountain in the world.

The past 7 days have led to this moment. A 20 hour flight journey from Washington, DC to Kilimanjaro, Tanzania. 5 days of hiking to acclimatize to our current spot of 15,000 feet. Drinking more water and eating more food than I’ve had in the past 2 weeks combined to prevent symptoms of altitude sickness.

I flew 9,100 miles across the world to accomplish one goal: summit the mountain.

I put in all the work. Now it’s just me vs the mountain. I’m ready.

—

11:30 PM. We get a knock on our tent from one of the porters.

I turn my headlamp on and start putting on my layers. 2 Under Armor thermals, a Patagonia fleece, and a down jacket. Thermal pants, joggers, and hiking pants. 2 pairs of socks, 2 pairs of gloves, and a knit hat.

But before we can go we need our final meal and briefing. So I head to the mass tent where the scorching tea keeps my hands and throat warm, the little cookie biscuits give me a rush of sugar, and my adrenaline starts to kick in. As I play Til I Collapse by Eminem, that nervous energy hits me. The same butterflies I felt before a big race or my high school basketball Regional Championship.

Our main guide, Hussein, steps in the tent, “Everyone ready to go, feeling good? Any last minute questions?”

“Nope, let’s do this!”

The clock hits 12:30. Game time.

As I step into the night, all I can see are dozens of lights in the distance reaching far up into the sky. On all the hikes to this point, we could always see the trail ahead of us. But not tonight. No views of the mountain, the clouds in the sky, or the terrain down below. All I can see is the headlamps of the hikers in the distance and the 3 feet in front of my face.

Only 6 hours until we get to the top, I’m ready for whatever adversity comes my way.

—

It was dry season in Kilimanjaro, which meant dust was everywhere.

Each day, as porters sped by us carrying 70 pound bags on their heads and shoulders, dust would fly up into the air. My shoes, clothes, bags, everything was covered in dust for the entire week. But our guides warned us to use a buff to prevent dust from getting in our mouths to avoid getting the Kilimanjaro flu.

Luckily, I had bought a buff at REI the day before I left for Africa. Unfortunately, it was too thin and didn’t save me from getting the flu.

By the time we got to summit night, I had a runny nose, sore throat, and a terrible cough. During our hikes, I would wipe my nose on my sleeve or buff and occasionally use some toilet paper I stuffed in my pockets to blow my nose.

But that wasn’t going to work on summit night.

The frigid temperatures would cause my snot to freeze on my clothing, preventing me from staying warm. My two pairs of gloves would make it hard to deal with toilet paper. Hussein told me I needed a handkerchief.

However, a handkerchief did not make my packing list.

So at the last minute I dug through my bag to find a replacement. A T-shirt was too big. Socks were too small. A pair of Calvin Klein boxers? Perfect.

Before I knew it, Hussein clipped the boxers to the front of my backpack and I was summiting Kilimanjaro with underwear strapped to my chest. But I didn’t care how I looked, I just wanted to get to the top.

—

It’s now 3:30 AM, we’ve been hiking straight uphill for 3 hours, only taking one 5 minute break. The longer we stopped, the colder we got, so it was better to keep moving.

I am blowing my nose in my boxers every 10 minutes. Our porters are singing local songs and encouraging us to walk “Pole, Pole” or “Slow, Slow”. Hussein turns around every 20 minutes and asks, “Are you good?” My friend Tim gives him a, “Sowa, Sowa” which means “Good, Good”. I give a thumbs up because it hurts my throat to talk.

One foot in front of the other. We were crushing it. The finish line was close.

The plan had been to reach the top by 6:30 AM for sunrise, but based on my Garmin we already hiked 4.5 out of the 6 miles required to get to the top. If we reached the top before sunrise, it would be freezing and we’d have to start descending in the dark. It would defeat the whole purpose of hiking through the night.

We stop for a break around 4 AM and I ask Hussein, “How’s our pace? Aren’t we going too fast?”

“No. We’re right on time,” he says.

I’m skeptical but all I can do is follow his lead.

—

2 hours later, we reached Stella Point at 18,885 feet. The trail got much steeper and our pace slowed considerably. Maybe Hussein was right?

But it’s still dark and the wind is howling.

As we huddled behind a rock, the porters handed me a cup of ginger tea. I needed this tea to soothe my throat, but I started waiting for it to cool so I didn’t get burned. 3 minutes passed and the team was getting ready to continue on, so I tried to hand the tea back, but Hussein stopped me, “No, finish your tea. You can do it”.

Without thinking twice, I chugged the burning tea. Final push, I was stoked!

—

I see it.

The sign that will signify my accomplishment. The picture I’ve had in my head since I booked the flight to Tanzania. It’s less than a football field away.

I want to run, but I do the opposite. I’m now in the back of the pack walking in what feels like slow motion. Pausing to take in the scene. Just as Hussein had planned, we are here at 19,300 feet above sea level as the sun creeps its way above the horizon.

I finally approach the rest of my team at the official peak. Tears start streaming down my face. Confused, I try to hold them back, but decide fuck it, if this is how I feel then I’m going to let it happen.

I get myself together, we take our happy photos, and I thank the team. I achieved the goal I came here to do. It’s over!

Or so I thought…

I exerted all my energy mentally and physically to get to the top, but I forgot I still need to get down. As we begin our descent, my flu symptoms are getting worse every minute. My head is throbbing, my nose is running, my throat is on fire, and now I’m feeling the physical exhaustion. My legs feel like bricks with every step.

Hussein and Tim speed ahead down the mountain, but I fall behind with our other guide Charlie. Charlie sees me struggling and offers me his hand to help me move faster but I refuse. I don’t need help, I just need to take it slow. Breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth and take it easy on my legs.

1.5 hours later we approach Hussein and Tim waiting for us. Hussein says something to Charlie in Swahili then turns to me and says “Take my Hand”. Again I try to refuse and say I’m ok, I’m just taking it slow.

But Hussain insists, “Trust me. We’re just going for a friendly walk.”

I knew he was going to hustle me down the mountain putting more strain on my head, cough, and legs. I saw him pushing Tim for the past 1.5 hours. I was hurting, therefore I wanted to control the situation by going slow and avoiding any additional pain. Running down the mountain with Hussein would do the opposite.

But I had a decision to make: do it my way or give up control.

I didn’t understand what the rush was to get down. Why push myself while I’m in so much pain? What did Hussein know that I didn’t?

I head said to keep taking it slow. But my gut told me to trust the guy who has climbed this mountain 300 times. Trust the guy who perfectly timed our summit hike to see the sunrise.

I took Hussein’s hand and off we went, leaving my fate in the hands of the stranger I met 6 days earlier.

Quick ask: I’m working on my storytelling skills and tried incorporating techniques I’ve learned into this story. I’d really appreciate any feedback you have. Where there parts that were confusing or boring? Any parts you enjoyed? Did my lesson come across? Appreciate it!

Thank you for reading! As always please reply and let me know what resonated, what didn’t, or what you question. I love chatting about this stuff!

Cheers,

Andrew