In February 2024, just a few months after starting the Everest training, I stumbled upon a challenge in Warsaw to climb the height of Everest, from sea level to summit, by stairs. It was an exciting challenge on its own, yet the connection to my goal, still more than a year out, was too attractive to pass up. Ignorant of the impact, I signed up and showed up. These initial steps were among the most successful of the journey, because the latter ones would end in pain.
To obtain the height of Everest, one must ascend the 42 floors of the Skyliner building a whopping 55 times! At the top was water, and a participant would have to descend three flights of stairs afterward before catching a freight elevator to the ground floor and starting all over again. While the event lasted 24-hours, there were different starting times allocated to participants based on when they signed up, and I got started several hours later than others. However, figuring there was an interval in between each ascension (the elevator down) and frequent hydration opportunities, I could power my way through this thing and recover quickly coming down. How wrong I was.
To say I was properly trained at that point would be lofty. Sure, the fitness was there, but I didn’t even start stair work until after the New Year, and that gave me just 11 times on the machine before the event (I would later put in 3 sessions per week on that machine as well as squats and weights, just to compare how ill-prepared I was for this specific endeavor). The clock turned 11:00am and my wave was admitted to the stairwell. Blasting past others, I flew up each flight, pulling on the railing and taking the steps a few at a time. Pacing was clearly not the primary objective. Going out too hard on any endurance event usually leaves the competitor wasted and incapable of continuing at some point later on. That was my fate, but it would take a few hours to come to fruition. No, it wasn’t just the pace that got me; the humidity was a killer. It was a chilly winter in Poland, but that stairwell was heated and had no ventilation. With each hour passing by, more and more sweaty individuals poured in, dripping their way to the top, creating a sauna. My history was against me, and soon the body lost its nutrients as dehydration closed in. Previously blowing by others, I was now being passed by older people, talking women, and big dudes who had no business beating me in a test of endurance. The tables had turned, and I was getting my comeuppance.
Sitting on a step, it became clear that I was never going to finish this thing, and to keep going much longer, my fate would be met with cramping and fatigue at the least, hospitalization and death at the most. Determined to hit some sort of milestone, I limped on after frequent breaks, and eventually crested the halfway point of the challenge. But that was the end for me. Over 7 hours had elapsed since my start time but with the descent and breaks needed, I only spent about 4.5 hours climbing stairs. Showering was a challenge as the body began to turn, locking up and spasaming. It was a pathetic withdrawal, one that mirrored too many other ultramarathon events, leaving me in significant doubt about my abilities and my body.
A little over a year later, my training was in full effect, and the chance to go for the Everest stair challenge again rose. With just under a month to go until the real expedition started, this seemed like the perfect peak to the training. I would go big for a few weeks, culminating with this stair challenge, and then maintain fitness leading up to the departure to Asia. My work on the stair machine was much more frequent in the year since the disastrous first attempt, and adding squats, lifting, and hiking with a weighted pack had to be beneficial. To test my resolve, I hopped on the machine one week prior to the main event and I did 5 hours straight on the stairs, taking in a manageable pace, and eating and drinking along the way. Over time, it became more manageable, and I succeeded in hitting 58% of the height of Everest in that time with no breaks. My body held up enough to do a 4-hour weighted backpack hike the next day with little repercussion. It was time to go back and do it right, with patience, with focus, and leave the ego at the door.
March 2025
13 months ago, I failed. Today, I would succeed, but like most stories of success, I have little to report. The best stories come from failure or consequence. We never seem to learn by doing it right; the lesson is only revealed when we do it wrong. Equipped with 5 outfit changes, 10 granola and protein bars, a gel, and about 10 liters of fluid, I was determined to correct one error from the year before. When the 9:00am gun went off to signal the start of the 24-hour stair climb, I settled in behind people, steadfast on fixing my other crucial error from last year, going out too hard. Resetting my mind to the gym where the machine clicks away at a steady pace, I never pushed, took the steps mostly one at a time, and never touched the handrails. The purpose behind this was two-fold. First, like jugging up a fixed rope, the more efficient tactic is to not pull on the line and use energy to haul oneself up the slope. The same rationale proved useful on the stairs. Last year, I wore biking gloves, as did many people, to aid in pulling on the handrails. This caused a faster pace with more muscle groups involved, and it wasted energy. Like anyone who has completed an ultramarathon can tell you, it is shockingly easy to go too hard in the first quarter of a race. What seems excessively easy early on becomes pathetically difficult in the latter stages of a race. Not to be a fool and repeat this mistake (well, this time, anyway), I stayed steady, checking myself when passing others to not alter the flow. The other reason not to pull on the handrails should be obvious: it's disgusting. Call me a germ-a-phobe if you will, but 300 sweaty people pulling on railings nearly 100 times each, combined with sweat, saliva, and snot is just a recipe for a problem.
Stopping briefly every 2-4 ascents, I would grab food and drink to consume along the way. The steady input of calories and fluids warded off the bonk, at least for a while. This worked for a long time, that is, until the body turned, then no amount of fluid or food could save me. But that was hours away. The time ticked by, buffeted by podcasts and music, seeing increasingly familiar faces on the way up or down, although little conversation was had. For me, speaking no Polish in this event, I essentially said nothing for the whole day. Solitude suited me just fine at this point because topics were limited. You can look like a real ass commenting on the weather while in a stairwell.
Rolling through halfway (my stopping point the year before), all systems were go. After every 11 ascents of the stairs, I stopped to change my clothes, which were soaked through at that point. This meant waiting in line for a single-use bathroom, changing, and resorting the phone, headphones, and gear before setting off again. Each of these four scheduled pitstops cost me an additional 8-10 minutes, but worth it to get dry again. Furthermore, the clock never stops running, but after the first ascent, your split time for the next includes a descent of 3 flights of stairs and then an elevator for the 39 floors back to the bottom before climbing the 42 floors again. Stopping for water at the top or the bottom did cost time, as did going down the stairs to the elevator. But this is the unpredictable part. When luckily, you got to the elevators, stepped in, the door shut, and you were thrust down to the ground floor. However, other times you rounded the corner to see a line of 20 people waiting. Two elevators ran, so the wait was never more than a few minutes, but the max capacity was about 10-12 people, so there were times when we had to wait for the second elevator to return. Stuffed in like sweaty, stinky sardines, I became woozy a few times on the descent.
But as happened last year, and in many ultramarathons, my body did not respond to the sweat loss (it is very humid in the stairwell as 300 people ventured up and down thousands of times between them, creating a sauna). Slowly, the stomach went south, food was no longer appealing (and therefore I lacked calories), and swallowing anything wasn't happening (more dehydration). I finished and avoided the leg cramps and spasms that were certain to come. Had I been destined for a faster pace or intent on going beyond the height of Everest, I would have had to stop and recover, reset, and pace better in the final 15 ascents or I would have reached the same fate.
On the final entry to the stairwell, I slapped the Mt. Everest sign (many mountains, their altitude, and the number of ascents required to reach them had been posted on the doorway to the stairs, with Everest at the top). I probably pushed slightly harder on the last trip up, knowing that I did not need to save energy, but I didn't change much and had about the same split. Really the only talking I did was to a Frenchman who noticed my Marathon du Medoc shirt (which I had changed into for my last rotation set) as he had been wearing the same addition earlier in the day. At 30 ascents, he was content to reach the height of Mont Blanc, while I told him this was my last. That was it. Like zombies we all trudged on, arms hanging limply at our sides, faces expressionless. With the music blaring out of the speaker, I crested the top for the final time and touched my tag to the scanner; the resulting message on the screen appeared too briefly to make note. Then I was done, handing in my chip and getting my certificate after 55 ascents to the top of the building for more than 8900m climbed via stairs.
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| The only conversation I had in 14 hours, just minutes left to go till the finish. |
That night was a late one and uncomfortable at that. While I went for an hour walk the next day to shake out the legs, my stomach remained sour, muscles tight, and head cloudy. Another day of light cycling and the internal systems returned to normal, although it took a few more days to train without discomfort or emptyness. It may not have been the ideal event right in the peak of training, but it was something I needed to do. Not only did I show that I could soldier up for 14 hours, but I came back an erased that DNF, proving to myself that I alone controlled the outcome of my day.
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| Roughly translated it says "You are an idiot." |
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| The lady taking the picture made me pose like this! |
