Surviving Europe

 Perhaps two fall marathons after returning from Everest were a bit ambitious. 

Slow, exhausted running followed Everest, but soon normality resumed. My summer was perhaps the most productive in many years, as I repeated 50-mile weeks and even jumped up to 70 miles for a week. However, I picked up a rash early on, and soon I was covered in itchy blotches. The poison ivy was relentless, and several rounds of steroids did not crush it. At least 10 times per day, I was bathing in lotion. Itching does not stop you from running well, but sleeplessness will. For almost 3 weeks, I couldn't sleep more than an hour or two at a time. Never have I been so exhausted, and my fitness plummeted. Tempo runs got slower, and I couldn't complete 4-6 mile efforts at marathon pace. After two miles of reeling, absolutely hammering just to hit the times, I would have to pull to the side of the road and walk. The heat and humidity left me exhausted every day. Throw on top of this an impending move to Europe alone, and things were not going in the right direction.

Once in Vienna, I happened upon an elite running group called Vienna Running Collective. They sponsored workouts and long runs at a fairly decent pace, and it was not a place for the casual runner. They would do 24k long runs, never having to stop for a crosswalk, all at about 4:20-4:30 per k. Every Tuesday brought intense runs, sometimes 400m repeats with 90 seconds rest; other times 3x3km at sub-4 per km. It was fun to be running again at a strong pace, and it came easily. Each day, I was nervous for the evening workout, and once it started, I found that I felt fantastic, and after leading my groups, I would wonder if I should have stepped up to the next level. Then everything went to crap. 

On Monday, my leg hurt. After Tuesday's workout, it felt better, but by Wednesday, it was trouble. Running was no longer possible, and I could only walk with a limp. Serious shin pain would not go away with rest, icing, and meds. Into the sports medicine doctor I hobbled. It took an MRI and x-ray, but it was revealed that there was no stress fracture; however, I had MTSS - shin splints. They are extremely painful, and while they happen in undertrained, younger runners, they usually heal, but mine did not. Punishing physical therapy sessions were accompanied by more ice and anti-inflammatories. But time was running out.

A year prior, I had tried - and failed (again) - to get a lottery spot at Berlin, and knowing I was moving close by, I just decided to pull the trigger on a travel package; pay for a hotel room (at a premium), and they will include a bib number for you. So I did, booked my flights, went to Everest, and got back to business. My goal: Qualify for the NYC Marathon (sub 3:05). But now, with about a month to go, I was injured and unable to run, right when I needed the long runs and key workouts. At first, I thought, "There goes sub-3." As time went on, I knew NYC was gone. Then I hoped maybe for a few weeks of running and maybe a decent time, like a sub-3:10. A few more trips to the physio and I knew it was over. I couldn't run. But with the trip booked, I went anyway. After all, this was a chance to see my guys from South Africa, reliving the great times of the past and doing what we all loved to do together. We had dinner, some of the most seasoned runners sitting together, and I even had a couple of beers, which I normally don't prior to a race. The body is going to dehydrate enough, so don't push it, but on this night, I had nothing to lose. 

Race dinner with some very accomplished runners

The SA +1, my old Fourways group

We took some pictures at the race start and made our way through the very lengthy approach to the start line. Long-time running mate and Comrades Coach (and South African Olympic Triathlon coach) Lindsey Parry, Kirsten, and I reminisced of amazing races and suffering in Africa. Lindsey's wife was in another wave, Kirsten in the A corral, so Linds and I shuffled into the B corral and made our way up front, but not too far, as neither of us expected to run our best. My leg was taped up thanks to the physio, and I prayed as the gun went off to not suffer too badly. Luckily, I did not, at least at first. 

The first 10k went by successfully. Having not run for a month, I was pleased as I ticked off the early K's. But the bliss soon faded as the miles set in. After the 10k mark, I was very surprised to come up on Lindsey, who seemed to be off the pace for his goal. We would leapfrog each other several times throughout the race. I crossed the halfway point in about 1:39, which would put me on track for a sub-3:20. Laughing, I knew this was not going to happen. With a month off, the wall was coming, and when I hit it, there would be no breaking through. Soon after the halfway mark, my pace began to slow, albeit subtly. Each K just required a bit more effort to maintain, and soon I watched the seconds slipping away from the average. My left hip flexor and quad felt depleted, probably as a result of overcompensating for my injured right leg, which - surprisingly - gave me no trouble during the race. As I approached 30k, the wheels really started to come off. My body was shutting down, muscles not responding to the task. When I started the day, I thought. "Maybe I can get to 25k before having to walk." 25k came and went, and I said, ok, let's get to 30 and call it good. But the problem with 30 is that 12k left is a long way to go. So I passed 30 and said, let's just get to 32, that leaves 10k. And once I hit 32, I knew that each step was delaying the inevitable, but also one step closer to home. At 34k I started to lock up, weaved to the side of the road, and came to a walk. It was needed! In case you are wondering how far one can run with no running before that, apparently, it is 34k. 

From here, life was not fun. An 8k run is a regular morning most days, but in the heat, injured, and untrained, it is a marathon in and of itself. Berlin was hot, and people were suffering for it. Not alone in my walks, I now needed about 1 minute of walking every mile to 2k, and ended up taking about 6 walk breaks in the last 8K. My legs were tight, stomach off, and head wandering. Joy was not present as suffering set in. Crossing 40k, things had really taken a turn, and the pace was now no longer respectable, although I never went over 6 min/K. However, I did pull to the side and accept a Dixie cup full of beer to excuse another walk break. The final stretch at Berlin is a grand one, crossing the Brandenburg Gate, people shouting on either side stacked 10 deep. If I had run a decent race, I may have been buoyed by it, but I was feeling such shame and disappointment that I traversed the blue carpet in silence, desperate to hit the finish line. Despite my performance, I postponed my body rejecting me and made my way out of the finish area as quickly as my carcus could muster. It was a long journey back to the meeting point, where I found the group, all of whom had finished before me, and most of whom had missed their goal significantly. 

Together again, we wandered out of the race venue to the river and grabbed lounge chairs, and the beers were soon flowing. We talked and re-told stories of the day and of 15 years earlier, back in South Africa, sharing the road. Unfortunately, no food was ordered, so after a few rounds, the body reacted. My bag was at Kirsten's lodging, so I bade farewell to the boys and walked back with Kirsten's sister to the apartment, gathered my things, and jumped on the public transport to the airport. An evening flight and then a late train ride got me back in Vienna around 1am. By 2 a.m., I was up to use the toilet. My head spun, I fell to the floor, smacking my head on the sink, and lay in pain for 10 minutes, drenched in sweat. My body had revolted, clearly suffering from the trauma of running a marathon on nothing. Having not eaten right after and taken in beer on fried legs, everything was out of balance. 

Glad to be done

Before the pain really set in

I recovered slowly, but there was no need to train. A couple of more physical therapy sessions, or all I could do to improve my chances of running, as the Dublin Marathon was just 5 weeks after Berlin. Long before, I decided to run the Dublin Marathon because it aligned with a fall break. However, when I went to apply, despite being many months before the race, they were fully booked, so I had to do a charity entry. Asking for money is something I refuse to do. Well, I put up a notice on Facebook, only two people contributed, which, if you think about having more than 500 friends on social media and getting only two people to support not only your goal, but the charity supporting Mental Health, that is frustrating. Three of the guys that I climbed with on Aconcagua generously donated, bringing me closer to my goal, but I still had to fork over nearly $700 to cover the difference. With this kind of investment, skipping the race was not an option. Although my shin improved, it was still very noticeable, and I was not able to do any running in the interim. So after a week of bouncing around Ireland, eating burgers and fish and chips, enjoying beer and music, I again toed the line to attempt a second marathon on zero training.

Race morning dawned cold and windy, although the rain that had been promised was absent, which was good, as it was a horribly long walk to the start line. The beginning of the race, as it usually does, felt fine, and my optimism rose, that is, until about 5 km in. A tightness and pain were developing in my left quad, probably from the compensation protecting my right shin. By 10 km, the rain returned in full force, and no one was quite the same from here to the end. I started to pay for my early pace, which was probably too fast for zero training. Dublin is a rolling course, so there were plenty of opportunities to challenge myself on the hilly terrain. Uncomfortableness grew in my body, reminding me that not training is a less-than-ideal way to approach a marathon. Crossing halfway in 1:48 (nearly 10 min slower than Berlin and 20 min longer than my last Boston), the struggle was real. A new challenge emerged, and the goal now became to run, run, and not stop with each step,  \the willpower to keep going faded; my pace was slow, this wouldn't qualify me for anything, it was cold and wet, and after this, I would require significant time off to heal both my body and specifically, my shin. But somewhere in the back of my brain, that little voice called out, eager for the opportunity. Not stopping became my only mantra, and with each passing kilometer, this grew more difficult. The pace faded further, and true grimaces of pain crossed my face. Near the end, outright cries of pain burst forward during each tight corner. But never did I walk, and after 42.2km in the rain, I crossed the finish line for my 93rd finish, having run the whole way on absolutely not running.

The long walk from the finish to the gated area blocking spectators was significant. By the time I burst out into the crowd, I was soaked to the bone and starting to lose control of my muscles. We had arranged a meet-up here, thinking a side street would be obvious, but thousands of people were waiting. Calling them, they found me, and after a brief reunion, I told them to walk; standing around was leading to disaster. We had hoped to catch a. cab north of the meeting area, but that was out of the question; our only chance was to walk more than a mile to lunch. Without a doubt, it was the hardest mile of the day, with legs cramping, stomach turning, and head swimming. When we finally reached Brewdog, I faced a climb upstairs to the bathroom and a difficult change of clothes in a stall. Still waterlogged, my hands shook uncontrollably, making eating and drinking difficult. With some calories coming in, the body soon returned to normal, and I avoided the shutdown experienced in Berlin after facing the long, lonely flight back. 

While there is no reason to run not one, but two marathons on no training inside of 5 weeks, the investment was too high to skip them. The money spent was gone either way, but now I have clicked off two more bucketlist runs, one of them a Major, and although I won't aim to run another marathon on no training, I know I can. 

Dancing w/ Death in the Desert (TEDx)

One week before I left for Everest, I got to present at a TEDx event in Warsaw. Interestingly, I did not talk about the mountain, and instead, re-told my adventure of my Rim-to-Rim-to-Rim solo crossing of the Grand Canyon in summer. The video is below, and I have attached the script (roughly) of what I said. 

It was an incredibly difficult experience, memorizing (as there are no notecards or prompters) my whole talk while balancing work, training, and packing for Everest. To remember the next line while trying to pace and keep focus on the audience was difficult, but I am glad I got to tell my story to people. 

Dancing With Death In the Desert - TEDx Talk in Warsaw; April 2025

Training For Everest

From the time I decided 100% that Everest was a go, I had 518 days of training. Some of these were recovery days from a climb, and there were the occasional days off for rest, but I often went months at a time without a break. When I left on April 12th, I had an active streak since December 30th when I flew back from Aconcagua. At my peak, I put in 2-3 hours a day during the week, and some longer sessions on weekends. Training was a part-time job.

My training was built around 7 types of workouts:

Stairs: Using the stair machine, I put in time getting used to the motion of climbing uphill. 

Runs: My staple sport comes easy to me while for others this is their method of torture. However, I had to back off the running to get the body type better suited to climbing. This meant cutting long runs and not running daily. I wanted to have great cardio but also keep strength. 

Core: Doing core work, from planks to ab movements, was crucial. All movement starts with core. Strong legs were great, but I needed a core to stabilize the carrying of a pack for hours on end. 

Bike: Great for the quads, which needed to be strong for the uphill battle, plus good cardio. I did almost all of the cycling on the stationary bike using Zwift. 

Lift: Hitting the weights is my weakness. It bores me, and I struggle to put on weight. Sessions were usually 30 minutes and I took on 3 sets of 15 reps. To bulk up more, I should have done more weight with less reps but when I did, I would struggle on other activities, so I compensated. My rest is almost 0 when lifting as I go from one exercise to the next, almost like a HIIT routine.

Hike: The most applied of the training, hikes included expedition climbing as well as weekly hikes with a pack. I was able to do training hikes of 5 hours with 40lbs in the pack (just for training; on expeditions, days were often longer). Other times, I set the treadmill to max incline (about 15%) and hiked it out. This comprised the highest amount of minutes in my week, mostly due to the relevance to the end goal, but also because it is low intensity. I must say I hated almost all of it.

HIIT: High-intensity interval training - The quickest way to get into shape, this is a lot of body weight reps with short breaks. These kicked my ass and melted the pounds. However, after the first half of training, I had to abandon these workouts as I was losing weight when I needed to keep it on. Squats and glutes also fell into this category, mostly because I didn't have a better place to put them. Squat sessions maxed out at 1000 reps. 

Here are my totals for the training window:

My core work was over 60 hours. Start now and do a plank or crunches while you watch all six Rocky movies....6 times. 

I spent nearly 100 hours climbing stairs. That is the equivalent of climbing the 102 floors of the Empire State Building 305 times.

Almost 12500 minutes were conducted running, low volume for me but still enough to have run the distance from Chicago to New York City....and back. 

Speaking of NYC, I put in enough miles on the bike to go from East Coast (NYC) to West Coast (LA). 

I don't pump a lot of iron, but when I do, I lifted weights for as long as it would take you to watch all 3 of The Hobbit movies followed by all 3 of The Lord of the Rings trilogy, and still have time leftover too drive from Detroit to to the Mackinac Bridge.

21311 minutes is a long time to hike, most of it uphill, with a heavy pack, or both. Assuming flatland pace, this is like hiking the 22 miles from Base Camp to the top of Everest, and doing it 50 times.

They say to do the least fun, or the worst exercise there is, do a burpee. Just reach up to the sky, bend down, jump back, jump in, and jump up. Now repeat that 57,600 times for two full days, including nights, you have the amount of time that I did HIIT workouts. Thankfully, they weren't all burpees.

Diet

I didn't change much in my diet as I try to eat fairly balanced, but I did make two significant changes. The first was that I cut out alcohol since September. This saved endless empty calories and allowed for more focus and better sleep. Consequently, I ate out less and therefore had fewer burgers and pizzas. To make up for the void in calories, I found myself snacking more and adding dessert to my meal plan. 

I took AG1 (Athletic Greens) to help get the right vitamins and nutrients. I also added a hefty scoop of protein powder to my morning cereal everyday, hoping that the additional protein would help with muscle gain. It certainly didn't, and I have to say I think that's a scam. That, or I just was training so hard that even a little supplement couldn't keep the weight on. 

Hypoxic Training

To simulate a higher altitude while at home, I slept in a tent that was connected to a generator that pumped in air with less oxygen. Over the period of 2 months prior to each of my climbing endeavors over the last year and a half, I slept in this tent (accounting or over 6 months or 1/3 of the time I spent training for the mountain). Sleeping at altitude alone is challenging as one often wakes up with a jerk, snorting from lack of air. But the tent makes it even worse. Many a night I awoke dripping in sweat with condensation from my breath and body lining the plastic walls. Even small movements lets out air lowering the level and making the tent less efficient. To improve this, I spent the last 9 weeks before the expedition sleeping alone, but because the tent did not fit on our extra bed, I had to sleep on a mattress pad on the floor. This meant waking with an achy back every morning. I was able to simulate about 6,400 m at the highest and over 6,000 m most nights. My experience on the South American trips showed that this did in fact speed acclimatization. 

Intermittent hypoxic training

Reading in the tent

Below is a video showcasing most of the workouts I used to get ready:

I don't love the shirtless selfie-in-the-

mirror and this is probably the first I've ever taken but it's the end result of the training. I didn't take a before and after picture and while my body type doesn't change much, I certainly added muscle and reduced fat.

Stairs to the Top of Everest

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.

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. 

Roughly translated it says "You are an idiot."

The lady taking the picture made me pose like this!

Everest - We Have A Date

With under 70 days (69 in fact, cue giggles) left, it is now official: April 13th marks Day 1 of the expedition. The itinerary has come through after many months of asking for it. The delay seems to be due to the precedent set by China last year in which they postponed the issuance of Tibet climbing permits until early May. Many people bailed on their climbs, some switched to the Nepal side, and a few trained in Nepal and ran across the border for a shot at the summit in a slim window in May. My guide says they believe CTMA will issue the permits in "mid-April" so we have to hope. We are anticipating not heading to Tibet immediately upon arrival. 

Rather than sitting in Kathmandu (low elevation) and losing my pre-acclimatization waiting for a permit that might not come, the plan is to fly into the foothills, trek up for about 11 days to a high camp, and then make a bid on Mera Peak (6476m), stay up near the summit a couple of nights, and descend, flying back to Kathmandu at the end of April. By this time, fingers crossed, the permits to Tibet will be waiting. 

Now early May, we will fly north and then drive across the Nepal/Tibet border as this is said to be more friendly and less bureaucratic than Lhasa (where we originally planned to fly). From there, we'd drive for about 3 days, working our way to Base Camp. After a few days of setting up camp, sorting gear, and resting, we have the Puja Ceremony and then head up the mountain. The plan would be to work up to Advanced Base Camp, do one or more rotations to some higher camps, and give the summit a go in late May.

As good as it feels to have a clearer picture of the plan, I am a little anxious. I never wanted to spend time in Nepal (tourists hiking in the region transport stomach and respiratory illness between stuffy tea houses along the route, and hygiene is questionable). The benefit of climbing from the north is that you can basically stare at Everest every day of the climb, and this will be short. The relative comforts of base camp will also be limited, which can help leave climbers primed for a good summit bid. But mostly, I am paranoid that the late issuance of the permit will put us in a position where we aren't ready when a good weather window opens and/or one doesn't and we run out of time before getting a good shot at the top. 

Regardless, the training continues. 

Gear - Sleeping

Sleeping up high is a challenge. No need to make it worse. Also, staying warm during extremely cold nights can also save energy or your life. 

• Pillow - Sea to Summit Aeros Premium and Big Angus pillow
• Sleeping bag Liner - Sea to Summit Reactor
• Sleeping Pads - Thermarest Prolite; Big Angus Boundry Deluxe
• Basecamp Sleeping Bag - Marmot Never Summer 0F
• Altitude Sleeping Bag - Mountian Hardware Lamina -30F

Gear - Climbing

On most other climbs, the climber has to bring a lot of items that are essential to staying on the mountain, like rope, ice screws, cams, quickdraws, stoves, gas, etc. Luckily, on Everest, the mountaineering association fixes all the ropes, significantly cutting down weight for individual teams. The support members will have tents and stoves set up in the camps as well. But there is plenty that has to be on me in order to make my way up and down. 

• Crampons: Black Diamond Sabertooth - These are used from the bottom of the North Col to the summit and back. Difficult to use over rock and scree, they are essential on snow and ice, and they are too difficult to take off and put on repeatedly so they stay on. 
• Trekking Poles: Black Diamond Expedition 3 - Poles help on the long hike in, and some climbers use them on the upper slopes in place of an axe for balance. 
• Ice Axe: Black Diamond Raven Pro - The tool of the mountaineer. The axe acts as a stabilizer with every step, and the pick can be used for self-arrests or to aid in steeper sections. The adez helps chop out snow (cutting steps from long ago, and for making platforms now). 
• Spatha Knief - Sometimes you gotta cut stuff.
• Petzel Ascender - Crucial for the fixed ropes, this device attaches to a rope and slides up, but it won't slide down. While it can add some aid to the climber, it is also a safety measure. 
• Belay: Black Diamond Super 8 and Black Diamond ATC - for use in belaying climbers and repelling/abseiling down the ropes. 
• Harness: Black Diamond Couloir - My harness is super lightweight because it is not used for taking hard falls off a rock wall; rather, it is flexible and thin, but strong enough to keep me tied to anchors and the rope. 
• Locking Carabiners and William Tri-Act Locker
• Mountain Hardwear 800-fill down jacket
  - When things are very cold, or when standing around at camps or at the base of a pitch, a thick jacket can really add a lot of warmth. 
• Mountain Hardwear Absolute Zero Down Suit - The ultimate high-altitude clothing. Worn over a couple of base layers, this suit is worn from the higher camps up to the summit and back. 

I'll need something to haul all my gear in as well:

• Backpacks Arc'teryx Bora 95 and Gregory Forester
• Bag: REI Camp 4 Duffel (130L)