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)

Gear - Hands

Hands are the extremities of the body, meaning the higher you go and the colder it gets, the less blood gets pumped to these areas. Not only can frozen hands become very painful, but if they don't recover, they can become damaged and require amputation. More immediately, if you cannot work your hands, you cannot work the belay devices, the ascender, and the ropes. This is a major obstacle in getting down safely. 

• Marmot Expedition Mitts - My old major mittens are of the highest quality. The absolute best things to have on the hands when it's cold, but these mitts make working the ascender and carabineers challenging. 
• Outdoor Research Alti II Mittens - A substitute for the above, these are of equal quality and fit tighter, meaning that it is easier to work the ropes and tackle. I think they are too small for me and I will likely leave them. 
• Black Diamond Guide Gloves - Made for serious cold, these have the advantage of 5 digits; however, up really high, they might not be enough for safe use. Gloves are colder than mitts, so these might not be used with any regularity. 
• Outdoor Research Highcamp 3-Finger Gloves - The benefits of a mitt with added dexterity, allowing more warmth than a glove but a little more maneuverability. 
• Outdoor Research Stormtracker Sensor Gloves - For warmer days or for a mid-layer, these are light, fit tight, and add some protection from sun, wind, and cold. 
• Black Diamond Midweight Softshell - like the above, these can stand alone or be used under a mitt. 
• Lightweight gloves - useful for a base layer, these add minimal warmth but also keep the skin from being exposed when the outer layers need to come off (for opening packs, taking pictures, etc.).

Not Pictured: Packages of Hand Warmers 

Gear - Feet

Protecting the feet is paramount as you need them to walk and walking is what gets you up and down the mountain. 

• Approach: Mountain Wearhouse Extreme - These are all-conditions boots that are fine in town and can go up to Advanced Base Camp. They will be warm enough for the lower mountain and keep out some of the scree and water encountered along the way which can create blisters. 
• Double w/ Overboot: La Sportiva Olympus Mons - The king of mountaineering boots. An inner boot is tight to the foot, stabilizing the ankle and keeping the heat in. Then there is the outer boot which is firm to support crampons, add protection from the cold, the rock, and snow, and has a large overboot to protect from snow getting in as well as self-kicks from the crampons ruining pants. 
• Lounging: Flip Flops - easy on/off around camp when putting on the big boots is just too much effort. 
• Tent: Sierra Designs Down Booties - Pure luxury, these come on at the end of the day, good for keeping the piggies toasty. 
• Socks: lots: Smartwool Mountaineering Max, Everyday Diamond, etc. “There is one item of GI gear that can be the difference between a live grunt and a dead grunt: socks, cushioned soled OD green. Try and keep your feet dry while we're out humping. I want you to remember to change your socks whenever we stop. The Mekong will eat a grunt's feet right off his legs. There are two standing orders in this platoon. One, take good care of your feet, and two, try not to do anything stupid, like getting yourself killed.”

All good advice, Lieutenant Dan. 

Not pictured: Hiking gaiters to keep the little rocks out of my shoes. 

Gear - Head

 The body cannot survive without the head. So take care of it. 

• Jublo Glacier Glasses (x2) - Super sunglasses that block light from the bottom and sides. Another pair for back up in case one breaks or gets lost. If sun gets in the eyes it can burn the retinas and cause a condition called snow blindness, which can lead to a loss of vision. If this happens, a climber may not be able to get down under their own power). 
• Smith Goggles - To wear on summit night when the darkness is most, but to protect the eyes and face from wind and snow blasts. 
• Buffs (x2) - These keep sun off the next, wind and snow off the lower face, and can keep dust and germs out of the lungs. 
• Bucket hat - Keeps heat in and sun off the noggin and back of the neck, ears, nose
• Warm beanie - Keep that heat in. 
• Balaclava (one of 3 to choose from) - Wraps over the head and next, around the face, protecting it from the cold. 
• Hot Chillys Chil-block Half Mask - Like a balaclava only more minimal, and also helps keep cold air from going in the lungs. 
• Headlamps: Petzl Tikina 2 & Decathlon - one for tents and lower down, a fresh one for up high. 
• Helmet: Edelrid - for dangerous sections to keep the skull from being smacked by falling snow, ice, gear, or people. 

Not pictured: Oxygen mask 

Gear - Legs

The legs, like the torso, benefit from layers, but since it doesn't include protecting major organs, the purpose is a bit different. Also, a harness needs to fit over the pants so comfort and utility are important. 

• Base Layer - 3 pairs of technical base wear (Marmot, Decathlon) - Like the base layers on the torso, these are worn first. I have three pairs so that after multiple days of climbing on the mountain, I can swap them out and avoid stewing in my own filth for too long. 
• Fleece Layer (REI) - These pants go on next and add a lot of warmth. They are used in the cold up until the down layer is needed. 
• Mountain Hardwear Puff Pants - A luxury for the high camps. After a climb, I change into these in the tent. They are like a sleeping bag for your legs, soft and pillowy. 
• Rab Kangri Gore-Tex hardshell - The wind and waterproof layer that protects from the elements. These are worn on all climbs leading up to Everest and on Everest up until I need to switch to the down suit. 
• Trekking:  Arc'teryx pants - Used for the time before/after the climb and at base camp when the temps are good. 
• Mountain Hardware Tights (Not pictured) - A layer that adds compression and warmth. 

Not Pictured: Regular old boxer briefs for approach and lounging during laundry days

Gear - Upper Body

Keeping the core warm is crucial to survival on the mountain. High-quality layers are key to maintaining heat and balancing breathability and weight. 

• Base layer - Decathlon top. Worn under all other layers. It sits close to the skin to pull sweat off and dry quickly. 
• Black Diamond Apenglow Hoodie - a high-quality shirt that can act as a base layer as well, but this one has a hood to add to warmth preservation and prevent drafts from slipping down the neck. 
• Patagonia base layers (yellow and brown) - can be worn as base layers and are also fit for regular camp wear. 
• Lightweight Fleece (REI) - This layer adds some warmth but not a lot, so is good for wearing under shells. 
• Mountain Hardwear Fleece - a heavier fleece that adds warmth and cuts the wind; can be used as a jacket for hiking/walking around as well as under shells. 
• Cotopaxi Fuego down jacket - The down adds warmth and is lightweight. Can be a stand-alone coat or part of a layered system. 
• Arc'teryx Beta SL jacket - an outer shell that cuts wind and rain. Waterproof so helpful in the snow. This is the jacket worn on most of the climb (and all training climbs) before I have to switch out for the down suit. 

Not pictured: technical running shirts for lounging and approach to the mountain, North Face Windstopper jacket for causal wearing. 

Aconcagua

 This post is going to be a lot more factual and contain less description and pizzaz than normal. The detailed description is being put towards the book efforts!

Aconcagua. 

At 6,961m (22,838 ft), she is the tallest mountain in the Americas and the tallest in the world outside of the Himalayas. She is one of the 7 Summits (and 2nd tallest of those as well). This is not a technically difficult mountain but the altitude and size of it do make it challenging in its own ways. 

I joined a company called Adventures Patagonicas for this one on an accelerated plan of 12 days (compared to 17-21 for other operators). My team was 2 guides and 6 people. After the obligatory gear check and meeting, we had dinner out at an Argentinian grill and ate more meat than any human should consume in a single sitting. The next day they drove us out into the mountains, past vineyards, to the park entrance (3000m) where we would begin our trek. It was about 7km from the road to the first camp which took close to three hours, moving very slowly. Mules carried our gear so we were only hauling light loads. The first camp was well equipped with WiFi, beds in the tent, and catered meals. It was not a rough start to the mountain.

Much of the first two days of the hike look like this. 

Day 3 of the trip took us from Confluencia (3400m) to Plaza de Mulas (base camp at 4400m). However, in between is about 18km of trekking, fortunately, not steep. The route mostly follows the river up the valley and can be considered flat for a significant portion of the hike. At the end, the trail kicks up and most of the elevation gain happens in the final 90 minutes. Again, mules took the gear, so this was little more than a long walk. To allow people to acclimate, we moved at a very slow pace and stopped often.

The summit with an ominous cloud eveloping it.

Base camp sits on a plateau with a wonderful view of the mountain. Again, this was a well-equipped place with WiFi and a huge mess tent where we had our meals brought in by the hard-working catering staff. It was optional to rent a domed tent ($135/night) that had a bed in it, but I slept in a regular tent alone. We then "carried" to Camp 1/Canada (4900m). I say "carried" because I took up some climbing gear and shared team food, but everyone else hiked up with little packs as they were using porters. All of their weight and team food was taken camp to camp by porters. Needing the practice of carrying weight at altitude, I saved the money and carried my own gear. After a brief stay at the very windy camp, we dropped back down to base camp for the night. 

Camp 1

Day 5 started the "climb" and we went again from base camp to Camp 1, this time staying up higher, and I shared a tent with a teammate. Luxury was minimized here as we ate from our self-packed bowls, there was no Wi-Fi or power, and our toilet was a backpacker tent when you had to crap in a plastic bag. After one night, we head up the loose scree that is most of the mountain. This time I carried everything in one push, and it was my heaviest load at 57 lbs. It made for a challenging few hours but was completed without incident.  

Camp 2/Nido (5350m) was better equipped again. We had a mess tent and Wi-Fi, but the wind was punishing. Little sleep followed, and the next day was a rest day where there was little else to do besides eat, poop, and sit in the tent hiding from the wind. 

On day 8 we headed up to high camp/Berlin (5800m), and although the trail up was much better (not as loose and energy draining) and the wind lessened, there was no Wi-Fi as promised. While we all can afford to unplug, it was Christmas Eve and our summit bid was Christmas Day, and it would have been nice to check in with the family on the holiday, but it was not to be. Again, we had a mess tent and a decent toilet (a real toilet seat and a bucket which you put sawdust in after) within a tent to shelter your backside from the wind. 

Camp 3 after an Xmas Eve sprinkling of snow.

We awoke at 3am and were off by 5am in the darkness and cold, on our way up the mountain. The trail was as stable as it had been yet and the first couple of hours went by fine, with the rising sun causing the removal of layers. We moved slowly, slower than other teams, and once we hit about 6500m, two of my teammates opted to turn around. Counting the two that left the trip early previously, it was now just me and one other climber to carry on with a guide. We stopped at 6550m and soon after put on crampons. While there was no snow for the entire climb, on the final slopes a snow patch lined the side of the trail and walking on it proved easier than on the frustrating loose rocks. We pushed upward for several hours and 9 hours after leaving high camp, we arrived on the summit. It was flat and we had excellent views.

Panorama from the summit

Two thumbs and climbed it? This Guy!

The cross at the summit. 

 

25 minutes later and we headed down, although tired which made the trip much more difficult. We stopped to take off the crampons and 10 feet before that point I tripped and feel, smacking my leg on a rock. The descent was as frustrating as the ascent with loose rock and scree causing poor footing and draining energy. It took us 3 hours to get back to camp and we were tired, but we spent the night at Berlin. The next day (day 10) we packed up and descended to base camp, none too soon as the mountain got smashed with clouds and snow. Exhausted, the remaining members of my team took a helicopter out. I pitched a tent and the next day packed up the mules and hiked from base camp to the road, a journey of 6 hours or so on exhausted legs. Another day was killed in Mendoza eating and getting a haircut, and then I began the two-day journey back to Poland, happy to have done the peak but tired from the travel.

The peak from base camp after the snow came. 

This was not an overly fun mountain to climb. Climb is a hard word as it is basically a hike, but one that goes to almost 7000m. I feel the weather was generous as we summited in a clear window, but prior to that the wind was howling, and after we got down, snow covered the peak. Porters, beds, catered meals, and helicopter rides all make this much more accessible (and comfortable) than other peaks if you are willing to pay the price, but I felt like an outsider for wanting to do it like other mountains. Also, I trained hard for this peak en route to Everest, putting in 2-3 hours a day and sleeping in my Hypoico tent to pre-acclimate. I cant say others do this. While it is an "easy" mountain compared to some, it takes fitness and acclimatization to scale it in a matter of days, and people need to prepare accordingly. Group trips are always hard as it seems they cater to the slowest, least prepared people, which can be frustrating if you are on the other end of the spectrum. 

Marathon du Medoc

If you have ever been sitting around, eating and/or drinking, and talking about running, the thought goes through your head that you'd rather do the former than the latter. It works both ways, as when you are running, you'd rather be eating/drinking. Well, isn't it nice that there is a place where you can do both? Fly to lovely Bordeaux in France and take a stroll through wine country where you can - literally - drink your way to the finish line.

Kirsten and I got on the registration right away, and quickly after the 8,000 person cap was reached. We flew to Bordeaux and headed to the expo, which set the stage for what was to come. Rather than most booths being for supplements, gear, and other sales, nearly every vendor was for another race in the region, and it turned out they all had these maddening food festivals paired with alcohol. And to ensure you were not confused about what you were getting into, each booth had wine and food for the sampling. If that wasn't enough, there was a beer garden and a wine tent to keep you busy while waiting for the return bus. People partook in the festivities as music oscillated from hard-core metal to Bob Marley. There were people in costumes, drinking games, and other shenanigans that made it feel like Mardi Gras meets the Hong Kong 7s. 

Race morning was no different. A mile walk to our bus and we were transported out to the start, a ride of about an hour, just like Boston. From there we meandered through the throngs of people, 99% of them dressed in what looked like a terrible Halloween parade. This year's theme was "Games" so most costumes (not all) revolved around this loose notion of a game. We had sports, cards, and everything in between, including super heroes and unrecognizable attire. The hour before the gun was met with music and an aerial show over the corrals, with sword fighting on ziplines to acrobats tumbling from silk cloths. It was easy to be boxed out when people wearing boats brushed by. We even saw a team of alpinists, complete with German lederhosen and tall socks, all connected with a rope. You are only as strong as your weakest runner..

The costumes cost more than they should and were not runner-friendly.

The gun went off and I have never started so slow. The narrow road left no room to maneuver, and all possible exit routes were stifled by bozos linked together by some form of cardboard. While this never was meant to be a fast race, running slower than is comfortable makes it all the more difficult, and this discomfort was exacerbated by our non-breathable polyester boxing robes, shorts, and gloves. As is typical, the crowd thins, and soon we were moving along the countryside roads, free to settle into our pace, if you could call it that, as we knew the stops would come frequently in the future. 

We didn't have to wait long, and at the 2nd kilometer, we stuffed our faces with pastries. Having skipped breakfast, I was starving, although for the next hour, I would regret binging on croissants so early in a race. Just a kilometer later, we entered our first wine estate and the reason for running this event. Full tables of clear, plastic dixie cup-sized vessels awaited while a band of brass rooted intensely. Red wine is not my cup of tea, but when in Bordeaux...

Rolling on, we had another couple of wine stops among the gorgeous chateaus of the region. Fueled by wine or that fire that never ceases to smolder deep inside, Kirsten started upping the ante, and our pace dropped. Significantly undertrained for the distance, I was a bit skeptical of our pace (about 7:36/mi or 4:43/k, we clipped off miles efficiently, that is, until one of the 23 wine stops on the run. Early on, these were significantly spread out, but from halfway, they came frequently, sometimes as close as 400m apart. From the gun we said we would partake in every single station and we did. Being at the front of the race, we were the only ones doing so, as most other participants around us were focused on running for time. We absolutely were not, so when we spotted a table, we made a beeline for it, and usually the cheers were enormous. At some stations, I think we were the first runners to partake in the wine. We'd banter with the volunteers (at one table it was a girl of about 12 years old and her two younger siblings, the youngest about 3 years old; there wasn't an adult anywhere near), and graciously thank them for the service. Some stations had plastic cups but others had full stem glassware! With each helping of wine, we'd float down the road, the anesthetic coursing through our legs, heads a bit more foggy than before. 

We were making a great impression on the locals. Sweating early on (and not taking in fluids other than fermented grape juice due to capacity and bloating issues), we had to ditch the uniforms. We tossed the robes and shorts in a recycle bin, but the foam gloves (which we had been using to mock punch small children along the way (which parents found endearing but the kids were startled by)) we gave to a girl and her sister standing outside their small house. Their squeals of delight echoed as we charged on, and looking back we could see them high-fiving other runners with the large, blue gloves. 

Where we were not making a great impression was with the other runners. Each time we pulled into a stop for wine, they soldiered on, and then Kirsten and I would come charging past on the road, running far faster than them, but clearly not trying as hard. We'd pull ahead, hit the next wine stop, and chase people down again. As wine does, it loosened our tounges and we were telling stories and chatting most of the way. This, understandably, is obnoxious to the runner putting in their full effort, and to that I say, Find a different race! When 95% of the field is dressed like it's Halloween and they serve wine more than water, perhaps it's not the best environment to hit your Boston Qualifier...

If this weren't chaotic enough, the real fun came in the last 5 kilometers. On a long road leading back to town, we were treated to the delicacies of the region in food form. There is a reason that they do not serve heavy food early on in a marathon. Somewhere after 25k we happened about a winery that was serving not only wine, which we took (have to try every one), but also beer! That was a welcome change from all of the reds we had been consuming, and since red wine makes my mouth feel like I am eating a cotton ball, the beer was like sparkling water. Also at this particular stop was a french fry station, and where better to sample a fry than France? We probably could have eaten 10 servings of the fries, but with ample running left to do, we had to show some restraint. But as we got closer to the finish, more opportunities presented themselves. At 36km, we ate cured pork and took some fun pictures with a pig mannequin. When I tried to position its arm around me, it dislocated, and I sheepishly pushed it aside, hoping no one would notice. 

Accidentally pulled the arm out of the pig's socket. Sorry.

Sauntering on to 38k, we pulled up for oysters, pre-shucked, and doused them in lemon juice before shooting them down. While raw oysters may not be everyone's cup of tea (Kirsten took a pass), they did have white wine at this stop, so we enjoyed the crisp taste before bolting down the road, just one more kilometer until another food stop. This one was steak. I cannot say I have ever thought of steak as the best in-race food, but it was tasty and we weren't going to pass it up. This stop, of course, had red wine, because we weren't about to have a faux pas in France by pairing red meat with anything but red wine.

Oysters and white wine and feeling fine!

At this point, it was getting exponentially more difficult to run down the road at any kind of pace, but as a reward, we only had a short jaunt to the next table, which was cheeses, and thankfully, white wine. Protein needs aside, in a marathon, dehydrated from being a wine sponge, and with temps increasing, cheese is not going to rank highly on the list of sought-after nourishment. By the grace of the running gods, we only had one more table left, and this one fit the bill.

With less than a kilometer to go, we grabbed our final treat of the day (not wine): ice cream. Well, in American terms, this was really more like a fruit popsicle, but it worked well. As it dripped in the sun, we finished the final straightaway, crossing in a none-too-impressive 3:52. However, given the number of times we stopped for minutes at a time to feast on anything but ideal running food, plus the 20+ swigs of wine, we can count this as a fairly decent effort. Our finisher's tent provided an abundance of meats, cheese, wine, beer, and other snacks, and we sat in chairs in the sun, relishing in our journey. As full as you can ever possibly be after 42K, we left the tent to the street which was bustling with activity from food/drink stands to a full stage with music. Having just changed our clothes, the clouds crashed in and a downpour began. Sprinting (as best we could) we hid under table umbrellas with some locals, squished together awkwardly, and awaited better weather. When it stopped we enjoyed a few beers with the runners and spectators while watching television broadcasts on the big screen of aid stations on the course before starting the long walk back to the buses. With about an hour to kill, we sat and watched many people coming back from the race in various states of fatigue and inebriation, many of them still trapped in their costumes. It was a heavy-eyed ride back to the city for an evening out before a much-needed crash. 

It may sound ridiculous, even painful, but Marathon du Medoc easily makes the list of must-do races for the marathon runner. This is due in whole to the absolute absurdity from beginning to (long after the) end and for no other reason. Tack on a decent, undulating course through a beautiful landscape, enthusiastic volunteers, and quality organization if you must, but we all know why you are really out there. It's the only race where the party is bigger on the course than after the finish!

Bolivia

Seven years ago I came down to Bolivia to climb two mountains. After completing the first mountain (Illimani - 2nd tallest), I was pretty destroyed, distraught, and depressed. I opted not to go for the second mountain (Sajama - tallest) and instead flew home, with my dream of Everest on hold, if not extinguished. 

Now I have returned solely for the purpose of climbing that missed peak. It is the highest in Ecuador, and due to unforeseen circumstances on this trip, the highest I will have ever climbed thus far. Seven years is a long time to think about redeeming yourself on something that maybe you should have done the first time if you had just been stronger, tougher, more focused.

Like everything on this trip, the plans changed quickly. Upon arriving in La Paz, I was told by my guide that instead of driving to the park and climbing to base camp on the first day we would instead drive to the park and stay in a "hostel." Then we would climb directly to the high camp the next day. This would mean one less night in a tent and instead sleeping in the bed. However, it would make the climb longer on the first & last day, which considering we go for the summit at midnight is essentially the same day. I was cold all day and the ride took 8 hours to get there. I was not pleased and when we found our hostel, I learned it was just an adobe hut that had a toilet but no running water so I had to flush it by dumping a bucket of water in it. It did have electricity and there was a weak cell phone signal if I stood outside. Chilled to the bone I went to bed under four blankets with everything warm that I brought. 

Sajama morning, afternoon and night 

Morning was not much better. 6:00 a.m. breakfast and pile into the car to head to the start of the climb. It was cold but like all climbs it warmed up in time. We hiked from the road out to the base camp and then up the ridge. It was easy walking and did not take all that long. However, once we started up the Northwest Ridge, things got more difficult. It was all volcanic ash and scree and for every step I took I lost at least 50% of the distance sliding downwards. This was energy draining and frustrating. However, the climb that was supposed to take 7 hours was done in under 5. The problem for me was that we had porters and had not seen them the whole day. This meant that my climbing gear and warm clothes and the tents and food were with the porters hours behind us. I laid on a rocky plateau for 4 hours waiting for the porters to arrive, tired from the hike, wind, and sun. Our guide had to hike back down and help them. It would be after 5:00 p.m. before our tents were set up. We'd climbed 1000m to high camp (5650m) and still had more scree and scrambling before the snow ridge. The climb began after midnight.

Dinner (and the next day's lunch) of champions 

High camp looking up 100m to the summit 

This mountain is best viewed in about five parts. 

Part 1: The Scree

Even though most of the way up the mountain to this point had been scree, after a short rest at high camp we are greeted with another patch of disgusting, slippery, ash. For 1 hour we worked our way up this scree field, in huge mountain boots, sliding all over the place. The beginning of a climb is always tiring and you need to establish a rhythm by putting your head down and just moving up the mountain. This was impossible here. 

Part 2: The Gully

After 1 hour, we hit crampon point and put on the crampons to climb a steep snow gully. Normally this would present no problem but the ice on this mountain was pretty crusty. We roped up for about two and a half pitches and made it to the top. It would be the best part of the climb up. 

Part 3: The Ridge Traverse

At the top of the gully the snow stopped and rock resumed. Unfortunately, we were in our big mountain boots and crampons at this point so, while a little bit of scrambling over rock walls can be fun on a climb, it was torture at this point. The crampons made eerie scraping noises as we worked our way across rock, up cracks, and around boulders. 

Part 4: Penitentes 

Spanish for "huge pain in my ass," the next part of the climb were the dreaded penitentes. These are knee, often hip, sometimes even shoulder-high pinnacles of ice that have formed from the wind and the melt on the ridge. They're incredibly difficult to climb through, and my guide kept hacking the tops off these as we went. At first, I thought this was to make it easier for me to go through when I was following, then I thought it would be easier for us to climb down by having a clear route. At last, I decided that he wasn't doing this for any logistical reasons and was instead pounding the crap out of the mountain out of pure frustration. 

The dreaded penitentes 

Part 5: The Dome

The last part of the climb is the prominent snow dome that can be seen from all sides of the mountain. This should be an easy portion of the climb, but the ice was particularly bad making for slippery a sand and descent. 

Sajama is known for three things: the wind, the penitentes, and the scree. While the latter two were prominent, thankfully, the wind was down for the first part of our climb. It was an incredibly frustrating first hour up through the screen, constantly slipping off the trail, sliding backwards, and just not having any purchase in our footholds. It was incredibly draining to start a climb this way. My hands were cold immediately and I was concerned that this was the mark of more bad things to come. However, my guide swapped me gloves and using the mittens he provided and a hand warmer, my fingers soon came back to functionality and stayed that way for most of the climb. 

Climbing up the gully and traversing the rock ridge went fine early in the climb although not easy. When we hit the penitentes, our patience was minimal. This section of the climb is incredibly hard to navigate because you can't just keep moving forward. Each step requires careful foot placement and a lot of navigating around the obstacles. Not only was it challenging on the surface, but to this point we had seemingly gained very little elevation. My watch was showing that we were moving at just over 100m per hour, which is incredibly slow. I was willing to give up some pace for the technical difficulty, but this was ridiculous. 

The penitentes are supposed to end by 6,300m, but by 6100m we were out of the danger. Later, I would find that this was because my watch was not reading accurately. However, at the time, we still had quite a ways to go and I was growing increasingly tired of the pace my guide was setting. He was stopping often, which left me getting colder and colder. My mantra was to just put my head down and plow forward. The wind had now picked up and chilled me to the bone. Just as I was about to lose all of my patience, we hit a huge crevasse. The guy suggested we go sit in the bottom of it to get out of the wind and think about what to do. It was obvious his hands were freezing so I offered him a hand warmer. We started up the crevasse again and decided to work our way around it, safely passing. From here we continued up the dome, albeit much slower than I would have preferred. 

After trudging forward for a while, the slope lessened, and we were on the top of the mountain. At first I did not believe it. My watch was reading at only about 6,300m. All of the peaks around us looked just as high, if not higher. But as the sun began to rise, it became obvious we were on the summit; there just was nowhere else to go. It was very flat (they have even played a soccer match up here) and there was nothing reachable within miles, reinforcing that we were in fact on top of mountain. After taking the summit photo, we warmed up a little bit with the dawn, and then started back down. It would be one of the worst climbing experiences of my life. I have been very cold, I have been in bad wind, and I've been very tired. However, none of those factors were an issue this time. 

Summit 6,542 m (21,463 ft)

The mountain casts its shadow just after sunrise on our way down.

The route down was just a frustrating mess. Starting with the dome, the hard ice made down climbing particularly dangerous. We had to go much slower than I would have liked in order to not risk a slip and fall. After a long slog down one step at a time, we reached the dreaded penitentes. Navigating through these going down was 100 times worse than it was going up. Every foot placement had to be carefully calculated as the ice formations would crumble the slightest step. The height of the ice pinnacles made stepping down over them particularly challenging. If the ice broke or you slipped, you got an icicle the size of a toddler up your butt. This went on for far longer than I would ever wish upon anyone. When the awful section was over, we had some dangerous down climbing on rocks. Again, with crampons on, this was much harder than it should have been. All necessary rock technique was called upon to skirt this section of the ridge. Nearly exhausted, we hit the ice gully, and again, what should have been a simple down climb was far more challenging than expected. We alternated belays, not wanting to risk a fall so close to the end. What could have been 5 minutes of down climbing or 15 minutes of rappels was more like 30 to 45 minutes. Finally, we took off the crampons, but the work was not done. I still had to navigate the scree field and this became the crux of the climb. In all of my heavy gear I was sweating, tired, and frustrated with this peak, but it would not let me go. I hiked down with rocks sliding out from underneath me and I fell numerous times, covering my sweaty body and gear with silt and dust. After climbing all night, it is quite debilitating to fall on your ass repeatedly. 

We finally made camp and I had a few choice words for this mountain. We packed hastily, and thankfully the porters were there to take my bag down. However, it may have skipped my mind (or likely been blocked out) that we now had a huge down climb in the scree field. Again I fell repeatedly as any given step could send hundreds of pounds of rock sliding, not just a foot or two, but tumbling down the mountain. Not only is this incredibly frustrating and energy zapping, but it's very dangerous too. Huge rocks can tumble hundreds of feet and take out anyone that was hiking ahead of me. Rocks, dust, and dirt all seeped into my shoes leading to more discomfort than had already accumulated. The scree section lasted for long enough to drive me absolutely crazy. As the sun beat down, we struggled further and further away from the mountain eventually reaching the flats again. However, we still had several miles to hike out and although the trail was much better, it was hot and it was a long climb and I was very exhausted by the time we hit the road. I had been on the move for 14 hours and was quite ready to be finished. The climb had been about 900m elevation gain to the summit, and then about 2,500m down to the road.

View from near base camp (which we didn't use). High camp is on the ridge to the left.

Whenever you're on a mountain you're probably alone somewhat, no matter who else is around. It's just an isolating thing to be in such a huge space with so few people, sometimes confined to your tent alone or walking solitary along the trail. I was flabbergasted that on the country's tallest peak we were the only ones there. There was not another team going up or coming down. Only when we came down from on high past the base came did we see people heading up. I felt sorry for them, knowing what lie ahead. 

I was pretty exhausted, dehydrated, and disappointed. I'd been climbing for half a day (essentially all night) with nothing but a mad packing job at high camp as respite. A quick trip to the hot springs post-climb was probably the highlight of this endeavor. This may be the highest mountain in Bolivia, but that's all it has going for it. I would definitely recommend skipping it as there are far better climbs out there. However, at the end of the day, I summited, knocked off a peak that had sent me home earlier 7 years ago, and I'd also reached my highest altitude yet.

Hot springs post climb with Sajama in the background.

My last meal in the mountains: alpaca