the tree line and the clouds, it was like walking on Mars or a comparably alien landscape. Some days we walked over large plateaus, while others found us on our hands and knees climbing up large walls. My body never felt right. One has to pass wind about twelve times an hour when moving through these altitudes, an unglamorous secret about the hike. Our enthusiasm as a group waned, and I found myself relying more and more on Ken for strength. On our sixth night, we stopped early at Camp Barafu. I didn’t even pretend to sleep. At 11:30 p.m., I readied myself for the final climb. I struggled into six layers on my top half, including a down parka, and four layers on the bottom (I was still cold the whole time). I was winded walking from the sleeping tent to the food tent. At these heights, three breaths are equal to one taken at sea level. An hour into the hike, my legs began to give way. As we were scrambling over gravel (known as scree) at a nearly vertical incline, it was hard not to slip backwards. Even with headlights on, we had no idea of the path that just seemed to endlessly zigzag. We were tired; however, if we stopped, we would freeze as quickly as our “camel packs” of water had. The only times I found myself picking up my pace was to get past the numerous hikers vomiting or suffering from heart palpitations by the side of the path. I strongly questioned whether I was going to have a heart attack, as my heart was beating at what seemed (to me) an excessive rate. At that point, half of our group turned back. I decided that no matter what, I would finish. When our guide announced that only 2,000 feet remained, I was suddenly re-energized. I was going in and out of consciousness. Sometimes, I was certain my dead grandmother was cheering me on. I imagined that the large mittens dangling off my poles were dogs attacking me. We all The author and Ken at Uhuru Point, the tallest point in Africa at 19,341 feet. At that height, you can see the curve of the earth and 360 degree views of the African landscape. became machines with no rational thought other than the common goal of reaching the top. At 7 a.m., we reached Stella Point, which sits 300 feet from the tallest part of Kilimanjaro. We watched the sun rise and then began our final push (another hour) to Uhuru Point, the ceiling of Africa. Despite reports to the contrary, there is still plenty of snow and glaciers to walk through. When I finally reached Uhuru, I was so tired that I couldn’t even open my mouth. If it wasn’t for my porter, I wouldn’t have pictures from the top. Ken and I hugged and then spent a few minutes looking down. It was so high that we could see the curvature of the earth; we began to understand the true scope and scale of our planet. Someone said it was like finishing three marathons back-toback. Simply put, it was awesome. I underestimated the climb down, which was equally as difficult as the climb up. Dirt got in my lungs, and I couldn’t breathe. When I returned to base camp, we had one hour to sleep. I drank three juice boxes and then descended to 10,000 feet. All in all, 20 of these 24 hours were spent hiking. We spent one last night on the mountain and then walked straight downhill for three hours. It was with mixed emotions because I was so excited I had made it and yet, it was best to be cautious about our joy since half of our group didn’t. At the bottom we were presented with certificates to document our success. We headed back to the lodge, popped champagne and said our goodbyes. Ken graciously gave me the first shower, and I stood under it for over an hour. It was almost a profound religious experience. I’d never felt so alive. After returning home, I found this quote by Aleister Crowley from his first attempt to climb K2, “I had done it myself and found not only that the pearl of great price was worth far more than I possessed, but also that the very peril and privations of the quest were themselves my dearest memories.” I couldn’t agree more.