A Story of Puke, Perseverance, and Possibility on Mt. Kilimanjaro

One Man’s Battle Against the Mountain, His Mind, and His Own Stomach

I climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro in the summer of 2024.

The days were long and the terrain was steep. Very, very steep.

I had a lot of time to think about what I wanted to write about our adventure.

The answer became obvious to me on day five, of eight, as we were at 13,000 feet climbing the 850-foot-tall Barranco Wall.

I want to share my perspective on my friend and climbing partner, Kyle's experience.

And I want to do that for a few reasons.

One is so that his young daughters get a glimpse into the kind of man their father is through the eyes of a friend.

The other is because we’re all Kyle. And the lessons Kyle learned from this experience can help us all.

We all have limiting beliefs that hold us back, wounds we need to heal, and demons we wrestle with.

Kyle, by his own admission, showed up woefully physically and mentally unprepared for this challenge.

He’d convinced himself he’d done enough to prepare, when in fact, he’d done far too little.

That became painfully obvious on day one. And probably about minute ten.

Sick with some kind of food poisoning and exhausted from the effort, he very nearly pulled the plug on day one.

The bastard actually got up in the middle of the night and, in a desperate bid to make it out of the tent, puked on my sandals.

Yes, that happened.

The smell is a burden I will carry with me to my grave. And likely well beyond.

But he got up on day two, looking like death warmed over, and decided to continue. In my mind, that took an incredible amount of determination.

Naturally, the second day was about seven and a half hours of very, very steep climbing under the unforgiving Tanzanian sun.

Keep in mind, what I thought was steep on day two is not what I considered steep after day seven.

Every step was an effort for Kyle. His legs were cramping badly. Every single muscle was exhausted.

Every corner revealed another steep pitch to climb, and I would hear Kyle mutter under his breath, “Oh god…”

But he kept going. Left. Right. Left. Right.

He spent the evening dejected and scared about what was left to come. Thankfully, he made it through the night without puking on my footwear.

Day three was the easiest day and mostly flat. Kyle started the day exhausted, and even the relatively easy terrain seemed to be asking more of him than he had left to give.

Shortly after we started, he breathlessly said, “The inner narrative is really, really bad right now.”

He was beating himself up for being slow, for being overweight, for being unprepared, for being the weak link.

But he kept going. Left. Right. Left. Right.

And on the evening of day three, sitting in our tent at 14,000 feet, something happened.

It was like a switch flipped in his mind.

He started believing he was going to make it.

He realized that he didn’t have to let that horrible inner dialogue dictate his present and future.

He accepted that while his body was not prepared, his mind could take him further than he ever believed possible.

All he had to do was keep going. Left. Right. Left. Right.

At some point, I shared the idea of the Pain Cave I learned from ultra-marathon runner Courtney Dauwalter.

I’d check in often with Kyle to see how deep in the Pain Cave he was. I was always met with, “Deep.”

On a semi-related note, somehow Kyle singing Swahili profanity to the tune of "My Heart Will Go On" to get him through the most difficult moments became a thing.

None of our shenanigans made our guides laugh harder.

As I watched this unfold, I became more and more inspired. I wondered, and still do, if I have ever pushed myself to this level for this long in anything I’ve ever done.

The next day was up to 15,200 feet for a short acclimatization period, then back down to 13,000.

We saw the camp, but of course, on Kilimanjaro, nothing is ever that simple.

There was a massive canyon between us and the camp. It was a steep, rocky, forty-five-minute descent followed immediately by a very steep climb back up the other side.

By this time, you know what happened next.

Kyle knuckled down and got it done. Left. Right. Left. Right.

By this time, he was chronically exhausted but marveling at what he had accomplished already and becoming increasingly confident about making the summit.

Which is a perfect segue to summit night.

We woke up at 11 PM, in the pitch dark and the cold of 15,000 feet.

We turned on our headlamps and headed out…or rather, up. Straight up.

Kyle was exhausted immediately. And we only had eight and a half hours to the Summit. No biggie.

Picture looking up, and all you can see is headlamps that seem directly above you and so far away they are hard to distinguish from the stars in the sky.

And no matter how long you hike, it never changes.

Kyle’s entire world narrowed to the next step. Absolute and full presence directed to the task at hand and achieving the goal.

When we’d rest, Kyle would lay his head in his hands and make the guttural noises of a man in physical and emotional agony.

Our guides were beautifully relentless in allowing very brief breaks before the inevitable command of, “Ready. Let’s push.”

And Kyle pushed. Every single fucking time. Over the rocks. Through the slippery scree. Like a boss.

Nothing was going to stop him from achieving his goal.

The guides told us that when we got to Stella Point at 18,600 feet, it would be easy the rest of the way to the Summit.

They lied. They did that a lot and it was probably a good thing.

As we approached the top, we were treated to the most spectacular sunrise I have ever seen.

It’s something I will remember for at least half as long as the smell of Kyle’s vomit on my sandals.

At 7:30 AM, we arrived at the Summit. Seven days. Intense geographical, physical, and emotional highs and lows. We made it.

We hugged each other tightly, took some pictures, and realized our beautiful ideas of reflection and reverence at the Summit were ridiculous.

The cold and the wind saw to that.

We still had another seven hours to go to the next camp.

As we lay in our tent that night, at five in the morning, Kyle shared some of the profoundly life-changing insights he’s taken from this experience.

He’s realized how much more capable he is than he’s ever given himself credit for.

He’s realized the power of focus and presence and how the idea of “Left. Right. Left. Right.” can be applied to so many areas of his life.

And he’s realized those voices in all our heads, telling us we’re not good enough and that we can’t, are only as powerful as we allow them to be.

Kyle seized back that power on the side of that mountain.

I know there will be many more revelations to come as the days and months ahead unfold.

Kyle strode out of the camp for the last three-hour hike to the bus with an inspiring sense of purpose and power.

Of course, before long, his exhausted body was soon “walking” like he was simultaneously afflicted with every neurological-degenerative disease known to man.

I’m not sure how he stayed upright , but I couldn’t help taking a video while I laughed in my head at his last bit of suffering.

Maybe he’ll let me share it someday.

Kyle, thank you for making this experience happen.

Thank you for being the kind of friend that made me know I had to share this with you.

Thank you for inspiring me to make some long overdue changes in my own life.

Thank you for being so committed to your family and for all the loving stories you shared with me about them along the way.

Thank you for reminding me what’s possible when you bring everything you have to bear in the pursuit of a goal that matters to you.

And fuck you for not cleaning your puke off my sandals.♥️