Cliff Bars and Cliff Edges :: When Trekking Becomes a Vertical Marathon

Today was, hands down, the toughest day of my life. Mentally. Physically. Spiritually. But before we get to my impending breakdown, let’s talk about the fun stuff.

Last night? A toasty -20°C. My water bottle froze solid — free ice! Bir, my trusty guide and advisor on life and hydration, casually suggested I sleep with a water bottle to avoid brushing my teeth with glacier shards. Thanks, Bir. You’re full of great ideas. At sunrise, a bunch of exhausted trekkers slowly emerged from their huts like groggy bears. I powered through two cups of black coffee because that’s apparently what mountaineering heroes do.

Then Bir hits me with today’s “plan”: hike to a tiny village six mountains away before lunch. I squint, trying to locate this mythical village, only to realize it’s practically in another time zone. “Sure, no problem, Bir. We’ll teleport there.” We take a pic, I zoom in 10x to actually spot the village, and off we go.

Some divine chanting starts in the dining room (auspicious?), and with enough layers to qualify as a walking laundry pile, we set off. The sunrise over the 8,000-meter peaks? Breathtaking. The part where we get stuck behind a yak traffic jam on a path barely wide enough for a foot? Less breathtaking. Some lady ahead of me starts fuming because the yak-herd is… herding? She’s like, “Why’s he yelling at the yaks?!” I wanted to say, “Madam, you think he should kindly ask them to move? Or write a formal letter?”

Anyway, after dodging yaks and climbing forever, I ran into a young couple from Germany who blasted past me with their superior pace. I waved them off like, “Go ahead, folks, I’ll be here for the rest of eternity.”

After an hour, we hit some serious elevation gain. I’ve become a walking water fountain by now, sweating so much it’s like I’m hooked up to a fire hose. We hike through brutal winds, thankfully shadowed by the mountain for a bit. By then, I’m running on fumes and praying the trail goes downhill… then we spot the tiniest village with two huts and some kids.

Naturally, I decided to share my delicious Cliff bar with the kids, and their faces were a mixture of shock and betrayal. They hate me now, but the mom kindly accepted my peace offering of Snickers bars — true kid-approved candy.

Onward we go, Bir and I trekking along a 12-inch path that hugs the mountain on one side and drops off into a 1,000-meter abyss on the other. It’s now snowing because apparently, Mother Nature decided we weren’t suffering enough. The view? Stunning. My legs? Like lead. My brain? Telling me, “Do you want me to focus on breathing, staying warm, or not falling off this cliff? Pick one. I can't do all dude.”

By the time we reached a bustling village of three huts, I was practically crawling. A hot bowl of noodle soup saved my life. Bir, being the relentless guide he is, hustled me back onto the trail after lunch. And now, at 5,500 meters, my body was done. Every step felt like running a marathon in quicksand. Still, the snow-covered peaks looked epic, so there’s that. Now we are scrambling across scree on the side of a mountain. There are supposed to be guide ropes to help but oh well! Nepal government decided to spend their money elsewhere. Bir can sense that my sense of balance is non-existent (more on that later), and cautions me to follow him exactly - that I can do.

Finally, after what felt like years, we made it to our next stop. Bir’s little device told us we climbed the equivalent of 450 flights today (FYI, Burj Khalifa has 160 flights — at sea level!). My calves are on strike, my knees think I’m 90, and my brain has completely checked out.

Dinner was a blessed plate of egg fried rice, and over the meal, Bir asked how I train for balance. When I showed him pictures of my Bosu ball and medicine ball, he laughed so hard he almost fell off his chair. Not great for my self-esteem, but I’ll survive.

Tomorrow? Another sweaty day. Time to shove that water bottle in my sleeping bag and pass out.