We Summitted! But How?

Author's note: A huge shoutout to the amazing Ashly Winchester for the photos.

In the words of famed fictional lawyer Elle Woods, "we did it." Reflecting a month later, I still can't fully comprehend that not only that we summitted Mt. Shasta, but that each of the right conditions -- environmental, physical, mental, and emotional -- coalesced together to make it happen.

To answer the question on everyone's minds...

How Did It Go?

To put bluntly, it was the hardest, stupidest, and most gratifying thing I've ever done in my life. Half joking aside, there is one concept you need to understand upfront before reading this: Type 1 vs. Type 2 fun. As the blogger Outward Bound phrases it:

Type 1 Fun?is what we all seek out when hitting the outdoors: it’s a good time, we enjoy ourselves and it’s simply just fun.

Type 2 Fun, on the other hand, is not actually fun in the moment, but it’s fun to reminisce about later. Consider the feeling of doing a very difficult hike straight up a mountain pass... These aren’t necessarily?fun?activities, in fact, they’re pretty uncomfortable, but they’re part of what makes an adventure. The lessons and stories that come out of Type 2 Fun are what make it all worth it.?

Climbing Mt. Shasta was the very definition of Type 2 fun. Remember, I've never hiked a snow-covered mountain and, far less, went camping before this. The possibility of summitting Shasta was not guaranteed. Doing so a day before or after were impossible with summer thunderstorms and high winds. However, God willing, we hit the 3-day climb period that provided an open window to get to the top.

From the start at Bunny Flat

The hardest fundraising question over the last 6 months has been, "How many miles is it?" If you must know now, it was 10.1 miles (trail map here). What cannot be emphasized enough was that it was 7,217?ft elevation gain starting at 7000 ft above sea-level. If you recall, 7000 ft in elevation is when my friends had to turn back at Half Dome because of elevation sickness due to lower oxygen levels.

Our journey started at the inaptly named Bunny Flat trailhead with 21 volunteer climbers and 10 professional guides from Shasta Mountain Guides . The trailhead was covered with snow. Each of us were responsible for carrying ~50 lb of gear in our own packs, including sleeping gear, food, and even an ice-axe. We divided up into our respective rope teams of 2 guides and 4-5 climbers and made our way up 2000 ft. to base camp right south of Helen Lake. We named our team Fourzenegger in honor of our patron saint Arnold Schwarzenegger.

There were two takeaways made incredibly apparent on our first day's climb: 1. I still hate snow hiking and 2. consistent, periodic snacking was critical to combatting the calories being burned. At every hour, I devoured Clif Bloks and stowed-away snacks from the LinkedIn office (shout out to our sponsors Clif Bar for the tasty calories).

After a five-hour hike, we made it to base camp where takeaway one was addressed. Our guides Carl and Nick put us to task at snow school where we learned how to climb up steep icy ascents, how to fall without impaling yourself with your ice axe, and glissading. If we were lucky, they said, we could glissade down from the mountain top, which meant sliding down the mountain on your rear-end like a sled. Glissading became a top priority for our rope team.

With those lessons in mind, we went to our tents at 7 pm after a hearty dinner, and readied ourselves for a 1 am start.

Day 2: The Ascent

At 1 am, Carl and Nick tapped at our tents to wake us up. Honestly, my legs were so cold that I had already been awake for 30 minutes. Outside was pitch-black dark and about 12 degrees Fahrenheit. Starting at night was required in order for the snow-now-ice to be hard enough provide traction up the mountain. Snow too soft would mean a Sisyphean?effort filled with slipping and sliding. Our path ahead was glittered by the small white dots of headlamps from rope teams further head, and the occasional red light from a posted guide.

Truthfully, I considered giving up very early on. From the start, I hyperventilated up the steep grades. My chest burned against negative thoughts swirling like, "You're an idiot. Why did you sign up for it? You're so stupid." Carl pulled me aside and soothingly uttered "Tranquilo. You need to relax."

As we kept going, I pushed myself to practice positive manifestation. I quit the negative self-talk and started internally doling out affirmations like "You got this girl! Yas, you made it to that next ridge! One more turn and you get your next break!" . Internally singing the lyrics of Jordin Sparks' "One Step at a Time" helped too. "One step at a time, there's no need to rush."

By 9 am, we reached the Red Banks at 12,820 feet elevation. We had to climb less than 2000 ft more to get to the summit, yet only had a 4-hour window before the weather became to warm. Our next milestones including traversing through a 3 ft. wide ice bridge between Konwakiton Glacier and a literal hole, followed by the rock hill known as Misery Hill. Suffice it to say, the name Misery Hill was accurate. We dodged rolling rocks kicked by hikers ahead. The air smelled acrid of volcanic sulfur. The thinning oxygen gave me tunnel vision and a throbbing headache, only made better by an Advil at 13,800 ft.

After the hardest last 300 ft climb, we -- the very last group -- made it to the top right before our 30-minute feasibility window closed.

What goes up, must come down

In contrast to the climb, coming down felt like a breeze. It was not without its challenges. Going up a 70 degree ice-covered hill also meant going down a 70 degree mushy snow-covered hill. The dripping snow forced me to ignore deadly looking heights and just proceed along with no thought.

Back at Red Banks, we got the green light to glissade. The banks hosted a handful of third-party climbers with skis and snowboards. Our vehicle was going to be our rear-ends and waterproof pants. The morning climb that took 7 hours turned into a 30-minute slide-on-your-rear joy ride. The dream of sliding right into my tent came to fruition.

Returning to the Real World

I spent the last two weeks debating how to end this post. It felt wrong to end this journey simply summarizing how we climbed down on the third day or to recap how much money we fundraised. As time has progressed, I feel more aware of the million tiny little uncontrollable factors that made this moment work at this time with these people.

A month and a half, I sit typing with a broken leg (a story for another time). I am reminded of a quote from actor John Leguizamo:

"Sometimes you can't control everything, and maybe just being open to fate -- maybe that's the choice."