“Suffering is a privilege,” Coach Chris said. This set the tone for our first endurance event at 29029 Everesting, in August. Founded in 2017 by three entrepreneurs/endurance athletes, the event is held at six different locations throughout the year. The number of ascents and elevation gained per hike is different at each mountain. This year, Andrew and I picked Snowbasin, Utah.

 

At Snowbasin, to reach 29,029 feet, the vertical height of Mt. Everest, you hike up the mountain 13 times, take the gondola down, turn right, brand your ascent on the board, and repeat. Each hike is 2.3 miles with a gain of 2,310 ft—approximately 30 miles. And you have 36 hours to complete it between 6 am Friday and 6 pm Saturday to earn your red hat—yes, a literal red hat—the symbol you have completed Everest.

In preparing for this event, I learned about two types of fun—type 1 and type 2. Type 1 is simple fun, like watching a movie, date night, or social gatherings. Type 2 fun is exploring your limits and pushing yourself physically, emotionally, and mentally. It’s the stuff that’s hard but rewarding afterward.

29029 Everesting is Type 2 fun. The event is built on the foundation of bringing together a diverse, yet like-minded community of people from all over the country—each with their own story and purpose, yet linked together in the pursuit of pushing boundaries, celebrating achievements, experiencing new adventures, overcoming obstacles and meaningfully connecting with others.

The event kicked off on Thursday with short break-out sessions on strategy for nutrition, gear, and how to conquer the climbs. There were also inspiring speeches from the co-founders and coaches. Andrew and I retired to our glamping tent around 7:30 p.m., knowing we had an early start the next morning and unsure if we would be able to sleep over the next 36 hours. Breakfast started at 4:30 a.m., followed by the kick-off at 6 a.m. This turned out to be a wise decision as we didn’t get a full night’s sleep again until Saturday night at ten.

At 5:45 a.m., with our headlamps on and in the company of 250 other like-minded people, we gathered at the mountain’s base like fireflies flashing in harmony, eager to begin our individual quests. Colin O’Brady, one of the co-founders and an elite endurance athlete, energized us with some inspiration, “One step at a time,” “One more encouraging pat on the back to a stranger,” “This is an opportunity, embrace the one’s,” the blow-horn signaled the start, and we began our first ascent.

In the first half mile, the mountain offers 500 ft. of elevation gain. That doesn’t sound terrible, right? It’s brutal. Every step to 500 ft. and beyond, you feel like the mountain is pressing against every footstep, challenging your hip flexors, quads, calves, and achilles to dig in more while navigating the uneven, rocky, and steep terrain. It dares you to keep your heart rate down as you climb higher and higher, making breath work a critical component of the climb.

In that first section, I silently wondered, can I repeat these 12 more times? What will this feel like after ascents 4, 6, 8, and so on? It was too early to ask that question. I had no clue which ascents would be more challenging than others. I didn’t know when I would hit the inevitable wall, but I knew there would be one. Would I avoid altitude sickness, and would my digestive system stay calm and not turn into a rolling sea?

Andrew and I hiked the first three ascents with an average time of 80-90 minutes. On the gondola ride down, we texted the family with early updates, elevated our legs, hydrated, and refueled. It felt like a sustainable pace until the end of ascent three when I hit my first wall. My right hip flexor was tightening up, and I felt some early fatigue. It was too fast, too soon. A calculated risk, I opted to break for an early lunch to refuel, take a break from the heat, and tend to my hip while Andrew tackled ascent four.

As expected, there were peaks and valleys for the rest of 29029, testing my will, body, and mental fortitude. The maddening middle squeezed me like a vice. Each effort to the summit grew longer, nearing almost three hours to complete. Barely able to lift my right leg and knowing it was slowing me down, I broke for dinner and the recovery room after the fifth ascent. I wished I could have finished six hikes before dinner. With this early and lengthy break, I knew I would likely need to hike through the night. After almost an hour of the therapists digging into my hip flexor, sartoris, and psoas to ease the pain, I started climbing again near dusk. At this point, Andrew and I were on our own journeys but stayed connected to each other through texts when we would reach an aid station or ride down in the gondola.

I loved night hiking. The cooler air provided welcome relief from the hot, piercing sun. The sounds of nature offered a quiet calm, only to be broken up by the wonderful, supportive, and outgoing volunteers at the aid stations cheering you on to songs like Walk of Life and Highway to Hell blasting through the speakers to rally you forward. After a cup of noodles from the summit aid station and a short nap on a bench in the lodge, I began ascent 8 around 3:30 a.m. and witnessed the sunrise as I neared the summit.

Seeing the orange fire wake up the sky, I stopped, turned to face it, and paused. It was a privilege to be here. “I get to do this,” I thought to myself. The sunrise spoke to my soul and awakened a deep sense of gratitude, peace, and energy. Feeling mentally and physically recharged and breathing in the sweet smell of the wildflowers along the way, I started ascent nine. I had rediscovered a faster pace and hoped to hold onto it for the next four hikes to finish in time and earn my red hat.

Unfortunately, the faster pace disappeared as quick as the morning dew when the heat and fatigue rolled in and almost buried me like an avalanche. Each of the next two ascents took just a little over two hours. With four hours left to complete two more for the red hat, less than a two-hour pace would be needed to finish by the cut-off time.

One of the fantastic benefits of 29029 is the coaches. If you want to finish, they will do everything to help you reach that goal. Coach Devon and I ran into each other on my ninth hike, and she asked how I was feeling. I told her I felt renewed, and I felt like I could finish. She said, “If you want to finish, we will make sure you finish.” As she headed down the mountain to help others, my intuition told me I might see her again. And, just like that, when every minute mattered, Coach Devon showed up for my last two ascents to push the pace and help me finish.

Like everyone else grinding it out, I was physically exhausted. Andrew was also on ascent 12 but further ahead. At one point, he didn’t know if he could finish because of a searing pain in his hip. But he overcame the discomfort and continued the climb. At this stage, you cannot give your pain a name. You must silence it and fight the battle between your mind and body, resisting the urge to give up.

Coach Devon set a grueling pace in the hot sun. We finished ascent 12 in one hour and 48 minutes. Every time I attempted to pause for a stretch, take a drink of water, or check my heart rate, she said: “You can’t stop,” and I replied, with sweat dripping down my face, “I know.” Stopping at the aid stations was out of the question. There was no extra time to spare. I kept walking while Devon ran over to grab refueling options as we continued to hike. I am forever grateful to her and the volunteers who dunked my hat in the ice-cold water to keep me cool.

Step by step, Devon and I found a rhythm. She walked in front, and I looked at her feet in front of me, falling in line behind her footsteps and hiking sticks, beat for beat. As we reached the summit, I was a zombie. My tank was so empty I couldn’t even suck on the watermelon flavored Jolly Rancher in my mouth. It sat perched halfway out of my lips, barely hanging on like me.

On the gondola ride down, with one ascent left to achieve the red hat and two hours on the clock, I said, “I don’t think I can do the final one. Maybe the red bib is enough.” She asked if I had a why and if I would be satisfied with stopping at the red bib and not trying to finish. As I shared my why, my mind shifted. I went from thinking about quitting to thinking, “What if I can finish?” I gave life to my “I can do that” personality trait, even if I wasn’t exuberant about it. I asked, “Will you do it with me?” She replied, “Do you trust me?” I said, “Yes.”

With one hour and 55 minutes left to make it to the summit and achieve Everest, I wobbled off the gondola, looking like one of those inflatable tube dolls dancing outside of car dealerships. As Coach Brent draped the red bib over me to mark my final ascent, and Devon grabbed water and dunked my hat, I composed my legs and steeled my mind for the slugfest ahead. We had to make it to the first aid station in 35 minutes, the cut-off time. As we began our climb, I saw Andrew about ¾ of the way up the steepest part of the trail. I wasn’t that far behind, and if I didn’t stop, I had a chance.

In the same footfall rhythm, we made it to both aid stations three minutes faster than the previous ascent. I followed Coach Devon’s advice and didn’t look up at the steepest parts of the hike—and I didn’t dare ask, “Are we there yet?” to the next aid station or when the incline would ease. If I had, I’m sure it would have come out like a whiny kid in the back seat on a family road trip. At this point, I knew where we were, even if I wasn’t looking ahead.

After aid station two, there are two steep and rocky sections with tricky footing. Devon checked the time, looked at me, and said: “You cannot stop on this part. You must keep moving. If you don’t stop, I will give you Gatorade at the service road.” I appreciated the incentive, even if I felt like she was holding my liquids hostage. When we got to the long, winding, and rocky service road—the last section before the summit with its own set of challenges, she looked at the time and said, “I think we’re going to make it.” And I got some Gatorade.

With 13 minutes left on the clock, I earned my Everest. Devon and I hugged and cried as pride, relief and fatigue washed over us. Walking towards the red hat, I saw Andrew. He finished with 45 minutes to spare. We hugged each other tightly, proud of each other for conquering our own mountains.

One of my goals during 29029 was to shed some heavy self-limiting beliefs on each ascent.

• I said see ya later to the notion that I’m not athletic. Athleticism isn’t just about what we are physically capable of; it’s also about our mental grit and resilience and it looks different for everyone. I reaffirmed both of those on the mountain.
• I said goodbye to “Am I valuable enough?”
• I said goodbye to “Am I smart enough?”
• I said goodbye to some other negative self-talk that no longer serves me.

What we say to ourselves matters. What we say to others matters. All the little digs we say to ourselves and receive from others add up and weigh us down. And anytime those negative thoughts try to make an appearance, I think about what I accomplished at 29029 Everesting and keep climbing.  I can’t wait to do it again at Whistler in August 2024!

PS: Enjoy this great recap video from the event: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qnPHGD6gVj0