Aconcagua & Ojos del Salado — The Defining Test
By the end of 2024, I knew it was time to find out who I really was in the mountains.
Kilimanjaro had wrecked me. Pico de Orizaba had broken me once and almost broken me twice. Damavand gave me my first taste of hope. Giluwe gave me joy. But now, it was time to attempt something bigger, harder, and more ambitious than anything I had ever done before.
Aconcagua (22,841 ft) — the highest mountain in South America and the highest outside of the Himalayas. Known for brutal winds, bitter cold, unpredictable storms, and a failure rate that humbles even the strongest.
And then, as if that weren’t enough, Ojos del Salado (22,615 ft) — the highest volcano in the world. Remote, desolate, hostile.
I wasn’t just going to climb them. I was going to climb them back-to-back, unguided, self-planned, and self-funded.
The Training — An 11-Week Obsession
I knew I couldn’t wing this. Too many people fail on Aconcagua. Too many people underestimate Ojos.
So I built an 11-week training plan and lived like a professional athlete. Every hour of my life revolved around the climb.
Early mornings: Awake by 6, on the mountain by 7.
Cardio discipline: Interval runs, long runs, uphill skins, stair carries with heavy packs. I tracked my heart rate obsessively, keeping it under 120 bpm — exactly as Dr. Peter Hackett had taught me — training my body to thrive in base zone efficiency.
Strength work: Weighted squats, lunges, core sessions, farmer’s carries, grip circuits. My body needed to haul a 70-lb pack up and down the Andes — I built it to do exactly that.
Endurance weekends: 10–12 hour pushes on Colorado 14ers, stacking 2–6 summits in a weekend. I went from casual hiker to logging more 14ers in a couple months than in my entire life beforehand.
Mobility & recovery: Daily yoga. Sauna. Cold plunges. Mobility drills. Recovery wasn’t optional — it was the secret weapon that let me keep going day after day.
Mental training: Learning to love discipline. Learning to hold back when I wanted to push. Learning to keep my HR low, to never spike, to trust patience.
It was like working a second job. Wake, train, work, train again, recover, sleep. Rocco made sure I ate; otherwise, I’d forget. For 11 weeks, my life was Aconcagua.
By the end, I was more ready than I had ever been for anything. And still, tapering was torture — after all that work, standing still felt like it was killing me.
Planning Like a Leader
Training was only half of it. The other half was logistics. I spent hours — maybe hundreds of them — poring over guides’ itineraries, analyzing weather windows, debating food strategies, reading trip reports.
I settled on Grajales Expeditions for logistics because they offered something most companies didn’t: unlimited food at Confluencia and Plaza de Mulas. If we needed to wait out weather or take an unplanned rest day, I wanted to know we wouldn’t go hungry.
I mirrored the itineraries of top guiding companies but built in more rest days. I booked a one-way ticket so I wouldn’t feel pressure to rush. For Ojos, I arranged a fixer, secured the right vehicle, researched the route. Nothing was left to chance.
This wasn’t just about climbing. This was about proving I could lead.
Aconcagua — The Turning Point
We missed our connecting flight into Mendoza and ended up hauling all our gear over the Andes by bus. Through the window, I caught my first glimpse of Aconcagua — massive, stark, impossible to ignore.
At Plaza de Mulas, I was amazed. Showers. Toilets. Dining tents with heaters. It was a small city at 14,000 ft. But luxury didn’t matter. My discipline did.
Every hike, every load carry, I held my HR in check. Pole pole. No spikes. No ego. Even if I looked slow, I knew I was building something stronger than speed — I was building sustainability.
Summit day came.
We moved through the night. At La Cueva, word spread that weather was rolling in. Rangers were already turning people around. But something clicked inside me. For the first time at altitude, I wasn’t the weak link. I wasn’t vomiting, gasping, or panicking.
I was running.
From 20,000 to 22,800 ft, I pushed harder and faster than I ever had before — less than two hours to the summit ridge. I was at the front, yelling encouragement to Rocco and Riley, refusing to let us stop.
We became the second-to-last team allowed on the summit that day.
I cried as I stood there, at the top of the Americas. After years of struggling against altitude, I had finally beaten it. No Diamox. No Advil. No Zofran. Just me, my legs, and all those weeks of relentless work.
Ojos del Salado — Back-to-Back
Two days later, we were on a plane north, chasing the world’s highest volcano.
If Aconcagua felt crowded and structured, Ojos felt like Mars. Remote. Empty. Wind-scoured. No dining tents. No city. Just the desert and us.
We fast-tracked: four days from arrival to summit. On summit day, I hit 20,000 ft again and felt unstoppable. Step. Breath. Step. My body knew exactly what to do.
I reached the crater ahead of Rocco and Riley, tucked into the rocks to hide from the wind, and waited for them. Together, we pushed the final, exposed ridge. I hate heights — my chest tightens, my palms sweat — but I didn’t let it stop me. We moved, slow and steady, until we were standing at 22,615 ft.
Back-to-back. Two giants in two weeks. Planned, trained, and executed by me.
Lesson — Work Wins
Aconcagua and Ojos weren’t just mountains. They were the culmination of hundreds of hours of invisible work.
The early mornings. The skipped meals. The double sessions. The HR strap glued to my chest. The endless 14ers. The discipline to move slow, the obsession to train harder than I ever had.
When I stood on those summits, I knew I hadn’t beaten altitude by luck. I had beaten it with preparation, patience, and relentless work.
These climbs didn’t just prove I could survive high altitude. They proved I could thrive there — not just as a climber, but as a leader.
