Damavand — Finding My Breath
By the time I set my sights on Mount Damavand (18,406 ft, Iran), I had developed a full-blown obsession with altitude. After struggling with sickness on Kilimanjaro and Pico de Orizaba, I wanted answers.
My mom gave me a gift that changed everything: a consultation with Dr. Peter Hackett, the National Geographic–recognized expert on high altitude physiology. He analyzed my VO₂ max, explained how maximum heart rate correlates with performance at altitude, and told me something that shifted my perspective completely:
“Your problem isn’t altitude. It’s undertrained cardio. Your heart is a muscle — and you’ve never trained it.”
It was true. I had never been a runner. My whole life, even at sea level, I couldn’t make it a quarter mile without vomiting. Dr. Hackett urged me to test for exercise-induced asthma (something my sister had), and sure enough — I had it. I got an inhaler.
Then came the real work. In April 2024, Riley coaxed me through my first mile. I hated it. But I kept going. One mile became two. Two became a 5K. By summer, I was running several times a week. For the first time, I was training my heart as deliberately as my legs.
Getting to Iran
Climbing Damavand wasn’t just about fitness — it was also about logistics. The U.S. has no embassy in Iran, so we had to hire a company in Iran with contacts in the UK to handle our visas and bring all our expedition cash in advance. Ali, our contact, made it seamless. Still, we were nervous: less than a week before we left, Israel had killed a Hamas leader during Iran’s presidential inauguration. Tensions were high. At passport control, we got a couple raised eyebrows and a shake of the head, but then we were through.
Once inside the country, we found the opposite of hostility. People were excited to see Americans. From what locals told us, we were the only Americans to climb Damavand in two years.
The Climb
This was the first mountain I had properly trained cardio for, and I was terrified it wouldn’t make a difference. Our guide, Babak, believed in me more than I believed in myself. He said I moved well, that I’d summit in average time. I didn’t believe him.
We climbed in four days — longer than the typical two. On summit day, I insisted on leaving at 2 a.m., which Babak thought was ridiculous. But he humored me. He kept the pace slow, made sure I didn’t hyperventilate, and calmed my nerves instead of feeding them.
As the summit came into view, he started singing. And he was right. I reached the top in average time. No vomiting. No panic. No shortness of breath. Just steady, calm progress.
Lesson
On Damavand, I finally felt what it was like to move at altitude without fear. The years of anxiety, vomiting, and self-doubt gave way to something new: joy.
Damavand was more than a summit. It was proof that my body wasn’t broken. I wasn’t doomed to fail at altitude. I just needed to train differently, respect my physiology, and trust the process.
And maybe most of all, I needed to keep showing up.
