Kilimanjaro — My First Big Mountain

In March 2023, Rocco and I set out to climb our first real mountain: Kilimanjaro, Africa’s highest peak. We chose the Marangu Route, a 5-day route with our guide, Omary, from Climbing Kilimanjaro. Omary was more than just a guide — he became a friend. He was finishing his studies in botany and filled the trail with stories about plants, wildlife, and life on the mountain. His favorite animal? The wildebeest. He called them “Wi-Fi,” because when they run their tails stick straight up like antennas. He also joked that their memory is so short they forget why they’re running when chased by lions — which is exactly how they get caught. I still laugh about that story.

We had come straight from living in Colorado, and being acclimated to 8,000 ft gave me a burst of confidence. I practically ran up the first three days. The grade was so mellow, my appetite stayed strong, and the weather was perfect — blue skies, no rain. By the time we reached the last hut at 15,000 ft, I thought: This is higher than I’ve ever been, but I feel great. I’ve got this.

And then summit day hit.

At around 16,000 ft, everything flipped. My stomach turned inside out. I had to run off the side of the slope to throw up. Then it hit again. And again. I had taken nothing but malaria pills up to that point, but I finally caved and took a Diamox. It didn’t help. My body slowed to a crawl.

By the time we reached Gilman’s Point, I felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest. Breathing was brutal. I begged for more medicine, but Omary shook his head: if I took anything else, it meant an immediate descent. I wasn’t ready to give up.

So I forced myself across the crater rim. Every step felt impossible. It took me two hours to move what should have taken thirty minutes. I vomited three more times, but I kept moving. At 8 a.m., 68 hours and 44 min after arriving to the park, I finally reached the summit of Uhuru Peak — 19,341 ft, the roof of Africa.

And then I got the hell down.

Only later did I realize I had begun to develop HAPE (High Altitude Pulmonary Edema). I had to sleep upright for the next two nights just to breathe. It was terrifying, humbling, and unforgettable.

Kilimanjaro taught me that mountains don’t care about how confident you feel or how strong you think you are. Respect is non-negotiable. And yet — it also gave me my first taste of what it means to fight through suffering, to find grit when everything inside you wants to stop.

It was my first summit. The beginning of Ash to Altitude. And the mountain that made me believe I could take on the rest of the world.