People keep asking, “how was it?!” And I keep saying, “I can’t do it justice in one sentence!” So here are a few pictures and more than a few sentences. 

Climbing and summiting Mount Kilimanjaro was…amazing, awe-inspiring, fun, exhilarating, memorable, and really freaking hard. 

The trek was 8 days—6 up, 2 down—and 44 miles. The weather was not bad—we had a lot of sun, and no rain while we were hiking. We had two evenings of rain/ice at camp, which made everything damp and that was pretty miserable, but eventually the sun came back and dried us out. It was cold at night but often warm-ish during the day, especially when the sun was out—those of us from New England rarely needed our warmest layers.

There were four climbers in my group—my dear friend from college, and two of her friends. I could not have asked for a better group of strong, determined, adventurous women. I frequently felt like the weakest link! We got along well and though our motivations were different, we shared a common goal and helped each other achieve it. 

We had a support crew of 23 guides, cooks, and porters. Our lead guide was a woman and she was a badass. The crew worked hard to get us from camp to camp, kept us fed and (relatively!) comfortable, and supported us all the way to the summit. They carried our tents, our duffle bags, our food, and sometimes our daypacks in addition to their own. They sang and danced with us, cheered for us, and spoke constant words of encouragement. We simply could not have done this without them. 

On the trail we told stories, shared memories, and daydreamed about future travel (them: more adventuring; me: a cruise!) I sang a lot, mostly to myself. We took pictures of the beautiful and ever-changing landscape. We learned a song in Swahili. We learned to pee standing up—not without mishaps. 😂 

We had one long day of about 10 miles/10 hours, which meant we’d be on the trail when rain was most likely and the weather was already overcast and misty. I pictured my mom and my Aunt Katherine holding a tarp over us while we walked. Were they? I don’t know, but it didn’t rain on us.

High altitude is no joke, especially for us sea-level dwellers. We slept at 15,500 feet for two nights. Being constantly out of breath was a really uncomfortable feeling. My watch kept telling me I was earning “zone minutes” for things like tying my shoes or packing my duffle bag. I lost my appetite and for two days it was a struggle to eat anything at all, even M&Ms. 

There were moments where I didn’t think I could take another step. Most of them came during the summit assault: 14 hours, 8 miles roundtrip, 3,865 feet of elevation gain during the ascent, which is more or less straight up. As we neared the top I was literally talking out loud to myself: “You did not come this far to give up now. Take another step. Take another one. You can do this.” 

Most people leave camp around midnight and summit at daybreak. We opted for a daytime summit, so we left camp at 3am and summited around noon. Hiking in the dark was disorienting. Watching the sunrise from 17,000 feet was one of the most incredible experiences of my life. Reaching the summit was both amazing and, if I’m being honest, a little bit anti-climatic. This experience truly was more about the journey than the destination. But having the summit all to ourselves, once we finally got there, was priceless. 

“Skiing” down the scree on the descent from the summit was exhilarating. Other parts of the descent were mundane and meditative. And there were more moments where I didn’t think I could take another step as my entire lower body - toes, feet, knees and hips - was screaming for a break from the constant impact. The knowledge that each step brought me more oxygen, closer to a shower, a bed, and ultimately closer to home, kept me going. All the way to the gate.