I decided to join my brother, Steven, in his quest to conquer Everest… well, sort of. He’s actually heading to the real Everest in May. Me? I’ll be climbing the equivalent of Everest’s 29,029 vertical feet right here at a ski mountain in Stratton Vermont. And he’s joining me for what will be a mere training session for him, but a whole challenge for me!
So, what exactly am I talking about? Well, some brave souls thought it’d be a great idea to create an event that lets regular folks, like me, get a taste of what it’s like to climb Everest—minus the brutal elements. They rent ski mountains in the off-season, and we hike up the mountain as many times as it takes to reach that 29,029-foot mark. Turns out, a lot of people are crazy enough to sign up for this! And… you’re reading about one of them.
Why, Angela? Why would you do such a thing? Great question… I keep asking myself the same thing. Here’s what I know: I turned 50 last year. And before you hit me with the “50 is the new 30,” and “age is just a number,” and “you’re only as old as you feel”—yea, I know..blah blah blah. But actually, 50 is… wait for it… FIFTY! I know—mind-blowing.
So, back to the story. Turning 50 was a real shock to the system. I’d always been the youngest. Being a November baby meant I was always the youngest in school. I also got married really young—at the ripe old age of 20, actually. I bought a house at the age of 20 and had babies very soon after. I was always the young mom, the young friend, the young wife… you get the idea. Then, all of a sudden, I’m 50! I honestly don’t know how it happened.
My voluminous hair is thinning, suddenly my weight is harder to manage, my sleep’s a mess, and I have puffy eyes most mornings! It’s like that scene in movies where a kid magically wakes up in their mom’s body and freaks out in the mirror. Yikes! Yes, the unimaginable was happening. I was… aging. Gasp!
So, there I was, a month before my 50th birthday, scrolling through social media when I stumbled upon an ad for a challenge called 29029. Intrigued, I clicked. I read all about it. Registration opens in two weeks, it said—and apparently, it sells out fast because only a few hundred spots are available. This is it, I thought. This is what I’ll do to prove to myself that, damn it, I still got it!
I forwarded the link to my big brother for his take. That was either the best decision or the worst, because he instantly replied, “Sign us up.” Wait, what? I was kidding! Give me a second here! This isn’t some fun 5K at a winery. To reach 29,029 feet on this mountain, we’ll have to climb it 17 times. Yes, let me say it louder for the people in the back… 17 TIMES UP THE MOUNTAIN! “Sign us up,” he said again.
Registration day finally arrives. I’m anxiously refreshing the website, waiting for that “Register Now” button to appear. Refresh… refresh… refresh. We probably won’t get a spot anyway, I reassure myself. It was a crazy idea. And then—there it is. REGISTER NOW. 😳
My fingers go into autopilot, going through the motion of filling in all the required information, and before I know it, I hit SUBMIT. The page says, “Please do not refresh this page. Wait to continue.” What felt like five minutes was probably five seconds.
CONGRATULATIONS, YOU ARE IN FOR STRATTON, VERMONT, OCTOBER 24, 2024.
Gulp. A wave of nausea hits as I stare at the screen. What just happened? Ping—a text from my brother. “Are we in?” “We’re in,” I text back.
October 2024
And here we are 1 year later. I’ll be turning 51 next month. I’ve been training for the last 20 weeks.
The timing of this training feels like perfect, divine alignment—one of those times that remind you there are no coincidences. We’re given what we need, when we need it. It’s up to us to recognize it and work with it—that’s the tricky part. I didn’t fully see the timing of this challenge until I was weeks into the training, but when that “aha” moment hit, it felt like a gentle knowing, like, “Oh, yeah, that makes sense.”
And from there, I realized that this journey isn’t about the mountain at all. It’s about getting to know me on an entirely new level. Sometimes, God leads you on a journey you didn’t know you needed, to bring you to the next best version of yourself. Trust the process.
Trust the process. Easier said than done. There were more days than I can count where I questioned everything about this challenge. Like, what am I doing? What am I trying to prove? I don’t even like endurance exercise. Who does this voluntarily? Why? This was extremely time consuming. My days revolved around training six or seven days a week.
Many, many days of training, I went without the distraction of music or podcasts. It was just me—my thoughts, my heart, my mind, my pain. It was deeply cathartic in a way that’s hard to put into words. I was with myself, but I wasn’t alone. I was with God. We spoke. I cried. I laughed. I listened. I asked.
Me and God
So many lessons learned. More on that later.
Before I summarize my experience of the mountain, I thought it would be fun to share a few excerpts of some training days I documented.
7/15/2024
I’m on a mission. Keep moving. Maybe you’ll finish, maybe you won’t. Just keep moving. With only a 62%-75% finish rate, there’s a decent chance I won’t make it. Honestly? I’m scared.
Every single time I step on that treadmill, I tell myself I’ll cut it short. I don’t want to do a whole hour. But every five minutes, I talk myself into pushing through just five more minutes. And I do that over and over—until the hour’s up. In those last five minutes, I tell myself, “Finish it! Stop holding back. Just finish it!” And you know what? I do. I finish it. I always finish it.
My default is always to cut it short. But something deeper in me knows I can do this, and, more importantly, that I want to do this. I’m so blessed to have legs that can move like this, a body that can endure. I’m so incredibly thankful.
7/29/24 (Day 1 of week 8 Training)
The schedule calls for a 75-minute hike on a 12-15 incline. I’ve been up since 4:45 a.m., worked a long, really draining day, and now I’m at the gym at 5:15p.m., stretching and having a little chat with myself: I could stop at 60 minutes. That’s plenty. Maybe I’ll skip today altogether. Or maybe just 30 minutes with some free weights, call it a day.
Stretching done, I’m on the treadmill, slipping on my weighted vest. God, I hate this thing. It’s only 12 pounds, but it feels like a ton. I put in my earbuds, getting ready to start. Wait, let me check my email first. Still no response from Jacob the realtor. Oh, I haven’t checked IG in hours. That guy who does the voiceover on dogs always cracks me up. Final check on FB. I glance at the gym clock—damn, I’ve wasted five minutes. I could’ve been five minutes into this already.
Okay…I take a big breath, sigh it out… I hit START. I keep pressing + on the incline. +++++++++…13. Speed at 3.1. Let’s go.
Two minutes in, I’m already sweating like I’ve been running through the desert for miles. My ankles are screaming, but I know I just need to get through these first 10 minutes to warm them up. Three more months of this? I’m scared. I can do 30 minutes today, I tell myself. That’ll be enough. My ankles really aren’t loving this.
Thirty minutes pass. You’re already halfway! Just 45 to go. Five minutes at a time. Another five minutes go by. And another. Fifty-five minutes in?! Only 20 left. That’s only four sets of five minutes. Let’s go!!
Seventy-three minutes. Final two! Finish it! I check the screen: 1:15, 2,589 elevation feet, 771 calories burned. I can’t believe I did it. I’m so happy it’s over—my ankles hurt, my back hurts, but wow, 75 minutes. That’s pretty cool. Maybe I’ll take tomorrow off.
8/02/24
*Alarm rings at 4:15am.*
Me: Gotta get this one done and over with early. Get up. You have a busy weekend.
Get up.
Also me: Fuck you… *goes back to sleep.
8/03/24
Scheduled: 3-hour hike.
It. Is. Hot. Outside. Ninety degrees, humid as ever.
The plan: power walk an hour at a time, take a quick break, then repeat for three rounds.
First hour, weighted vest on, feeling good. Sun’s out, the scenery’s green and gorgeous. I’m soaking it all in. By the end of that first hour, I’m drenched—my 12-pound vest probably weighs 15 pounds now, soaked through.
I make it to my car, throw open the trunk, rip the vest off, and toss it in. I hate that thing. I guzzle water, only to realize I forgot to bring a snack. Great. How are you going to power through two more hours in this heat without refueling?
After a quick stretch, I decide: no vest for the rest of this. I hate that thing. It’s still a workout. I’m still moving. I set out for round two. But the second half of round two is a mental battle. I know the route, where the shade will hit, and where the sun will be blazing down. I’m hot, thirsty, hungry, and my hips are aching.
I finish round two, scolding myself, I can’t believe you didn’t bring anything to eat. What were you thinking? Now I’m questioning if I even need to do this third hour—my back is killing me. Vest? No vest? Just put it on and finish this, I tell myself. Stop complaining.
So, I put the wet vest back on my already soaking body. Finish it. One foot in front of the other. Ten minutes in, I got this. Thirty minutes in, half an hour to go, and then you’re done. Fifteen minutes left, and I’m craving a massive bagel with extra cream cheese. My hips ache, my back’s sore, my neck’s sunburned. How am I going to do this 17 times, on an incline, up a mountain? I can’t think that far ahead right now.
I reach my car, chug the rest of my water and a Gatorade. Over 11 miles down. Hell, yes! I did it! Now for that bagel, a shower, and a well-earned nap!
The dreaded weighted vest
9/01/24
Goal: Accumulate 8,000 vertical feet. What. The. Actual. Hell.
Am I supposed to spend four hours on the Stairmaster?? What are we even saying here??
I know I need to start early. EARLY. I don’t want this to take my entire day. I don’t even know what “this” is going to look like yet.
Here’s what it ended up looking like: 90 minutes on the Stairmaster, followed by another 90 minutes on the treadmill at a 13 incline. I didn’t hit 8,000 vertical feet, but I got close to hitting insanity.
The sweaty selfie finish
Oct 24, 2024
THE MOUNTAIN
We arrived on Thursday afternoon, and it was my first time at Stratton Mountain. I was quickly impressed by its quaint vibe. After checking into our room, we headed to the registration area, where there was a buzz of excitement as people trickled in to pick up their swag bags and bib numbers. I took a moment to assess the crowd and noticed that all the staff wore red jackets. They radiated happiness and energy, which made me smile just watching them. Then I spotted something that truly caught my eye: every staff member was wearing a sunflower pin.
Sunflowers are incredibly special to me; they’re a sign from the universe. Years ago, I set the intention that sunflowers, my favorite flower, would be my sign. Since then, I’ve seen them pop up in the most random places just when I needed confirmation. And now, as I stood in line getting ready to climb “Mount Everest,” I saw sunflower pins everywhere! Thank you, Universe, for reminding me that I am exactly where I need to be.
Thursday came and went, filled with incredible motivational speeches that left me feeling truly inspired and ready for what lay ahead. We had dinner, then returned to our room, hoping to get some sleep.
Breakfast was scheduled for 4:30 AM, with the kickoff at 6:00 AM. My alarm didn’t even need to go off; I was wide awake at 3:00 AM. I took my time getting ready, layering up with two pairs of pants, three shirts, my thermal jacket, hat, gloves, wool socks, and hiking boots. I pinned on my bib, grabbed my poles and waist lamp, and off we went.
How YOU doin’?
It was cold and dark at 4:00 AM. I’m not entirely sure how I landed here, but here we are. There’s no time to think—I needed to fuel my body for what was to come. I grabbed a hot bowl of oatmeal, some eggs, and a bagel, a nice combo of carbs and protein to get me started.
We stretched, took some deep breaths, and lined up at the base of the mountain. The energy in the air was palpable as we began. Three hundred people with headlamps marched up the mountain in silence. No one spoke. My mind was completely focused on the ground beneath my feet. I felt good; the cold air invigorated me. Halfway up, we took a break at the aid station for some water and then carried on. We saw the sunrise. The feeling of complete presence washed over me. I worked so hard to get to this day. I deserve to be here. I am so grateful to be here!
The Sunrise
The second half of the mountain was vicious, warning me of the challenges to come. It teased me, saying, “You’re on my turf now. You’ll play by my rules.” It was hard to catch my breath. Every step was steeper and steeper. Getting to the top of the mountain was humbling. But I made it through the first ascent with high spirits and rode the gondola down with two other people. Everyone was still relatively quiet, adjusting to the physical challenge we’d voluntarily signed up for.
Ascent #1. Still looking svelte
Ascent #2 was the highlight for me. I felt like I was floating up the mountain, as if an escalator were pushing me along. I felt incredible and thought, “I’ve got this in the bag!” All the hard work is paying off. This is going to be great!
Me after ascent #2. All smiles!
But the next 15 ascents would bring a different story. Twelve hours later we finished ascent nine, and by then, all we had consumed was the pure sugar and salt junk provided at the aid stations—saltine crackers, goldfish, pretzels, Pop-Tarts, M&Ms, and PB&J. Delicious, but not nutritious. Steven and I were hungry and exhausted. The mountain has beat us up. We decided it was time for a hot meal and to evaluate our progress. The mountain had worn us down over the last 12 hours, and fatigue was setting in big time.
Our brains were too exhausted to do any math; we couldn’t even come up with a game plan for the remaining eight ascents. I pulled aside one of the coaches and asked, “Hey coach, we finished nine ascents. Do we have a shot at finishing if we call it a day and pick it back up early in the morning?” He looked at me and said, “I strongly suggest you get two or three more rounds in. You’re not going to want to do eight rounds tomorrow.” Steven and I exchanged silent glances. Every fiber of my being wanted a hot shower and to lay my head on the lumpy hotel pillow. My clothes were soaked from sweat yet my body was cold. My legs didn’t want anything to do with this anymore.
It was now 7:30 PM, pitch dark again, and the winds had picked up like crazy. I see the gondolas swaying hard in the wind.
“Okay,” we said. “Let’s just focus on the next one. We’ll do one and then we’ll worry about the next one” We ventured out with our headlamps back on. It was freezing and dark, and there were hardly any climbers visible on the mountain. There was an eerie energy in the air. The memory of ascent #2 was long forgotten and I was in a very different place. We reached the second half of the trail, which we eventually dubbed “The March of Death.” It was steep and muddy now, and all I could see were my feet in front of me.
The entrance to the “March of Death”
This was the moment I started questioning my life choices. I don’t know how we reached the top, but somehow, we did. I can’t stress enough how windy, cold, and downright HARD it was. Once we got on the gondola, we both agreed there was no way we’d attempt this again that night. We were now at 10 ascents, needing to complete 7 more tomorrow. That was better than 8, but still SEVEN. My mind was already preparing for failure. I couldn’t have done anything differently; whatever tomorrow brought, I had to be okay with it. I couldn’t have imagined the level of difficulty we faced. I knew it would be hard, but I didn’t know just how hard. This was testing me in ways I never intended to be tested.
When we returned to our room, my mind began to panic. I didn’t want to not finish! Steven started doing the math and came up with a worst-case scenario. His calculations showed that even if we started later in the morning and climb at a slower pace, we could finish by 5:30 PM, with the cutoff at 6:00 PM. That thought gave me a little peace as my tired, achy body drifted off to sleep.
Saturday morning came too soon. My ankles were in a lot of pain. My mind was still in panic mode; we were up at 4:00 AM and at the base of the mountain by 5:00 AM, starting ascent 11 in the dark, headlamps on, again. The mood was somber, but at least the winds had died down a bit.
We got through ascent 11 and began number 12. This was when everything really shifted for me. I had been so focused on just putting one foot in front of the other, ascent after ascent, that I hadn’t let doubt creep in—until now. It started subtly, a whisper in the back of my mind that questioned if I really had it in me to finish. That whisper grew louder until all I could hear in my head was I’m done.
Tears streamed down my face. I told my brother, “I don’t have any more in me,” and I meant it. It was such a heavy feeling to admit that. My body wasn’t giving out; it had been just as tired after ascent 3, ascent 5, and so on, yet I’d kept going. My legs still moved, and my muscles still fired, but my mind was waving a white flag.
It was a strange sensation—the weight of the challenge pressing on my spirit rather than my body. I wasn’t physically broken, I was mentally breaking. It’s hard to explain how profound that sense of surrender felt. Here I was facing a challenge that was testing my willpower in a way I’d never experienced. In that moment, it felt as though I had reached my mental limit, and the weight of that realization made me cry.
One of the coaches that was climbing the mountain sporadically to check in on climbers, caught up to me and asked, “how’s it going?” Looking down at the muddy ground, climbing, I said “ It’s going”. Knowing I wasn’t ok she said “You’re allowed to feel that right now. But you’re not allowed to let it control the narrative. You got this. Let’s go.” and she passed me, showing me that I can take the next step just as she can.
We finished ascent 12, and on the gondola ride down, I declared that 12 was good enough; I didn’t have anything left for 5 more. Steven immediately countered, “Yes, you do have it. We’re almost done.” Almost done? We still had another six hours of this ahead of us. I felt defeated, angry, and ready to be done.
Feeling the weight of this challenge
We returned to the base, marked our boards with ascent 12, and headed back up. Just like that. No talking, no pep talk, no thoughts—just moving, moving, moving. Some climbers around us were wearing their “final ascent” bibs, and I felt like that bib was so out of reach for me. The mountain felt like it was growing longer and longer, and each ascent was just as hard as the last. The second half of each ascent, aka the March of Death, was becoming increasingly challenging. But, I was moving. WE were moving. We. Just. Kept. Moving.
Low and behold we got to ascent 14. Seeing we were good on time made me feel mentally stronger. I could actually envision the end. We can actually do this! We can get through this! We kept cranking them out. 14 became 15 and 15 became 16! Holy shit we are finishing this!
Feeling the light at the end of the tunnel!
Finally, we received our “final ascent” bibs. How did I get here? What on earth am I about to finish? One last ascent. One final hour of slow, hard, painful climbing. At this point, I needed to rest every few minutes. My body HATED me. I felt like I had stress fractures in my ankles. There was no time to assess the situation; I just kept moving. I kept saying out loud, “One foot in front of the next. All you have to do is focus on the next foot. That’s it. You will get there. Don’t look up; it’s too far away. Just look at your feet and climb.” And then I remembered this was my pep talk to myself during all those weeks of training. Every time I thought I couldn’t finish or didn’t WANT to finish I just kept repeating “One foot in front of the next. All you have to do is focus on the next foot”. And here I’ve come full circle.
Paused to take in this moment of our FINAL ASCENT!
There’s a point near the top of the mountain where you know you’re almost there, but you can’t see the horizon because the incline is so steep. But you can hear the cowbells and cheers from the volunteers and spectators. Once you hear them, you know you’re almost at the top. I heard the cheers, and in awe, Steven and I climbed up the 17th ascent side by side. We could now not only hear the cheers but also see the beautiful faces of the volunteers. We finished. We just finished climbing 29,029 feet, the equivalent of EVEREST!!! WE FINISHED!! WE FUCKING FINISHED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
With aching ankles, hips, and thighs, we RAN through the finish line. After hugs and high fives, I immediately called my children, “WOOOOOOO HOOOOOOOO!!!!! We finished!!!!!” I couldn’t stop screaming.
I finished. I always finish.
MISSION ACHOMPLISHED!
It took some time for my brain to catch up with what we had accomplished. As I’m typing this four days later, I’m still processing.
The surrealness of the experience truly overwhelms me. When I got home, the first thing I did was go grocery shopping. As I walked through the supermarket, I felt almost like I was in a movie. The best way to describe the feeling is as if three days ago a hand from heaven grabbed me by the back of my sweatshirt, lifted me off this timeline, and dropped me at the mountain. I was in a different realm, nowhere near my reality. Then the same hand lifted me again and dropped me off at the supermarket three days later as if nothing had happened. I was left with the feeling of, Did this weekend even happen? Am I really just ‘back to normal? What is normal? My head was so loopy. When I got home and unpacked the groceries, I couldn’t even remember buying half of the items in the bags.
And so here I am trying to make sense of this. So much is being downloaded.
Thank you for reading this far! I have so many lessons and takeaways that I want to share. If you would allow me the privilege of doing so, I would be truly humbled. My hope is two-fold: I want to document this experience for myself, and I also genuinely hope that at least one person feels inspired to do something extraordinary. It would fill my heart to know that I played even a small part in someone else’s journey toward something big.
I hope to continue sharing my thoughts on Lessons From The Mountain in future blog posts. And if you feel inclined to follow along with me, that would make my day 😊.