CHAPTER 27
Celestial Heights
Each summit that Cliff had conquered before, was a step in his preparation for the ultimate challenge: Celestial Heights. This towering peak, the highest in two continents, was far more formidable than any mountain he had faced before. For years, he had been preparing, guided by Alpine’s wisdom and his own relentless discipline. His training regimen was grueling—climbing 100 floors nonstop, running uphill 5Ks, and pushing through heavy squats and deadlifts. But no amount of preparation could fully erase the fear that lingered as the day of the climb approached. Still, he was as ready as he could be. This time, he took precautions, starting medications early to ward off altitude sickness.
This time, Alpine was leading this hike. She had assembled a group of 12 athletes from around the world for this expedition. As expected, the idea of joining a large group of strangers made Cliff uneasy. He preferred solitude, a quiet corner with a book where he could retreat into his own thoughts. But when he met the group at the hotel that first night, something shifted. These weren’t just any hikers—they were extraordinary individuals, each with a unique story, yet all united by a common purpose: to push their bodies and minds to the limits on a journey unlike any they had undertaken before. They expected hardship, and they welcomed it. As they shared their stories, their laughter, and their anticipation, Cliff felt something unexpected—a sense of belonging. Among these strangers, he wasn’t just an outsider looking in. He was one of them, part of something bigger than himself.
The next morning, they set off on the first leg of their one-week climb. The initial days were relatively easy, designed for physical and altitude acclimatization. The group’s spirits were high as they hiked, their voices joining in with the guides' songs—“Hakuna Matata, nonstop to the top, one team, one dream.” Cliff couldn’t help but smile at the scene—it was like summer camp for overachieving adults who apparently had no fear of heights. When they reached the camp at 3,800 meters above sea level, they were greeted by a bustling campsite, with personal sleeping tents, portable toilets, and a large communal dining tent. Fifty-eight staff members—cooks, porters, and guides—stood ready to assist them. Their warmth and enthusiasm were infectious, lifting the hikers’ spirits even higher. Each evening, after a hearty dinner, they would retire to their tents, snuggling up with warm water-filled bunnies and closing their sleeping bags tight against the freezing nights. Every morning, Cliff looked forward to Augustino’s familiar greeting: “Hello, good morning, how are you my friend? Sleep well? Tea or coffee?” It became a comforting ritual in the midst of the challenging ascent.
Cliff had his own personal routine, too. Each morning, he would start his day with a glass of matcha in his tent, a small taste of home in this remote wilderness. At night, he would unwind with a few pages from Isaac Asimov’s Foundation, his favorite book, as he curled up with his warm bunny before sleep. But the nights in the cold, dark tent were lonely. Without electricity or internet, his only companions were his thoughts. It was in these quiet moments that Cliff’s mind would wander, reflecting on his life, his blessings, and the deep love he held for his girls. The journey, as grueling as it was, reminded him of how fortunate he was—fortunate to have his family, his health, and this incredible opportunity to challenge himself in ways that most people could only dream of. And also fortunate to have brought a good book—something he’d always considered as essential to survival as water or a sturdy pair of boots.
On the third day, the terrain grew tougher, but so did the beauty of the landscape. They lunched at 4,600 meters, surrounded by breathtaking views that made the climb worthwhile. The camaraderie within the group had grown stronger, and the hike, despite its difficulty, was filled with moments of joy. Cliff, along with two doctors, Faith and Talent, and a journalist, Scribe, found themselves singing silly cartoon songs from their childhood, their laughter echoing through the mountains. During breaks, they would shout “G2G!” (good to go) and “B2B!” (back to business) as they rallied the group to continue, their spirits never faltering.
Conversations flowed easily as they hiked, with discussions ranging from favorite books and movies to life’s big questions. Cliff got to know the brilliant journalist Scribe, who was also an exceptional photographer. One day, Scribe shared a quote from his role model that struck a chord with Cliff: “You can accomplish anything if you have two qualities—the passion for it, and the ability to do it.” Cliff even argued that passion alone could be enough. “If you have enough passion,” he said, “you’ll find a way to build that ability. If you’re passionate about this hike, you’ll train, and you’ll develop the physical ability required to do it.” This conversation lingered in Cliff’s mind long after it ended, planting a seed of determination within him. It made him realize that sometimes, passion is the spark that ignites the fire of ability—though having a good pair of hiking boots certainly didn’t hurt either.
On the fourth day, they faced their most daunting challenge yet—a 257-meter vertical wall. Cliff hung his hiking poles from his backpack and began the ascent, using his hands and feet to climb. Midway, they reached a narrow ledge, forced to tiptoe sideways while hugging the sheer rock face, with nothing but the abyss below. It was a heart-pounding, adrenaline-fueled climb, but they all made it to the top. At the top of the wall, they took a leap of faith, jumping into the clouds with perfectly timed cameras capturing the moment. The final images, showing them soaring among the clouds, were nothing short of legendary. Cliff made a mental note to frame one of those photos as a reminder that, on occasion, he could be more daring than a mouse at a cheese convention with a cat as the keynote speaker.
Every day, the group had routine health checks—morning and night—monitoring their oxygen levels and their symptoms. Most of the hikers saw gradual improvement as they acclimatized to the altitude, but Cliff’s levels were stubbornly low. Each day, his numbers worsened, and his headaches, nausea, and dizziness became more severe. Despite doubling his medication, his oxygen levels dropped to a perilous 70%, but he refused to quit. Physically, his body remained strong, but the altitude symptoms tested his resolve.
By the sixth day, Cliff’s worry had grown into fear. After a six-hour morning hike, they reached the base camp for lunch, with plans to rest in the afternoon before beginning their nighttime summit hike. But rest didn’t come easily. Cliff lay awake, unable to sleep despite the medication he had taken. He wasn’t alone; some of the others also struggled to sleep. When they finally woke up to start the summit ascent at 11 p.m., the temperature had plunged, and Cliff, wearing six layers, still couldn’t feel his fingers or toes.
The summit push was the hardest thing Cliff had ever done. The lack of sleep, the freezing cold, and the altitude sickness combined to make every step a struggle. By 5,000 meters, his symptoms had worsened to the point where he feared he might be developing high-altitude cerebral edema. The thought haunted him as he climbed, but he kept moving forward.
After a 12-hour hike, on no sleep and with severe altitude symptoms, Cliff finally reached the summit around 11 a.m. Standing at the top, he remembered the first mountain he had ever climbed and the reason he had started this journey—to find comfort in solitude. But there, at the highest point he had ever reached, there was no comfort, and there was no solitude. Instead, there was discomfort, exhaustion, and a strange feeling of anticlimax. The sense of triumph he had expected eluded him, replaced by a lingering question: What was he really searching for?
As he stood at the summit, Cliff realized that he wasn’t seeking comfort or solitude—he was searching for his limits. He needed to know if he had what it took to push through the hardest challenge of his life. But in that pursuit, he discovered something even more profound. It wasn’t comfort that shaped him; it was the discomfort. It was in those moments of struggle, far from the comforts of home, that he found his true self. The mountain had stripped away the superficial, leaving only the essence of who he was.
Discomfort had a way of bringing out the worst in people, filling their minds with negative thoughts, fears about the future, and regrets about the past. Cliff had felt it too, the creeping misery that made him question why he was there, why he had taken on such a daunting task. But instead of succumbing, he decided to focus on the present moment, on putting one foot in front of the other. Sometimes, that’s all it takes—just one step at a time.
When Cliff returned down to his tent and finally rested, the next morning brought clarity. Looking back on the climb, he saw it differently. The photos and videos he reviewed brought the experience to life in a way that the exhaustion had clouded. He had made it through, despite everything, and that realization filled him with a deep sense of accomplishment. The true satisfaction, he found, came not in the moment itself but in the reflection afterward, in the understanding of what he had achieved.
As he lay there, Cliff reflected on the journey and realized that every step, every moment of doubt, and every ounce of discomfort had brought him closer to understanding who he truly was. It wasn’t just about reaching the summit; it was about discovering that his limits weren’t fixed, that they could be pushed, stretched, and redefined. In the quiet of the morning, with the memories of the climb still fresh, he understood that the mountains he had conquered were not just physical peaks but the internal barriers he had once thought insurmountable. This realization, more than the view from the top, was the true reward…
