We are wild. We want to control, achieve, and thrive, always demanding more, fighting for more.

Not going to lie—it was all about the summit. Conquering the peak, no matter how hard it was. Many people had done it. How could I not? You can’t enjoy, suffer, or understand what is happening to you; you see only the peak. At least a thousand questions race through your mind: “How far left?” “How long left?”

But it is no joke. It is wild nature; it is cold; it is dark, and all your survival instincts kick into overdrive. Where to step, how firm the step should be, which stone looks safer… It is dark; you don’t see where you are heading when you start or how long and challenging it will be.

For the first couple of hours, I wanted to count the minutes, kilometers, and steps but soon realized it made things even worse. It is better to get yourself to the next stop, focus on the steps, on the breath, live the moment, and reflect when you pause. Reflect on the bit you just accomplished.

You realize that no matter your personal goals, you belong to a group and must calm down, fit in, or leave.

I was crying, unable to continue after 90 minutes. I couldn’t breathe or walk, feeling like I was crawling while the rest of the group advanced nicely. Several times they had to wait much longer for me. I was reaching the point of deciding on the rest of the journey. Two guides tried to support me mentally, sharing examples of other people who experienced similar challenges.

There was a moment when I told one of them that I would give it one more try and if I still felt this way, I would head back to the camp area. It was hard to say those words, as it felt like accepting failure—“couldn’t make it up”—but a part of me was proud that I was mature enough to consider giving up for myself and for others, fighting against my ego. Those people needed the guides more than I did, not having them next to me with my concerns all the way along.

In the next hour, I summoned all my resources to fight, to build, to push me forward, and I’m happy that I did so. It was extremely challenging, yet I ascended and reached the peak. While others happily enjoyed the moment, I looked below and felt to my bones how hard it could be going all the way back down to the camp area, considering some steep slopes covered with thick snow.

After some rest, we started to descend. As expected, it was daytime, and I could see all the hills and valleys we had traversed in the dark. Every stone, narrow river, everything was crystal clear—something to enjoy yet also frightening to behold.

The same feelings and tears were there. I was questioning my whole being, yet I was there. I was 100 percent present with my body, soul, and mind, trying to deal, survive, and motivate myself. I missed my kids and home; I was cold, frustrated, exhausted, done, and tired.

We arrived at a point where a random group of mountaineers literally rescued us while trying to descend. I remember one of their names—he was called Shirkhan. Thanks a ton to him and his team for their bravery and confidence. I personally could not have made it without them. Their faces said a lot: the mountains were their land; they were seniors in charge of the place.

I was the last one from our group to reach the campsite. I was tired but proud. Proud that I did not give up, yet also proud that I could have given up if needed. I am more than my goals and my ego. I can sacrifice for myself and for others.

A mixture of other feelings lingered..Loved being peaceful warrior..will continue..

Ayan