Well it's been about 3 weeks since I arrived back home and life has pretty much returned to normal. I apologize for not writing a final blog entry sooner but I needed some time off from anything mountain related. So here it is:

After three weeks of reflection, I have been able to look back on my trip and better appreciate what I accomplished and experienced during the past two months. This was without a doubt an epic adventure that tested me in so many different waysand proved a lot to me about myself and what I am capable of. There are too many challenges to list that Everest throws at you, but it is without a doubt one of the most hostile environments that you can find on Earth. The altitude is debilitating, the cold is mind-numbing, the wind almost indescribable, the mental stress exhausting- but by learning to cope and eventually thrive with all of the challenges presented to me, my dream of standing on top of the world became reality. As some of you know from the blogs of other team members and dispatches from Adventure Peaks, many on the team had a rough go of it on summit day. It was bittersweet making it to the top because many of those people I had forged relationships with over the previous two months fell short of their goals. It certainly wasn't for a lack of effort, strength, or determination but rather difficulties that made turning around the only smart option. When you make a decision at 8000 meters, you are almost always taking your life into another level of risk. Luckily everyone made it off the mountain alive and their stories can be found on their blog pages and are well worth your time. In that environment, your relationships are unique because of your circumstances. Everyone there has a common goal and on a mountain like Everest there is danger everywhere. From altitude sickness to crevasses to falls and absolute exhaustion, having people around that you can trust is one of your biggest allies. I think that there were quite a few guys who would have gone out of their way to help a teammate, or anyone for that matter, in need. Our team was also a very strong team with some really skilled climbers and guys in phenomenal physical condition. But as with any mountain, over the course of those punishing 2 months strong men were turned weak. Healthy, lively lungs, exasperated. It seemed like my own body was failing me in every way possible. Despite the outcome or the summit success, most of the team was great for the 2 month stay on the mountain and really made it easier to live in such harsh conditions for such a long period of time.

At any rate, my summit day started at 10pm on May 22nd Nepal Time from camp at 8300m or about 27,300ft. At this altitude, the tent is precariously perched on a small platform of rocks gathered and shaped into a not-so-level square to help stop the tent from rolling down the mountain. Getting in and out of the tent was a huge effort and I didn't do much other than shiver and try to close my eyes, knowing I wasn't going to get any real sleep, but thinking it might make the time pass quicker. I was shivering uncontrollably and although the winds weren't too bad at that moment, the temperature was well into the negatives, probably approaching the -50 mark before windchill was factored in. The hours waiting in that tent were strange to say the least. Here I was in the most inhospitable place on Earth, voluntarily, thinking about what my friends an family were doing at that exact moment back home in NY. Thinking about how they had no idea how cold I was, how hungry and sleep-deprived I was, and how I was walking that very fine line about to start the most dangerous part of the climb. When the time finally came to set the gears in motion, it took 20 minutes just to get my equipment on and my oxygen flowing before actually setting off for the summit. I was one of the last ones to start mostly due to the lethargy the altitude had me feeling, but I slowly picked up my pace as my body warmed up and started to pass other climbers until only two of my teammates, Brandon and Pete, were in front of me. To quickly touch on the lethargic feeling that altitude has on climbers, the best way I can think to describe it is that it's like being in a warm bed when it's really cold because you left your window open but the last thing you want to do is get out of your bed to close the window, which would ultimately make the room warmer, solving your problem. When you're lying in your sleeping bag and you know your dehydrated and need to eat something but you choose to stay in your sleeping bag rather than proactively attack your problems and melt some snow for water or heat a boil-in-a-bag meal, you're really taking a risk but you just can't make yourself do it. Even knowing how dangerous being dehydrated at altitude is, or knowing how you've already depleted all of your glycogen stores and your body fat% is down to nothing after 7 weeks on the mountain. Hope that gives a little better of an idea... The weather couldn't have been much better with no cloud cover and very little wind. The darkness of that night was like nothing I'd ever seen, making the stars from that altitude absolutely amazing. Off in the far distance in Nepal there were lightning storms that would send fantastic flashes through the clouds that were down in the jungles. Everything was deadly quiet, like the quiet you experience during a heavy, steady snow and you step outside your door and every sound just ceases. The only thing I could hear was my own breathing, labored and frantic. It was a very surreal experience and felt like it could have all been a dream. Slowly plodding along the Northeast Ridge, I could see the headlamps of other climbers farther up the route bobbing in the dark.

Not long after moving on the ridge did I see my first dead body, which I knew was somewhere close by but actually coming up on it and seeing a pair of neon green boots sticking out of the small cave was something I couldn't have prepared myself for. "Green Boots" as he's known to the climbers of Everest, crawled into that cave back in 1996 and never got back up. His body is curled up like he could be lying in a bed, and his down jacket still has loft to it. Two oxygen cylinders lie next to him and his crampons are still attached to his boots. I can't really describe the feeling but it put things into perspective- I'm in a place where there is a fine line between living and dying. This isn't a place for humans and if you aren't quick and mistake-free during your time in the "Death Zone" (above 26,000ft) you are pushing your luck. You're on borrowed time, and that's something you have to keep in the back of your mind. You read stories about people dying in the mountains all the time. I'm not sure there is a book on mountaineering that doesn't touch on death and tragedy. The weird part was that even as a climber I never thought twice about it. I'm sure some of that had to do with my age, being 20 years old and invincible to anything the world could throw at me. I'd had my share of close calls in South America and in the previous weeks on Everest, but this made it real to me. Standing overtop a frozen body brought flooded me with different emotions but most importantly it reaffirmed my determination to stay focused and make sure I wasn't going to have the same fate. After stopping for a minute or two at that cave and I continued onward and it wasn't long before meeting the first technical challenge of summit day, the first step. There are three steps which are basically nearly vertical sections of rock that you have to ascend to complete the climb. They are what make the ascent from the North side of Everest so difficult. The combination of the extreme altitude, exhaustion and lack of concentration makes these steps difficult obstacles. The exposure on both sides of the ridge make them utterly terrifying and if someone says they aren't scared while looking down over 10,000 feet of mountain to fall off of, they're lying. The first step did not have any ladders and I don't really have any recollection about climbing it and because it was still dark it was hard to really have a good idea of what exactly you were climbing. I was in a zone and I think that's the main reason I don't remember it. On the way back down I descended the first step in daylight and was surprised at how steep it was, but because you can only see as far as your headlamp shines at night, sections like that often seem a lot smaller because you can't see that whole picture.

Shortly after ascending the first step there was a very exposed traverse to the foot of the second step which is fixed with two ladders to help you climb the vertical rock. It was starting to get a little lighter out now that it was closing in on 3am but still dark enough that you could only make out the outlines of the rock overhead. I was behind Pete and watched and waited for him to ascend before it was my turn. The first ladder is shorter than the second and is suspended in the air by rope tied off to pitons (basically metal anchors designed to fit into small spaces) hammered into cracks in the rock. When I put my first foot up onto the ladder, it started to swing out due to the uneven pressure. Once my second foot made it onto the lower rung, it steadied out a bit, but my legs were shaking violently in an uncontrollable response from my body. I made slow and steady work to the next outcropping of rock and now it was time for the second ladder to the top of the second step which was maybe a 20 ft ladder again hanging from ropes. Enough time had passed by that it was now it was light enough that I could see off the right side of the ridge. If you fell at that point you would have taken what is known as "The Grand Tour" which isn't so grand, because it involves the 10,000 foot fall down the mountain. It was extremely exposed and when I stepped on that ladder my legs continued shaking, this time so much that I had trouble even placing my feet. My whole body froze up and the strange part about it was I was desperately trying to keep moving but my body wasn't responding to my demands. It might have been 10 minutes before I got to the top of that ladder. Even when you got to the top of that ladder the exposed climbing wasn't over. You climb out onto a small flat spot in the rock and from there you can see just how far you're going if you slip. My heart was pounding out of my chest when I finally got to the top of the second step and I don't know if I've ever experienced an adrenaline rush like that in my life. I wish I had taken pictures but I was trying to stay focused on the task at hand and the process of taking out a camera for one photo at that altitude is a long one, not to mention the risk of frostbite if you have to remove a glove. The second step is one of those moments where being exposed to the chance of death makes you feel so alive. It's hard to explain but also an addictive part of climbing.

On the way to the third step the sun started to rise over the horizon. Without a doubt the most incredible sunrise I've ever seen. Looking down from the mountain as far as the eye could see it was still dark, but at this altitude I was in daylight. Approaching the third step I was trailing behind Pete and I swapped an oxygen cylinder before the final push. It looked so close from there, if at sea level I would guess 15-20 minutes but here at just under 29,000ft it took 3 full hours. At the bottom of the third step I came across another body. This climber was in a very similar position to "Green Boots", curled up like he laid down to take a nap. His hand was exposed and his flesh looked the same as if he was still alive but he had probably been there for a couple years. The fixed line to get up the third step was even attached to the harness that was still on his body. Again there was that realization of the situation I was in and what can happen no matter your skill or fitness level. Mountains don't discriminate. I really started to push myself hard here knowing, or at least thinking I was so close. I must have been out of breath for close to 2 continuous hours but I just couldn't force myself to slow down. I say slow down like I was moving fast but in reality I was taking a step every 10 breaths or so. The overall exhaustion and fatigue at this point is too hard to describe. The only way to know is to experience it. There was quite a bit of climbing on windswept rock that had no snow on it, right below the final summit ridge. Climbing on rock like this with crampons is no easy task as the crampons tend to slip very easily on the rock. Again the climbing became completely exposed and it was a long way down. Staying focused on my next step and trying to keep fear from dictating my actions, I reached the final summit ridge. Reaching the final summit ridge was very exciting but I then saw the actual summit still another 100 yards off which was about another 30-40 minutes. It was a weird feeling knowing that very soon I'd be standing on top of the world barring some horrible accident. Each step was a monumental effort and with each step I was realizing how much closer to reaching my dream I was. On the final 50ft our group leader Stu and teammate Brendon were coming down from the Summit. I got some high fives although I don't think I could muster any words at that point. The final steps to the top were the most relieving steps I have ever taken and I sat right down on the highest point on Earth. Wow. The view is absolutely incredible and the skies were perfectly clear. All of the hard work I put into this had finally paid off and I was on top of the world. I sat up there for a good 15 minutes soaking it all in. I let my mind relax and wander. I was lucky to be up there when only 3 or so others were so that was really nice. The fixed ropes don't run to the very top so you have to unclip from the lines to actually stand on top of the world. This means you have to be very careful where you are stepping because if you slip there is nothing to stop you from falling thousands of feet. Prayer flags are staked into the ice all over and I tried very hard not to trip on any of those and decided sitting would be the safest option. I took some pictures and video and waited until Pete and his good friend Matt reached the top together. We congratulated each other and then I started to head down knowing that this was only going to be a success if I got back down safely.

It's easy to see why people think going down is easier than going up but that's not necessarily true. Mentally you have to be on top of things to avoid making a mistake or losing concentration. Physically your legs and entire body are so exhausted from the climb up that controlling your foot placement on the way down can be tricky. Instead of lifting your feet when you take steps I often dragged mine and caught my crampons on the side of my boots which are torn to shreds as a result. It's very easy to trip yourself up and I did that all too often. On the way back down the Northeast ridge I came across three more bodies. One person had fallen near the second step and lay about 15ft below. The other two had died along the route and one had died face up which was for me the most unsettling one. The other bodies were just that, bodies. This man became a person when I saw his face, almost completely preserved, eyes and mouth open with a pained grimace. I stopped near him for a good 3-4 minutes just thinking about how this man died and why, what it must feel like to not be able to move another step, collapse and know you're going to slowly die there. Wanting to think I would never let that happen to myself, deep down knowing I wouldn't be able to do anything about it had it been me in that situation. The encounters with the bodies was one of the parts of this trip that I will never forget. On the way back down I could now see what I had climbed on the way up and the 1st and 2nd step were much more impressive in the daylight. I carefully down climbed both and in about 3 1/2 hours from the summit I was back at camp at 27,000ft. I still had one full oxygen cylinder from my original 3 and I crawled into my tent to grab some things I had left before heading farther down the mountain. I put my head down and immediately fell asleep without my oxygen mask on and woke up an hour and a half later wondering how that happened. I knew I had to get myself moving again or the lethargy would consume me and I wouldn't be going anywhere, and the last thing I needed was to be stuck at 28,000 feet in such bad physical and mental condition. With a monumental effort, I gathered my gear and packed up my pack and then started heading to the next camp down which was at about 25,500ft.

At this point I knew I was going to try to descend all the way to Advanced Base Camp where I would get a decent good meal and sleep comfortably. At Camp 2 I passed a few teammates who had descended earlier in the day and asked if anyone wanted to continue down with me but nobody was up for it so I kept on going. I don't know how I was able to keep moving but it must have been the thought of eating something real instead of a boil in the bag meal, being somewhat warm, not being caught in 100 mph wind gusts or maybe just the relative safety of Advanced Base Camp. At the top of the North Col I thought I might not make it all the way back to ABC,I was only 2 hours away if I maintained a good pace but I was in uncharted waters with regards to pushing my body. Most likely due to my stubbornness I made the decision to go for it. I slid down on my butt wherever I could wrapping the fixed lines around my arm to use as a brake. For the last time I crossed the ladders covering the crevasses and finally reached the bottom of the North Col and started to walk across the glacier that leads to ABC. I knew I wasn't completely in the clear just yet, but being so close I couldn't help but start to feel like I had really done it. When the glacier ends you start walking on a crude rock covered path and I didn't have the energy to even take my crampons off so I just walked over the rocks with them on. That in itself is incredibly stupid, but speaks volumes as to how exhausted I really was at that point I was doing pretty good until I caught the front points under a rock and took a nasty head first spill. It took a few minutes to gather myself and get moving again and I still left my crampons on for the last 15 minutes. I was running on less than fumes, and I think I had been running on pure adrenaline for about 24 hours at the point, which is physically impossible but it sure felt that way. Coming into camp was such a relief and when our mess tent came into view I was the happiest person on the mountain, and at that moment the world. I walked into the door of the mess tent and literally collapsed while my teammates Heather and Josh had to help me take off all of my gear and get me some food. A few other members of the team, Andrew and Ian got back soon after I did and we ate some decent food before passing out. The next day the rest of the team made it back down- alive but not unscathed. The following day we descended to Base Camp to get ready for our drive back to Nepal.

This was such a great experience and I wouldn't trade it for a thing. I got to meet a bunch of great people, push myself beyond limits I didn't think possible, and ultimately stand on top of the world. I'd like to thank everyone for all their support. It was really awesome to know that so many people were rooting for me and served as great motivation during those times when every cell in my body was telling me to turn around. I encourage people who have a dream or a goal to go out and pursue it, as wild as it may seem. It doesn't have to be climbing Mt. Everest but maybe it's a completing a 5k or a triathlon or even getting out and staying active with your kids, you just need to take the first step. If I can inspire just one person to go out and find their own Mt. Everest, that would make my sense of accomplishment feel all the better..

I'm a little burned out from mountains right now and although I told myself I would never step on a mountain again throughout the whole trip, I am already getting that old familiar itch. If the right opportunity presents itself I would certainly consider another 8000m peak. In the mean time I am really enjoying being back home and breathing the thick air at sea level. Again, to all my teammates and people at home who followed along with my adventure, thank you all so much!

Sincerely,
Max