that is what I did. And it worked. Then more down and down and down. We got to Camp 2 around 2:00pm. It was almost done. We were back at Camp 2. I was still altogether in body and mind. I hadn’t cracked. I thought we would spend the night at Camp 2 and descend to Base Camp the following morning, but since we got there in such good time Eric floated the idea of packing up and continuing down to Camp 1. I was leaning toward remaining at Camp 2 for fuel and rest but agreed that I thought we could make it down to Camp 1. But first we had to strike camp and pack it all up. We had summited with the bare minimum. Eric had taken a pack with hardly anything in it. In a quest to be as light as possible I went with even less. I didn’t wear a pack on our summit push. I just basically stuffed food, water, camera, sunscreen, goggles, etc. in my pockets. So after packing up all of our gear we left Camp 2 at 3:00pm and headed for the barn. But that is when I bonked like I’ve never bonked before. I was entirely spent. I had given every piece of mental and physical energy to Ama Dablam and I had no more. I had felt exertion as severe as anything I have experienced. We were about halfway between Camps 1 and 2. We were so close. Even though gravity was now on my side I could barely move. Eric went on ahead. I simply needed to follow the route and fixed lines over a section I had been on three times before. No problem. I could only move three steps at a time and then I’d have to stop for a rest. Otherwise I feared I would misstep and simply topple over the side. Keep moving. Keep moving. And I did. It seemed as though it took days to cover the final stretch into Camp 1. When I got there I literally tumbled into the tent and didn’t budge. Embarrassingly, I couldn’t even sit up to take off my boots. Eric pulled them off for me, got me wrapped up in my sleeping bag, and handed me a hot drink. The hardest day of my life was over. We did it. We were done. In the morning, Camp 1 to Base Camp would be a piece of cake. Now I just needed rest. Camp 1 is rather sizable and everyone pretty much knows who is coming and going. They know when you were on your summit attempt, so when you come down they ask if you made it. If you did, there is always congratulations all the way around. They know what it takes. Then some might ask you for particulars, like how long did it take. That’s when I finally learned that we were sprinting up and down that giant icy rock. I had no reference—though I knew Eric was much faster than most and we had passed a few groups—and no clue how well I would do at 20,000+ feet. I hoped I wasn’t on the slow side and thought maybe I was at least of average speed. When you are up there giving more than you have to give, you certainly don’t feel fast or even average. You feel slow. But everyone’s eyes got big and jaws slightly dropped when we told them that we summited in 6½ hours from Camp 2 (not the usual Camp 3) and then descended, pausing at Camp 2 for an hour, all the way to Camp 1. In total, it was a 15-‐hour sprint. Now I knew why I bonked. Plus I had caught whatever the Italian docs had been spewing as well as developed the inevitable high-‐altitude “Khumbu” cough, which is known to break ribs of those severely afflicted. The next morning we packed up and headed for Base Camp. We both felt strong. We blitzed down the trail and paused at Base Camp for my favorite hot milk tea and then
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