I am sitting in the window seat on the plane heading home from Argentina. My lips are still chapped, and I’m relishing the thought of my legs finally being forced to stay still for the next 10 hours. On the screen in front of me, I track the plane's altitude, and I feel a rush in my stomach as we pass 6,961 meters. The height of Aconcagua—the highest mountain in South America, and the mountain I stood atop just five days ago. I close my eyes and recall the feeling of those final steps toward the peak.
I am often asked what it feels like to reach the summit of a mountain, which, paradoxically, is a very ambivalent feeling. Often, you actually feel like absolute hell by the time you’ve finally dragged your ass up there. Your body has long been suffering from a significant lack of sleep and energy; the air is thin, your heart rate is high, the cold is biting, and your legs are exhausted. Every natural instinct in your body is telling you to go back down.
At the same time, the summit is the symbol of days, months, and years of work, training, dedication, and perseverance. Standing at the top provides—besides the wildest endorphin rush—an immense sense of euphoria, pride, and gratitude. Furthermore, it offers a level of self-awareness and learning that I could never have unearthed anywhere else but in the very footprints I laid toward the peak. Reaching what I thought was my physical and mental limit—and yet watching myself put one foot in front of the other and continue, again and again—contributes enormously to my body awareness and self-development.
The Dress Rehearsal
The plane continues higher and higher, and everything below us grows smaller. A sense of relief over an extremely successful expedition, and all the good memories packed in my rucksack, spreads through my body. At the same time, excitement begins to creep in—because this was only the dress rehearsal. The warm-up, if you will.
The last time I had the chance to draw that thin, cold air deep into my lungs, hammer my crampons into the icy terrain, and humbly look out over the giants that seem to stretch infinitely into the horizon—before the real challenge begins. Next time, it’s for real. It’s the highest mountain in the world. It’s Mount Everest.
The screen shows 8,000 meters, and a shiver runs through my body. The next two months before departing for the world's highest mountain will undoubtedly be some of the most intense of my life. This is where I must tie a bow on years of preparation. I must pack all my meticulously selected gear into its designated place, gather all my mental tools so they are ready to be used when I need them, and whip my body through the final training sessions so it isn't too shocked when it soon faces the greatest challenge of its life. Trust in my body and mind is one of the most important tools I carry, carefully built through training, experience, and a love for myself and for life.
Why I Climb
I look out the window, filled with satisfaction at how much everything makes sense as I sit right here. This isn’t about the summit; it’s about the journey there. It’s about the person I become by working for something greater and challenging myself. It’s about the fascination of navigating raw nature—a nature where respect must come from the human side, and where I must bow to the mountains' command. It’s about the fact that I, as an individual, thrive in a dedicated and purposeful daily life.
It’s about every single step of the way—from the moment the idea was planted in my consciousness to the moment I stand on the summit with tears in my eyes and the Dannebrog (Danish flag) raised above my head.
I close my eyes and smile, thinking to myself: I am ready.
