For five long days we had climbed steadily upward. Our tired legs had taken us forty miles up, through five climate zones to an elevation of over 15,000 feet. The much anticipated final push to reach Kilimanjaro's 19,340 foot glacier-covered summit was finally here. My dad and Bob Medina, his college roommate and business partner for 32 years, met me outside our tents at midnight. We were wearing virtually every piece of clothing we had brought with us. Through our ski goggles, we exchanged nervous glances and knew this was exactly what months of training had come down to. The incredible views and the dramatic landscapes of the first days were behind us. Between us and Uhuru Peak lay darkness and 4,000 vertical feet of boulder-strewn mountainside.

Our Tanzanian guides, Emmanuel and Herman, led the way. With any luck we would reach the summit by dawn and be rewarded with a view that can only be seen from the highest point in Africa. A full moon reflected off the glaciers many miles above us, illuminating the demanding ascent. At this elevation, the air pressure is too low to push the oxygen into your lungs as would ordinarily happen. Our guides were constantly checking us for high altitude sickness, and cautioning us to go "polé, polé" meaning "slowly, slowly" in Swahili.

Mt. Kilimanjaro is considered the world's highest peak climbable without technical training; meaning, there are no ropes or carabiners, just a long grinding uphill "walk". Undoubtedly there are places where a step backwards would be deadly and caution is paramount. However, those willing to get into shape, and who have the stamina and willpower, can successfully attain their goal. We were well aware of these facts, but at 5 a.m. in the pre-dawn cold, with low oxygen and subzero wind chill, we were having trouble remembering them.

Headlamps of climbers further ahead appeared as slow-motion lighting bugs, gradually zigzagging up the cliff. I have no memory of several of those grueling hours; maybe I pretended to be somewhere else or perhaps I was slightly delusional. When my head was clear, I kept telling myself to simply put one foot in front of the other and trust that as time passed we eventually would get there. The key was to just keep moving.

Even through layers of thick clothing, the icy wind somehow found its way in. My fingers and toes had gone numb, and alarmingly our water packs had already frozen within minutes in the single-digit temperatures. We hardly spoke; just listened to Emmanuel and Herman speak Swahili and hum tribal songs, seemingly without a care in the world.

The physical and mental test finally ended as we were treated to a sight typically reserved for those flying above the clouds. A red horizon had nestled above a line of soft white clouds. The sunrise lifted our spirits and thawed our frozen, tired bones. We summoned the last of our energy and finished the last 500 feet within an hour. I felt my frozen cheeks grin and knew it was all downhill from there.