Blasts of cold stabbed exposed skin during the transition, painfully reminding us that the arrogant and unprepared are not welcome atop the world’s highest places, that it would be not the heat but the cold that would bring down Icarian ambition here, freezing those who attempt to go higher. Yet, in darkness one thousand feet below one of America’s tallest peaks, we did.

So much discussion was on our lovers today—how Anna and Shanna interact with us, our relationships, all the nuances of each, and how our past lives have converged. We both miss our women.

We awoke at 7am, 10 hours after we fell asleep, which was immediately after the dinner that followed the 2 hour nap that began when we collapsed in our tent. Winded, dizzy, exhausted, not altitude adapted. After 12 hours of sleep, our bodies must have produced enough red blood cells to make up for the nearly 9000ft of altitude we picked up overnight. We were to press on today, and if we hoped to succeed, our bodies would have to catch up at the acclimatization game.

I was now higher than I’d ever been before, and the coming days would have me achieving this feat two more times. It was at this time that I checked my GPS—my grandmother had died. The funeral was on Saturday. There was no reasonable chance of making it. My decision when Justin asked what I needed to do was immediate—“I will deal with this when I get back.” It felt callous, but it was the only option given the timing.