I Never Expected to Cry at the Top of Africa — A Climber's Story

I want to be honest with you: I am not an athlete. I have never run a marathon, never hiked anything higher than a Scottish munro, and I had to Google what 'acclimatisation' meant before I booked my climb. So when I tell you that I stood at the summit of Kilimanjaro at dawn on a Tuesday morning in October and sobbed like a child, I want you to understand that it wasn't because I expected to. It was because nothing on earth could have prepared me for that moment.

This is my story of climbing Africa's highest peak with Vertical Sky, and why I would go back tomorrow if I could.

The Decision. And The Doubt.

I booked my Kilimanjaro climb on a whim after a difficult year. A close friend had suggested it half-jokingly at dinner. I looked it up on my phone on the train home, found Vertical Sky, read everything on their website about how they treat their porters and guides, and had a booking enquiry in their inbox before I'd even got home. That was four months before I'd ever be standing on the mountain.

The doubt arrived about a week later, as it always does. I was 44, not particularly fit, and I'd never camped above sea level. What was I thinking? I called the team at Vertical Sky and spent forty minutes on the phone going through every concern I had. Their patience with me was extraordinary and their knowledge even more so. By the end of the call, I wasn't just confident in the climb. I was excited.

The Training.13 Videos That Changed Everything.

One of the things that set Vertical Sky apart immediately was what arrived in my inbox a week after booking: a complete pre-climb Pilates video programme. Thirteen videos, built specifically to prepare climbers for the physical demands of the mountain. I'd never done Pilates in my life. The first video nearly destroyed my ego. The thirteenth one made me feel genuinely ready.

The programme focused on everything that actually matters at altitude, hip flexors, lower back, core stability, breathing mechanics, and leg endurance. Not gym bro stuff. Mountain stuff. I followed it faithfully for three months, adding long walks at weekends. By departure day, I felt the strongest and most capable I had in years.

"The Pilates programme wasn't just physical preparation. It was the first time I really believed I could actually do this".

On the Mountain. Days One Through Four.

The Lemosho Route. Eight days. Our guide was Zizu, calm, expert, and hilarious in equal measure. He had the rare gift of making every person in our group of six feel individually supported, while simultaneously managing the entire team of porters, cooks, and support staff with quiet authority.

The first day through the rainforest was extraordinary, a cathedral of green silence broken only by birdsong and the crunch of boots. By day two, above the treeline, the landscape had transformed into something alien and beautiful. Giant groundsels. Heathland that looked like the Scottish Highlands had been relocated to the equator. And always, above us, the white summit.

Day three was the day altitude first introduced itself. A dull headache, unusual fatigue, a slight loss of appetite. Zizu had us walking at what he called 'pole pole pace', Swahili for 'slowly, slowly.' He explained that the mountain is won or lost in the middle days, not on summit night. He was right.

Summit Night. The Real Story.

You start at midnight. This is not a metaphor for anything. You literally wake at midnight, pull on every layer you own, and walk into the dark. The temperature on our summit night was somewhere around -15°C. The wind was present but merciful. The sky was a billion stars.

At around 5,000 metres, about two hours before the summit, something shifts. The air is thin enough that every step requires a breath. The pace becomes glacial. Your mind starts negotiations with your body that you can only win by refusing to engage. You just walk. Slowly. Breathing. Walking.

I reached Stella Point, the crater rim, 5,739 metres, just as the sky began to change. Pink. Then orange. Then a gold that has no name in any language I speak. Zizu told me the summit was 45 minutes ahead. I didn't tell him I was crying already.

Uhuru Peak. 5,895 Metres.

I stood at the highest point in Africa and couldn't speak for three minutes. Not for any dramatic reason. Just because nothing came out. My fellow climbers were in various states of the same condition, laughing, weeping, hugging, staring silently at the curve of the earth below.

Our porters, who had carried everything up this mountain in weather that would have stopped most people cold, were smiling the widest smiles I have ever seen. We tipped generously, more than the recommended amount, because some things demand more than the minimum. And we learned their names, all of them, before we ever set foot on the mountain. Zizu had told us that was important on day one. He was right about that too.

"The mountain gives everyone the same view from the summit. Vertical Sky made sure the people who got me there shared in the moment."

What I Wish I Had Known

That the emotional experience will ambush you. No one tells you that. You train for the physical challenge, you prepare for the cold, and then you stand on the roof of Africa at sunrise and your entire body runs out of ways to contain what it's feeling.

That your guide is the most important decision you will ever make for a climb like this. Zizu's knowledge and care were the difference between a summit and a retreat on at least two occasions. Choose your operator carefully. Read what they say about their crew. Mean it when you tip them.

That Kilimanjaro is not the most physically demanding thing you will ever do. It is the most meaningful. And that, as it turns out, is harder.

🏔️  Are you ready to write your own Kilimanjaro story? Visit the contact page to choose your route and begin your journey.

Contact Vertical Sky to book your adventure