Britton Barbee

Going Toe to Toe With the Mountain

By 29029 Everesting

June 10^th, 2022

There was a lot of anticipation heading into 29029 Utah. I had signed up before the pandemic, and after a year hiatus, I was chomping at the bit to finally set foot on the mountain, in person, and conquer the slopes!

I’ve never felt more ready in my life than I did at the start of Utah. I’m ready to do it - I’ll go the full 36 hours if I need to.

I was locked in. I stopped drinking coffee 10 days prior so the effects of caffeine during the event would have more of an impact on me. I even went to bed at 7:30 the night before event day. I was on a mission to have the best 29029 I could.

I wanted to put on that Red Hat. I prepped hard. I trained hard. I wanted it to be hard, and I wanted to go toe-to-toe with this mountain and come out on top.

In life, it’s far too easy to tell yourself to stay in your lane. I’m a former college football player - the endurance sports world doesn’t look like me. Endurance sport certainly wasn’t ‘my lane,’ but I wanted to do it anyways.

I set out to do something that made me uncomfortable so I could find out who I was on the other side of it. Who can I become in those 36 hours of hiking a mountain?

The first climb went fine. In fact, the first few were fine. I was getting after it!

There’s nothing sweeter than the sounds from the bottom of the mountain disappearing as you climb away. The fading away of the buzzing from the base of the mountain serves as a reminder that you’re powering up the mountain - making progress towards the goal.

As the day dragged on, the heat and elevation started to take a toll, but nothing I couldn’t handle. I was still laser-focused on my goal.

As I checked in at the bottom of the mountain to start lap 9, a medic came up to me and asked if I was okay.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Looking back, it was a lot like when a drunk person tells you that they are okay to drive. The medic looked at me skeptically.

“Seriously, I’m good.”

The medic insisted on checking my blood pressure, “You should really take a rest.”

But I didn’t listen. I kept going. I had a job to do.

They must have been talking to the aid stations, because at each one, somebody checked in on me. Somewhere along the way, another medic told me to take a seat. It was 4 am, and I hadn’t slept yet.

I was at the final aid station - so close to the top. I just wanted to finish that summit, and then deal with whatever it was that had the medics worried.

“We need to get you to the bottom of the mountain,” they told me.

Now my wife will tell you that I’m pretty stubborn, especially when I’m after something that I really want, and I really wanted that Red Hat.

“No, I’m good. I didn’t come this far to get driven down the mountain…”

We went back and forth - me pleading my case about continuing to climb, the medics telling me I wasn’t well enough to do so. It ended with them taking away my poles, and that’s when it finally sunk in that this was serious. I needed to listen to the medics. My 29029 was done.

After taking some time to feel sorry for myself, I snapped myself out of it. If I can't finish this one, the least I can do is cheer on everybody else going for it! So I took the gondola to the top, cheering on my fellow participants for hours. It was so inspiring! I was grateful I was able to be at the top cheering them on, but there was still a nagging thought about my failure in my own quest for the Red Hat.

In hindsight, I didn’t eat or drink nearly as much as I should. I just kept climbing - no time for breaks. It ultimately did me in. My body gave out.

Once I realized I wasn’t going to reach my goal, there was this massive mental letdown. It was devastating! I had trained so hard and sacrificed so much in preparation.

The feeling of failure ate away at me. For over two weeks, I moped around in a funk. I didn’t know how long it would last.

I'll probably feel this way until I vanquish the mountain - until I complete 29029.

Thankfully, it was not long to 29029 Vermont.

Six weeks later, I found myself at the base of Stratton Mountain, going for that Red Hat yet again.

Listen to your body. Don’t get too high. Don’t get too low. Chip away. Remain consistent. These were all lessons I learned from Utah, and I knew they’d help me in Vermont.

Looking up from the base, I knew it was going to be proper. This mountain wasn’t going to make redemption easy, but I still felt confident.

When I started, I knew what the job was. But this time, I was more detached from the outcome. In Utah, I was so committed to finishing it exactly how I envisioned. That didn’t work.

This time, I was detached from how I’d get to my goal - instead, I was just going to take it as it came.

Lap 7 is when my body decided to start to complain. I was sore, and things were difficult, but that’s exactly how it was supposed to be. I still felt significantly better than I did in Utah. Onwards I climbed.

In the middle of the night, I took a short break. 90 minutes of sleep were all I’d get before getting up, and continuing on - step after step towards the summit.

At lap 15, I knew I was going to finish. I had enough time! But let me tell you, that’s how the mountain gets you.

Lap 15 SUCKS.

It’s not the last lap before you get to swap out for a Red Bib. It’s not the last lap before you put on your Red Hat either. It’s the last lap before either of those laps, but that was it. It was just another mark on the burn board. I wanted to be done…

Lap 16 felt better. It was the last time I’d be climbing with the regular white bib on. The end was truly in sight now.

Lap 17, of course, was the best yet! With the Red Bib on, I climbed towards the Red Hat.

Cresting the final rise to the finish unlocked something in me. I’m not a crier, but it hit me hard. In that moment, it was all tears and all hugs.

No matter how mentally tough you are, the validation that comes from pulling on that Red Hat is unmatched.

You might say “it’s just a hat, you can buy a hat Britton,” but it’s not the hat, it’s what the hat represents.

It represents waking up at 3 in the morning, putting on a 70 lb backpack, and doing 5 hours of step-ups in your garage. It represents the hours, days, weeks, or even months of uncertainty about whether you’d actually be able to step up when the time came and make it to Everest. It represents all the hard work, all the anticipation, and all the perseverance it takes to get to the point where you get to put on that Red Hat.