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Bruce Tepikian

Comfort is a Slow Death

By 29029 Everesting

November 14^th, 2025

The first mountain I ever saw worth climbing wasn’t in a photo.

It was a silhouette through the African dust.

Kilimanjaro. Distant, yet magnetic.

It was 2012, and I was on a mission trip with my wife and daughter in Africa.

I asked our guide about it. They did trips there often. I said if a spot ever became available, I'd be interested.

I'm a trial defense lawyer for bet-the-company cases. Progress in that world is a grind. Deadlines. Confrontation. Noise. Stress.

I felt a longing for somewhere to be disconnected.

Nine months after returning from that mission trip, I got the call.

A spot had opened on a Kilimanjaro trek.

Less than 6 weeks later, I was headed back to Africa.

I tagged Kilimanjaro - call it a hike in hindsight, but I was hooked regardless.

I wanted more mountains in my life.

Some would say 52 years old was a bit late to enter the world of mountaineering, but that didn’t matter to me.

I began learning the craft on Rainier with a ten-day mountaineering course.

Rope work. Crevasse rescue. Camping on a glacier.

Eventually, the summit was tagged.

Then Elbrus.

Tagged.

Aconcagua.

Tagged.

Denali, nearly tagged before a turn in the weather a thousand yards from the summit, and subsequent frostbite forced me to turn back.

Lesson? The mountain always has the last word.

An attempt at Everest came later.

After six weeks on the mountain, Khumbu cough had other plans. I tore cartilage in my chest and was forced to bail.

It hurt.

But later, I learned my tentmate had passed away after he tagged the summit. The cough may have saved my life, and I didn’t know how to carry that.

What stuck? Presence. Teamwork. Patience. You move when it’s safe, you stop when it’s not.

“In endurance is victory” isn’t just a tattoo on my arm, it’s a reminder of how you keep going.

By my mid-60s, dozens of peaks all over the world and lots of orthopedic surgeries later, the idea of hauling 85-pound packs for days to get a chance at a summit no longer hit the same.

I still wanted meaningful and hard.

I still wanted to stay active.

I still wanted to climb mountains.

I found 29029.

Stratton was my first, and I showed up the only way I knew how: with a mountaineer’s game plan.

Do this, then this, and then that. Reach the top.

But the first few climbs erased the plan.

New rules, but same outcome.

Keep moving.

I like night climbing, so when the sun dipped, I settled into my element. I had a quick 45-minute nap in the recovery room, then went straight back to the mountain.

Chipping away.

The surprise wasn’t just the vertical - it was the people.

Volunteers who’d hand you what you needed before you knew what you needed. Coaches who had answers. Fellow climbers who cared.

A community - nearly a thousand 29029ers I’ve shared a mountain with now - where I have yet to meet even a single jerk.

Think about how rare that is!

I finished with some time to spare, and I was convinced: this was the spiritual continuation of my mountains.

The climbing rope was gone, my pack was lighter, but the climb demanded the same thing.

Seek higher things.

Except now, it was spelled by brands on the ascent board and Red Hats.

I climbed at Jackson Hole next.

Arriving a week before, I spent almost all of that extra time staring at the slope. It started to get in my head, a menacing presence always in sight.

Nineteen ascents.

Nowhere to hide.

When we finally started climbing, it felt exactly like it looked.

Straight up.

Short, sure - but relentless.

Seven ascents in, I thought I’d feel great.

But instead, I just felt the math.

Only about a third of the way done…

So I did what the mountains had taught me.

Simplified.

One step at a time.

One pole plant.

One ascent.

When repetition chews at your head, it’s not the legs that give first.

It’s the mind.

The thought comfort is a slow death came back to me.

I wasn’t there for comfort. I was there to keep climbing. There was no negotiation.

By the time the board neared full, the mountain had stripped everything away.

Strategy, pace, and comfort, gone.

When that final ascent came, it wasn’t triumph I felt first. It was relief.

And the satisfaction of knowing I’d outlasted the mountain one step at a time.

Snowbasin was just a month after Jackson Hole, and in that time, I’d caught COVID.

Far from ideal recovery, but I tested negative just in time.

The tank wasn’t full, but I showed up.

Snowbasin wasn’t a kind mountain, and the ascents didn’t come easily from the very beginning.

It’s a good thing I believed that comfort was a slow death, because there was little to be had in the hot Utah sun.

By the middle of the night, everything I’d eaten started to come back up. And after that, nothing wanted to stay down.

Cold air. Headlamps rocking. The taste of stomach acid and stubbornness…

I’d learned how to suffer.

That’s a skill.

Not dramatic. Not fun.

Just real.

Just raw.

So I did what I know.

I kept climbing.

And finally, I got another 29029 Everest, earned the hard way.

Some people ask me why someone who has stood on many of the Seven Summits in real life would show up for the metaphor at 29029.

It’s simple.

It started as training for me, but it quickly became the main thing.

It’s fun. It’s engaging. It’s a chance to contribute to a community.

Mountaineering taught me teamwork and presence.

29029 sharpened them.

I like things that go long. Trials do. Mountains do. These climbs do.

If you take care of yourself - eat, rest, move - you can achieve great heights. If you don’t, you might fail long before the finish.

My mountains look different now. The packs are a bit lighter, the journey is often a bit closer to home.

But the work is the same.

Show up.

Stay present.

Keep climbing.

Because comfort? Comfort is the slowest way to lose the things that matter.

And I’m not done climbing yet.

Footnotes

Voice: Bruce Tepikian. Writing: Evan Wishloff. Photos: Megan Dunn, Brendan Ladd, Mitch Meyer, Evan Wishloff.

Button Label

FootNotes

Voice: Bruce Tepikian. Writing: Evan Wishloff. Photos: Megan Dunn, Brendan Ladd, Mitch Meyer, Evan Wishloff.

Charlotte Huisman

Bruce Tepikian

Comfort is a Slow Death

FootNotes

No Emotion, Just Motion

Brian Goldstein

The Foundation for the Summit

Tom Turcich

Higher Together

Brent & Kyle Pease