My crampons crunched into the snow, as the sky began to come alive with the sun rising over a crest behind me. The only lights near me are headlamps in a straight row, and the whiteness from the snow appearing more clearly. Six people mimic me, tied together by harnesses and a blue and green weaved climbing rope, a six to eight step difference. Relying on me to lead, guide, and set the pace, I stop to look behind me to see a row of white helmets glowing from their headlamps. "Step. Crunch. Breath in. Step. Crunch. Breath Out. Step. Crunch. Breath in," I yell military style. They need me to talk through our breathing. 13,000' and my legs are moving slower, the crampons are feeling heavier with each step. My breathing feels like its being strangled by the rope attached to my back carabiner. I want to stop. Sit. Eat. Not move again. I wonder how I can check in with others behind, how I can lead, yell, talk if I feel light-headed, questioning my decisions to tip-toe on the edge of a crevasse that has just appeared, I think. I have lost track of how many hours have passed. The sun is my best friend reminding me of time, as it burns off the whisking clouds appearing at my head as my elevation increases. As I remember to look up, look ahead, I know we are close, highest I have ever been. I want to run, but I know I am moving in very slow motion. I slip off my crampons, thankfully being able to walk on stone, scree and scramble to the summit to kiss the sky at 14, 562'.
