As I wrote this story, I felt the pull to return to Africa, to climb the mountain again armed with all the things I know now that I didn’t know then. However, my partner reminded me repeatedly of the first words out of my mouth when I returned: “If I ever start making noise about doing that again, remind me that I don’t really want to.” Apparently, climbing Kili is akin to giving birth, in that you eventually forget the pain and misery. I forgot it once my toenails grew back. And quite honestly, it wasn’t the hike that did me in. It was eight days on the mountain – sleeping on rocks, digging volcanic soot out of every orifice, eating potatoes three times a day and hating how quickly two liters of water moves through the human body.

Having said all of that, trust me when I tell you that anyone who hungers for adventure should answer this call. It is one of the most spectacular, invigorating and exhilarating experiences I have ever had, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. If you make up your mind to go for it, please take these two pieces of advice: Train your whole body, not just your cardio. And pack toilet paper.