Ah, New Year’s Eve. That joyful evening where a glass (or two) of champagne fills us with optimism and daring ideas, like finally learning French, trying our hand at pottery, or, in my case, climb a literal mountain.
The Sparkling Downfall
It was 2007, New Years Eve Party. The bubbly was flowing, the countdown had ended, and resolutions were being flung around like confetti. Someone mentioned climbing Kilimanjaro as a bucket-list dream. In my sparkling, festive haze, I loudly declared this a brilliant idea. Internally, however, my brain was screaming, “This was NEVER on my list. My bucket list is more ‘How to make sourdough’ than ‘hike a dormant volcano.’”
About a month later, an email dropped into my inbox. Flights? Confirmed. Accommodation? Sorted. Porters? Hired. Somehow, without fully recalling how, I was now one of thirteen people committed to a seven day climb to the ‘Roof of Africa’, a modest little hill called Kilimanjaro, standing at 5,895 metres.
That’s higher than the Shard stacked on top of itself… seventeen times. At that point, reality hit me harder than finding out the Wi-Fi’s down five minutes before a board meeting. I really should’ve gone with the sourdough.
A Brief Geological Detour
Kilimanjaro isn’t just a mountain. It’s basically three volcanic cones (stratovolcano), in a trench coat:
- Kibo – The tallest, where you’ll find Uhuru Peak (the summit). Technically dormant, but with enough gas emissions to remind you it could, theoretically, wake up grumpy.
- Mawenzi – The extinct, less dramatic sibling to the east.
- Shira – The ancient, collapsed western cone, now a plateau, proof that even mountains have midlife crises.
The Admin Twist: Fundraising With Purpose
At the time, I was temping as admin support at the Camden Down Syndrome Association, working with some of the most kind-hearted, inspiring individuals (honestly, if the world had more of their empathy, we’d all be better off). That job gave me the push I needed, if I was going to suffer up a mountain, I’d at least make it meaningful.
So, in true administrative fashion, I created a new spreadsheet, and I was going to raise sponsorship. Back in 2008, I had raised £2000 as a donation to the Down Syndrome Association. Take that, Kilimanjaro, I had spreadsheets and purpose on my side.
Training? What Training?
The UK isn’t exactly blessed with high-altitude landscapes. So, my ‘training’:
Did not involve:
- Climbing up the wet and windy, Ben Nevis (Scotland’s tallest at 1,345m, adorable compared to Kili).
But did involve:
- Hitting the gym treadmill walking at max incline. (Effective? Questionable.)
Day 1: The Reality Check
At the base of the mountain, surrounded by rainforest mud and nervous laughter, it hit me: This is happening.
We trekked for 6.5 hours, each step trading chit-chat for silence and laboured breathing. By sunset, we reached camp, exhausted but buzzing.
The Climb: When Admin Skills Go Altitude-Ready
Turns out, being an admin is the ultimate training ground for mountain survival:
- Organisation: Solar panels? Packed. Wet wipes? Stocked. Spare loo roll? Absolute gold dust above 4,000 metres.
- Adaptability: Batteries dead? No problem, solar panel to the rescue. Plenty of juice left to keep our head torches glowing and even sneak in a cheeky playlist under the twinkling night sky.
- Resilience: When the guide casually announced, “We descend to ascend,” (a cruel twist in mountain logic of climatisation) I didn’t flinch, I smiled, nodded, and quietly recalculated the madness ahead.
Final Night – Summit Climb
At 3 AM, in complete darkness, a sea of bobbing head torches. We were expected to eat breakfast, brush our teeth, and somehow layer up like human onions. The guides reminded us, again, that water bottles needed insulating or they’d turn into ice lollies, and that hydration was critical at that altitude. Honestly, I could barely keep my eyelids open, let alone monitor my fluid intake.
Then Came the Climb… three hours of pitch-black, freezing uphill slog. No jokes, no small talk, just the rhythmic crunch of boots on volcanic gravel and the sound of everyone trying to remember how lungs work.
Every step felt like hauling a printer up a fire escape. I was frozen, knackered, and re-evaluating every champagne-fuelled decision that got me there.
But the guides, part mountain goat, part motivational speaker, kept us going with calm authority. For them, it was just another Tuesday stroll above the clouds; they’d done this dozens of times. For us? Not so much.
Just as I was on the verge of lying down and becoming a permanent rock feature, I’d hear one of them call out, “Keep going, the summit’s close!” And somehow, with legs shaking and brain fog thicker than the altitude, I did.
And then:
Sunrises over a sea of clouds.
Standing on Uhuru Peak, 5,895 metres above sea level, surrounded by endless sky and a blanket of clouds below, I could barely take it in. The air was razor-thin, the wind fierce, tears welled up and started to freeze on my cheeks. But I wasn’t thinking about the cold. I was thinking about the faces of the incredible people at the Down Syndrome Association, their warmth, their strength, their spirit. This summit, every painful step, every frozen breath, was for them.
Why Am I Telling You This?
What does this have to do with being an admin? Everything.
This isn’t just a travel story. It’s a reminder that:
- You’re capable of more than you think
- Purpose gives fuel to the climb
- Even mad goals need a spreadsheet
- Community matters (shoutout to the admin pros & LGBTQ+!)
The Egyptians told their stories in hieroglyphics, carved into the walls of pyramids. I’m telling mine here, far less ancient, slightly less chiselled. But if it inspires even one person to think, “Maybe I could do something bold too…”, then it’s done its job.
Final Lesson?
Making resolutions while drinking champagne? That’s not planning, that’s tipsy ambition.
P.S.
If you fancy joining me for next year’s “How to make sourdough” resolution, DM me. No mountains. Probably. 😁
