By the time we reached Everest Base Camp, I had begun to suspect mountains had a sense of humour.
For months, I had trained to carry weight uphill. I had run before sunrise, climbed artificial walls until my fingers cramped, dragged heavy packs up staircases, learned to cross ladders in crampons, and practised breathing through exhaustion.
None of that had prepared me for how difficult it was to put on trousers inside a frozen tent.
The wind pressed against the fabric walls with both hands. My sleeping bag trapped one leg. My thermal shirt had somehow twisted around my waist, and every movement made the tent shiver as if it disapproved of me personally.
From outside came Sonic’s voice.
“Are you alive?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve been getting dressed for twenty minutes.”
“At this altitude, time
