Before he'd take me to Everest, Lukas Furtenbach set me one high altitude test: Aconcagua, the highest mountain outside Asia. Two months after our call I was on a plane to Argentina.
At 4,200m, arriving at base camp, I was sick and dizzy. My first time at altitude. But my body adapted. It was late in the season and the weather wasn't on our side, with winds at the summit reaching 100km/h. Teams piled up at high camp waiting for a window.
We left for the summit in the dead of night. Teams were turning back all around us. Minus 20 felt like minus 40 in the wind. Crossing the ridge towards the Cave at 6,700m, the wind pushed us back and stripped the heat from us. We planted our feet with every step to stay on the mountain. My lungs were tight and every step got harder. Soon there were only two guides, two other climbers and me.
My guide Luco shouted through the wind. A storm was rolling in and we had to move faster. Then the words I was dreading: “James, you're too slow. You need to turn around.”
I'd flown to Argentina and spent over two weeks on the mountain, and with around 260m to go I had to leave it all behind. We sat down, the reality set in, and my eyes flooded. We descended.
It was a side of mountaineering I hadn't met before. Not everything was in my control, and a wrong move could kill you. There's no ten minute timeout and no car to pick you up when you're too tired. The only plan B is your own strength to get down safely. Judgement calls were now about survival, not fatigue.
I had never failed a race. I'd run 100 mile and 200 mile races and always crossed the line. Maybe I wasn't invincible. Three months later I was standing on top of Everest.