My breath came in short pants. My heart raced. I was so close—so very close.
No, I wasn’t having sex. I was breathless from the altitude, heart pounding as I strained to summit this peak as quickly as my oxygen-starved muscles could go. All this with a twenty-five pound pack on my back. For me, this sort of thing was just as good as sex. Actually it was better than sex. The finish would be more satisfying than the best orgasm—but only if I managed to beat Ethan to the top.
Behind me I heard the scattering-clack of a dislodged rock tumbling down the mountain, followed by a not-so-muffled curse. We were at least two miles ahead of the rest of our hikers—probably more since neither one of us has taken a break since we’d broken camp and headed out this morning. Our resting spot for the evening, the place where the others were most likely approaching right now, was further down the mountain in a gorgeous spot next to an alpine lake. That’s where we should be, relaxing in ultralight camp chairs and eating trail mix, our tents already set up for the night. The sun at the campsite would be setting, low in the embrace of scrubby pine boughs, but here it was gone, blocked by the shadow of the mountain. If I hurried, I’d catch a glimpse of the red-gold rays at the summit. I’d glory in the view, wait at the peak for that asshole to climb over the last ledge, gloat a bit, then head down a narrow, treacherous trail in the dark with only my headlamp to guide me.
This is stupid, that logical voice inside my head chastised. But I never listened to that voice, not when there was a challenge to my endurance, skill, and speed. There was no money riding on this bet, just honor. If Mr. Weekend-warrior, Corporate-wank, Offshore-tax-sheltered-jerk with his thousand-dollar backpack and five-hundred-dollar trekking poles thought he could out-hike a woman who’d been on the trails practically since she could walk, then he was in for a surprise.
I didn’t have a thousand-dollar backpack or five-hundred-dollar hiking sticks. What I did have was some nice, sponsored products, my trusty old gear, and grit. Emphasis on the grit. Normally an extreme backpacking excursion organized by a swanky outfitter with a reputation for corporate team-building would be out of my price range, but Women In The Backcountry magazine had asked me to do an article on the experience, and the outfitter had comped the trip, eager to break into the “Outdoorsy Women CEO” demographic. I could see why they’d want to tap that market since I’d arrived to find myself in a group of ten men, all of them executives from some giant finance company.
Ethan was the head dick, evidently. Although the others were reasonably fit, they were struggling to keep up where he wasn’t. Ethan had clearly put together this team building exercise for his department. No doubt he’d said “jump” and they’d all thrown on their backpacks and agreed to seven days hiking in the Grand Tetons. There were no fourteens on this excursion, but plenty of eleven and twelve thousand foot mountains, and the mother of them all that came in pretty damned close to fourteen thousand. This trip had been tough even for me, a woman who made her living doing extreme outdoor expeditions and writing about them. As for these corporate guys? I was surprised none of them were dead yet.
From day one, Ethan had pushed hard, ordering our guides to set a crushing pace with high miles and big climbs. These guys should have started out with a five-mile day, especially at altitude, but Ethan had us doing twenty on our first hike of the trip. None of the guys complained. None of the guides complained, clearly realizing who was paying the bill—and who would be doing the tipping at the end of our trip.
I hadn’t complained either. Instead I’d gotten pissed at Ethan’s arrogant, high-handed bullshit and took the lead the first day, arriving at our campsite an hour before the rest of them. That was the beginning of our feud. Each day Ethan and I quickly outpaced the others, racing each other to our spot for the night. Today was our last hike before we headed back. Ethan’s smack-talk this morning had been unbearable. And if I didn’t beat him to the summit, he’d be worse than unbearable tonight. I’d never been so tempted to ditch a group and head back on my own as I had on this trip. But if I left, Ethan would claim that as some sort of victory, and I wasn’t about to lose to that asshole, ever. It was only pride that allowed me to put up with that jerk for seven days. And it was pride pushing my body to its absolute limit up this mountain.
I traversed a narrow ledge, then came to a stop at a huge bolder. A scramble wasn’t a big deal, but the last hundred feet of this were pretty close to a climb. Once more that voice in my head warned me to call this foolishness off and head back. I didn’t have climbing gear with me, and doing this bare-handed with no tie-offs in dim light was taking unnecessary risks.
Did I mention that I never listened to that voice?
For a brief second I thought about taking off my pack and leaving it behind, but I could see Ethan climbing a path that would put him ahead of me if I delayed. Leaving the pack on, I found some handholds, and got moving.
The next half hour was brutal. Twice I’d almost fallen to what surely would have been my death. My hands were cramping, and two fingers were bleeding from scrapes, but I finally pulled myself over the last boulder, got to my feet, and started running. Ethan was seconds behind me and gaining, his longer stride giving him the advantage in this sprint to the finish.
I poured on the speed, using energy I should have saved for the trip down to the campsite. But I didn’t care about getting to the campsite; all I cared about was winning. Ethan flung out a hand, jumping for the final boulder that was the high point on the peak. I threw an elbow his way and jumped as well.
That’s when a blinding light took away my sight, and everything went from white to black.
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