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I may have metioned that for my 21st I plan to be (arguably) the highest man on the planet by climbing Mt Chimborazo - the peak of which is furthest point from the centre of the Earth.

Well, I did some initial investigations and the cost is pretty reasonable (especially when you consider the money spent on booze when most people turn 21). For around $200 I get a guide, equipment, accomodation and food for 3 days (2 days acclimatizing at 5000m and one day to summit and descend).

"Hold on a minute!" (or, "Espere un minute!")....."Acclimatize at 5000m? Just how big is this thing?!?!"

"Si, Senhor, es necessario acclimitar á 5000m por dos dias para preparar su respitación antes va al cumbre."

"Si, claro! Lo sé eso! Quiero el más acclimatación possible! Pero que alto es el cumbre?!?!?! Diga me! Necissito Saber!!!"

"Tranquillo, Senhor! El cumbre es solamente 6300m. Es muy pequéno, muy facil."

"MUY PEQÉNO? 6300m? 20,000ft? TU ES LOCO! Pero está bien, por que soy loco tambien! Vamos!"


Now, I am currently at 2700m above sea level and Chimborazo peaks 3600m above this height. For comparison, the highest mountain I've 'climbed' to date is Ben Nevis, Scotland, at a puny 1344m (4406ft). So I'm already twice as high as that and I haven't even started yet!

I was scared into action and went for a run today, figuring I have 3 weeks to get my legs used to walking and my lungs used to breathing this already pretty thin air. Based on the results of my run I have come to a most depressing conclusion my friends:

I'm a dead man.

After 10 minutes of light jogging downhill I had collapsed to my knees, wrenching air into my body with donkey like noises, coughing and wheezing my death knell to inform the locals in time to prepare funeral arrangements (rolling me into a ditch most likely!).

Yep. If I'm not killed by a rampaging bus during on of my preparatoy runs, or if my heart doesn't get wind of what I'm planning to make it go through and give up the goose to save itself the effort, then Chimborazo itself will be the culprit.

But don't despair, dear readers. I shall continue to blog until that fateful day. And you can take solice from the knowledge that I died a valiant, heroic death. You can blame my 3-peak buddies Dan and Jon for the blind stubborness that will be the death of me, and be sure to mail them photos of my corpse.

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