Trent and I spent the entire next day organizing our climb. We chose from the multitudes a company with a good reputation and reasonable price. Zara Travel earned the deal, $615 each. Included in our package were the services of 1 guide, 4 porters, all park and rescue fees, food, extra equipment, and transport. Oh yeah, they throw in a t-shirt if you make it to the top.

The most popular route up the mountain is known as the Marangu route, or colloquially known as the Coca-Cola route. It's a 5 day ordeal that is very well traveled. There are Scandanavian-style chalet huts at each stop, canteens for purchasing beer and water, and bunk-bed style accomodations that include solar powered electricity. 95% of all climbers take this route.

Not us. My mountaineer friend could not possibly stomach the thought of reaching the summit without really earning it. No, we'd do the "hard route", the "Whiskey route", also known as the Machame route. There are no huts, it's a 6 day climb, and it includes somewhat technical sections as well. According to Trent, "if you're going to the roof top of Africa, you must earn it."

Brief aside: What in the hell was I thinking? In my 27 years of life, I had 8 days of camping experience, all out of the trunk of a four wheel drive that I have never taken off road. I had never climbed anything higher than three flights of stairs, and that only when an elevator was broken. My longest walk was when I was 10 years old and stole a few dollars out of mom's pocketbook and walked 2.1 miles to the neighborhood convenience store -- to buy a Coke. It should have been Coca-Cola for me. I like Coke, I know Coke.

Zara took us to their equipment room for the "extra gear" we'd be sure to need. Since I was chasing summer, the closest thing I had to winter wear was snowflake print boxer shorts. Clearly, I needed a lot of extras. We would not be making any Aspen-like fashion statements on this trip. I was fitted into purple gloves a few sizes too small, yellow rain pants with a broken draw string, a technicolor rain jacket quite in style when I was ten, a brown wool sweater with no left armpit, and socks that not only didn't match, but weren't even the same size. Trent's outfit was equally gorgeous.

That night, we carbed up (at Trent's suggestion, I've never had to carb up for anything except maybe a few all-nighters in front of a computer) on double portions of spaghetti bolonaise. And we drowned ourselves in three liters of water each. Then, off for an early bedtime around nine.

Before bed, I popped a Diamox tablet. Diamox is a drug for glaucoma that is also helpful for alleviating the symptoms of altitude sickness. Trent, a purist, was hesitant. I was not too proud to know that I was already in over my head -- way over -- and that I'd need all the help I could get.

Between the unbelievable pressure on my bladder and anxiety about the climb, I slept quite gingerl y -- until 2am. That's when I first noticed my new friend making a home in the top of my left foot. I had developed a case of cutaneous larva migrans, also known as creeping eruption. This was almost certainly a direct result of of walking barefoot in Zanzibar for the better part of the last three weeks. Anyway, it's a strange almost surreal feeling to sense another organism in your body moving around. The worm wound its way across the top of my left foot, just under the first couple of layers of skin. It itched like hell.

I spent the remaining hours of the night worried about the little fellow. There was little I could do except concentrate really hard on that area of the foot and "will" him (it definitely was a him, I could tell by the way he wandered around aimlessly) death. It didn't work.

Day 1...