April 6, 2020 · Tomás Jorge Nealon
Are you up for climbing Lanín? Yes.
That's how it all started. An idea. A question. Two crazy guys who didn't even know where Lanín was. They didn't even know it was 3,776 masl.
But sometimes life just needs to be lived. Not overthink it. Set a goal. Map out the objectives. And push forward.
The group started coming together. Those two convinced another. And another. One more joined, very reluctantly. And so, after two weeks, we were already 6.
At a dinner, we agreed that each of us would train on our own. It's all about commitment. We knew we had to give it everything.
We're 44 or 45 years old. 25 years ago we knew how to take the field to defend each other like brothers. We didn't quite know what we'd have to face. But we knew we'd be together. More united than ever.
We called someone who organizes this kind of experience. He joined without hesitation. We handed him the captain's armband. And we put all our trust in him. He asked us to train, but not to go overboard. We're all going to make it, he told us. And we believed him.
Some better than others. Some not so much. Some right at their limit. That's how we gathered for a barbecue a week before flying to San Martín de Los Andes. But the team was still missing a player. In two months we hadn't been able to find anyone. Clearly, we weren't inspiring much confidence.
With the barbecue half-eaten, he showed up. He arrived with doubts. He left with certainty. And the next day he postponed a knee surgery. Indefinitely. When I come down from Lanín, I'll call you and we'll see, he told the doctor.
We were now 7. And we had a first-rate captain. We felt unbeatable. We were.
From the outside, all kinds of comments rained down on us. We're 44 or 45 years old. The bookmakers wouldn't put a peso on us. Except our inner circles. Those who saw us commit. Those who saw us train.
But outsiders don't know what they're talking about.
Friday the 13th. At the domestic airport we looked more like a graduation trip than a group about to climb 3,776 masl. There were roller suitcases, school backpacks. From the outside, we were pitiful. But on the inside, we felt unbreakable. 
We landed. Hotel. We met our second guide. And we went out to get the gear we were missing. We were missing everything. Poles. Gloves. Boots. Water.
Dinner and off to bed. Almost no one slept. Anxiety had taken over completely. We had breakfast and got in the van. An hour and a half of travel and there we were. About to play a match. Together. 25 years later.
We could lose.
But we couldn't go back to the locker room without leaving it all out there. We had to be able to look each other in the eye again, knowing we'd defended to the death.
At the foot of the volcano. There was no more time to look back. Nothing done before mattered. Everything was the present moment. Here. Now.
With heavy backpacks, we started walking. Step by step. That's what everyone tells you. Don't think about anything. Only think about each step.
But the mind is a strange muscle. And each of us has to fight our own demons. We all have them. Isn't life, after all, about defeating them?
We had 5 hours of hiking ahead of us on a slope of about 20 degrees. Doesn't sound like a big effort. But if you want to know what it feels like, go do it.
The weather was magical. Full sun. The wind was in quarantine. Short-sleeve shirts. Sunscreen. But above all, a sense of belonging. We were invincible.
Stops for water. A stop for lunch. The 20-degree incline became 25. And we barely cared. Because we were together.
Very tired. With all kinds of aches, each of us found our place on the team. We had to obey the captain and the vice-captain. Save all the energy we could for the second day.
Going from 25 to 30 degrees, the smiles start to disappear. The jokes are barely heard. The silences grow stronger. But trust in your teammate stays intact.
The refuge appears out of nowhere. Like a slap in the face. Right when the demon starts asking: “are you sure you're going to make it?”
Orange domes. Seven fit inside. The captains take on the gear. They make us dinner and send us to bed. Rest up. We're going to need a lot of energy tomorrow.
A lot. More than anyone could imagine. 
No one sleeps. Everyone stays silent. Nerves. Doubts. The mind racing. It's like a boxing ring. The unknown makes you uneasy. And so the night passes. The odds don't have us as favorites.
The season has been very dry. And the volcano, which is usually covered in large part by snow, shows us its bare skin. Tanned by the summer sun, that skin crumbles away in pieces. It's loose volcanic rock.
But nobody really knows what walking on loose volcanic rock is like. Until at 3 in the morning the captain orders you to get up, gear up, and eat breakfast.
Try not sleeping and eating breakfast at 3am.
Spirits intact. Everyone's roles are already set. One carries more water so the one who's not feeling well carries less. Another just stays quiet and saves every bit of energy he can. Another carries the camera to show the ones who believed in us.
We'll burn every image into our souls. No one will ever erase what we're about to live.
Dim night. Not too cold in the refuge. 2,300 masl. 3:50 am. Headlamps lit on every helmet. All you hear are the footsteps of 9 musketeers crunching the stones as they pass.
We're incredible.
Are we all going to make it? Are we all going to make it?
The vice-captain leads the way. The captain brings up the rear. Between the two of them they hold together a group that stretches out like an accordion. But it doesn't break. 
The darkness won't let up. And the demons team up with the cold. And together they come for us. They hit us. It hurts. We feel it.
But since we can't explain to them that we're unbreakable, we come together. We huddle close. We become one. We're brothers.
And we keep looking each other in the eye. And just by looking at each other, we give each other support. We tell each other “you look good.” “That knee looks brand new.” “That stomach bug is long gone.” Even though we know it's all lies. Even though we know the other guy has nothing left. We look each other in the eye.
And that's how we reach Refugio CAJA, with a lot less strength than a minute ago. We think we're almost at the summit. We feel like superheroes.
And reality punches you in the nose. We've only climbed 150 meters of elevation. 2,400 masl. But it's just one punch.
Our legs are aching. Our breathing quickens. And all the air you're missing is being breathed by your own inner demon. It's a very uneven fight.
Time stops passing. What on flat ground is a minute, at 2,700 masl is an hour. But an hour of walking on loose volcanic rock equals 90 meters of elevation gain. Because every step you take takes more from you than it gives. It gives you distance. It gives you some altitude. But it rips energy from you. Bit by bit. And you don't have energy to spare.
The sun always wins the arm-wrestle. And right around 7:30 we turn off our headlamps. And the cowardly cold hides away. It hit you from behind. And your teammate couldn't defend you. But you don't doubt your brother. Because if you doubt, you lose. And on the mountain, all you have is your brothers.
Deep down you know you don't have much energy left. You don't tell anyone. They know. Your eyes say it. But they hold your gaze. They don't look away. That's how they send you energy. They expect you to do the same. We're a system. We're interconnected. And we run on the sum of all our energies.
We're working. We're indestructible.
We pass 3,000 masl. We're numb. At the stops, one of us falls asleep. He's at his limit. Are we all going to make it?
The stops get longer and longer. And more and more frequent. It's what some of us need. And if that's what some need, then that's what we all need. The system feeds off itself.
Sun. Heat. Energy. Rest. Silences. Saving mode. Survival. Brotherhood. Without that, there's no way. 
The sign says we've reached 3,500 masl. The view is unique. Villarrica Volcano. Llaima Volcano. A group breaks at its weakest link. That's what a coach taught us back in the day.
The captain knows it. He looks him in the eye and says “With me, nobody who's made it to 3,500 masl has failed to reach the summit.” He stands up and gets back in line.
The 25-degree slope became 45 degrees a while ago. It not only ate our legs but forces us to hug the mountain. It's how some of us fight off the vertigo. He knows we won't let him fall. He doesn't look back. And we reach 3,600 masl.
No one's counting anymore. We just ask to stop. Drink water and rest. We can't look up. We don't want to. Step by step. And we keep climbing.
Every head bowed. Watching the tips of our feet. The accordion stretches out. It seems about to break. And from the highest point you hear:
“- Río Turbio, Río Turbio, Río Turbio for Mariano.
- Go ahead, Mariano.
- We're summiting with Leandro's group.”
Are we all going to make it?
No one knew the answer. We all trusted our brother. But it would be a lie to say we had no doubts. But it didn't matter to us whether we all made it. What mattered to us was making it TOGETHER.
We beat the demons. We won the arm-wrestle. Step by step. TOGETHER.
Would you climb Lanín Volcano again?
With this team, yes.
@tommynealon
