The weather window was looking good. It was August 2024, and almost on a whim, I decided to climb Longs Peak, the broad-shouldered, flat-topped sentinel of the Front Range. It may have been impulsive, but I wasn’t entirely unprepared: I’d trained for and planned to hike 14,259-foot Longs one year earlier, in September 2023, only to be thwarted by a late-summer snowstorm that hit on my summit-push day.
Rationally, I knew those kinds of things happened all the time. Emotionally, I was sort of devastated. It was as if the mountain was trying to tell me something, and what it seemed to be saying was, Hey, old man, maybe this isn’t your thing. There was a good chance, I thought, Longs was right.
When I turned 50 five months later,…
