Mathematical rambling on the topic of altitude acclimatization

[Anonymous]

“It’s fairly well known among mountaineers going above 20,000 ft. that they take Cialis or Viagra for the same reason.”

What an excellent example of multi purpose gear. ;0))

[Anonymous]

“However, speed can be a two-edged sword: I suspect that heavy exertion both increases the rate at which you acclimate, as well as the rate at which you accumulate lousiness. My gut tells me that going faster is–in general–a losing battle (you’ll feel worse for having done it). However, if you can go fast enough to get over the high obstacles and down to a moderate elevation for camping, you have a solution. I suspect the challenge here is in ensuring that you have the appropriate cardiovascular fitness to go “fast” without undue exertion.”

Very much on the mark, IME. I think the trick is not to expect to go as fast as you might after a few days on the JMT. For me, fast is a relative term. On ascents of Shepherd Pass, my average speed is typically a subsonic 1.4 mph. The key is to hike well within my aerobic zone, but at a steady, sustainable pace. On Lamarck Col, the most comfortable I have ever felt was when I hiked at a speed of ~1 mph, with frequent rest breaks and an ample intake of H2O and a maltodextrin solution. That enabled us to camp along the middle lake in Darwin Canyon with no discomfort. The first two times I went over Lamarck were a different story, I felt anywhere from uncomfortable to downright miserable. The fastest I have ever gone over Shepherd is 5 hours, en route to the Upper Kern in one day, which is still barely over 2 mph. But that was 9 years ago, when I was in much better condition than I can achieve now, and 2 mph is not exactly a blazing pace. For all you young guys who are capable of hiking well in excess of 3 mph all day, I would advise cutting your pace well back below what you are capable of and concentrate on hydration and easily digestible calories.

“You also require a lower-elevation landing spot to camp at for that approach. In addition to being a nasty step-function, Lamarck Col lacks easily obtained low-elevation camping on the south side (unless one is heading down into Evolution Valley). After going over Lamarck Col, neither a northbound hiker (headed over Glacier Divide) nor a southbound hiker (headed into Evolution Basin) will see much in the way of camping below 10,500 feet for quite a few miles. I have a trip I’ve been thinking about over Lamarck, but the only solution I’ve come up with is to spur down to Evolution Valley for camping.”

If you can find a lower elevation spot to camp after going over a high pass, that is much preferable to camping high, but I do believe you can get away with camping high if you follow the above protocol. That said, the variation between individuals is infinite, and each person will have to be an experiment of one when approaching this problem. Training helps, IME, but it can only do so much. The rest depends on proper pace, hydration, nutrition, and individual genetic traits.

Fun discussion. Thanks for starting this thread, Adam.

[Jerry Adams]

Oh, now I can take Viagra for high blood pressure and altitude sickness.

It’s not for that other reason : )

[Roger Caffin]

I anm going to very gently point out that what Tom wrote was NOT the full story. Sure, there have been plenty of times when we were doing no more than 2 km per hour on the map – but we were also climbing many hundreds of metres at the same time. The standard rule of thumb is to add 1/2 hour for every 300 metres (1000′) of height gain. Descent is slightly faster, but not hugely.

If you think about it, that’s why climbing at high altitude is so slow: it’s the height gain that matters, and why I puff.

Cheers

EDIT: ‘1 hour/300 m’ changed to 1/2 hr. I blame failing memory.

[Anonymous]

“I anm going to very gently point out that what Tom wrote was NOT the full story. Sure, there have been plenty of times when we were doing no more than 2 km per hour on the map – but we were also climbing many hundreds of metres at the same time. The standard rule of thumb is to add 1 hour for every 300 metres (1000′) of height gain. Descent is slightly faster, but not hugely.”

My bad. I thought that would be clear in the context of 6000′ ascents on trails like Shepherd Pass, but I forgot that many here are not intimately familiar with the Sierra, being from widely dispersed parts of the planet. Sorry. As for the rest, that is indeed the rule of thumb, or at least one of two I have heard(we have 2 thumbs after all), the other being to add 1/2 hour for every 1000′ of gain. Descents vary all over the place for many reasons, so I have never heard a rule of thumb that made a lot of sense to me. Still, what you mention does not seem unreasonable as a general rule.

Cheers

[Adam White]

Roger said:

It would be valuable research, but you might need a permanent arterial tap for all the blood samples?

Say, this study is just getting serious enough that we ought to enlist the research support of some graduate students!

David said:

That seems about right for the short-term acclimatization effects (breathing rate, tidal volume, blood pH, etc. It clearly doesn’t address red blood cell counts which is on a much long time frame. That doesn’t mean your equations don’t model short-term acclimatization well -, I think they do. But 6 weeks at elevation will leave you more acclimatized than your model suggests. From my extensive reading of many years ago, 6 weeks was when you get to 90% of how far our red blood cells would go.

Yeah, I don’t think I can say anything about long-term acclimation at all, given that the only observable (in my experimentation) is the lousiness that either shows up in the first few days, or doesn’t–but I descend after a few days either way, and can say nothing about long-term effects. It’s that very short term response that I am interested in–and even more specific than that, it’s the very short-term response related to development of AMS, which may or may not be closely related to aerobic performance.

I should add that you clearly have a better understanding of the physiology than I do!

A better data point would be for a Denver (or Leadville!) resident to do some timed event (440m ?) at home, spend a few days low, return home and repeat the event.

I guess the part I’m uncertain about is whether or not aerobic acclimatization occurs lockstep with the acclimatization that thwarts AMS. I mean, certainly aerobic performance increases with time at altitude, and susceptibility to AMS decreases (assuming a modest ascent, of course). But, my “acclimatized altitude” may or may not be directly related aerobic performance. It would be a neat experiment, though–nice and quantified, unlike the infinitely subjective: “How lousy did I feel?”

It’s worth noting that most resources I’ve come across (in my admittedly cursory investigation) have essentially punted on the de-acclimitization question, saying “Everyone is so different, there’s no point in even discussing it”. The paper David Ayers cited did address it, but only via hemacrit, which is as we’ve said is probably not fully descriptive of the pertinent physiology. Per David’s paper, that Leadville resident wouldn’t experience a very significant change to blood chemistry over a brief stay at a low altitude. That test would therefore provide an interesting data point on how significant red cell count is in aerobic performance versus other “de-acclimitization” mechanisms/responses.

I agree though–there’s a lot of money in sports; I’m surprised that (legal) means of enhancing performance aren’t very, very, very well understood. DoD, also–they have a vested interest in having a thorough understanding of what happens to the aerobic performance of humans when you make them go up or down at a moment’s notice, and they certainly have the resources to do the studies (and who needs grad students, when you’ve got every E-1 in the Army at your disposal?)

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go take some blood from a grad student that I left tethered to a Foxtail…

[David Thomas]

Oh, I think the benefits or legal blood doping have long been understood.  The US olympic training center is in Colorado Springs at 6,035 feet after all.

My strong sense is that AMS is a short-term effect (mostly acclimatized in 4-5 days) while aerobic activity is mostly complete at 6 weeks.  Conversely, yes, aerobic effects wouldn’t diminish much over a few days at sea level.  I am clueless if a high-elevation resident would be any risk of AMS after a week at sea level and then returning home.

[Adam White]

Tom, your post really has me thinking–if I did a better job of limiting speed, could I do better with AMS on day one? Significantly better? It usually takes me a day or two to slow down, and to get myself to hike at what I refer to as my “infinity pace”–that pace that I could walk at forever. It’s challenging, because that pace is > 3mph at sea level. So I go up to the mountains, and if I’m not paying attention, I’ll naturally slip into that sea level pace, and lo and behold–the huffing begins. Where’s the air up here? I’ll say to myself, as I huff along at 3.5 mph.

Tom said:
…that is indeed the rule of thumb, or at least one of two I have heard(we have 2 thumbs after all), the other being to add 1/2 hour for every 1000′ of gain

On the topic of speed… I could also do some mathematical rambling on the topic of speed, having leapt down that rabbit hole last year. I’m aware of three reasonably well-known models for hiking speed:

1. The Naismith Model, which states that a hiker moves at: “5 km/h (3.1 mph), plus 60 minutes per 600 meters (2,000 feet) of ascent.”

2. The Langmuir modification of the Naismith Model; Langmuir essentially said “Same as Naismith, except your baseline speed is only 4 km/h (2.5 mph), and you go downhill a little faster or slower, depending on the grade: if it’s a shallow descent (between 5 and 12 degrees), subtract 10 minutes per 300 meters (1,000 feet) of descent; if it’s a steep descent (greater than 12 degrees), add 10 minutes per 300 meters (1,000 feet) of descent.

Naismith’s rule is nice because it’s usable in the field, with a topo map. Langmuir’s increased the accuracy (or so he felt), but his modifications are next to useless to someone holding a topo map, wondering how long it will take them to get over the next hill.

But then along came Tobler, who really must’ve hated people, because he just said:
3.
which is utterly useless in the field. Most people don’t even remember what that little e means; those that do want to stuff their maps in their mouths in the hopes of suffocation, because dear god who can calculate the value of an exponential in their head?

(There’s a joke somewhere in here that I can’t quite piece together right now. Something about “How long does it take an engineer to climb Half Dome according to the Tobler Model” and “Infinitely long, because he’ll spend the entire day writing in the dirt in Happy Isles, trying to remember the Taylor series expansion for an exponential.” It doesn’t quite work, but almost. I hear crickets, but I think at least David Thomas might be chuckling.)

Anyway, Tobler’s model isn’t really all that bad–at least it’s not a nasty, piecewise, cobbled-together hodgepodge of assumptions; Tobler just says that walking speed (W, in m/s) is a symmetric function of slope (or rise-over-run, dh/dx, which is the tangent of the angle of the incline/decline). Tobler’s model says that a maximum speed occurs at about a 5 degree descent, with speed slowing as the grade either increases or decreases.

Although only explicit in Tobler’s model, all three models can be plotted as speed versus grade. Here’s one shamelessly pulled from Wikipedia:

And here’s one of my own, using Yankee-friendly units (apologies, but the colors differ from those above):

Now, at this point in this thread, it should surprise nobody that none of these models agreed very will with my own data (and it should probably also surprise nobody in this thread that I have “my own data”). it is already quite evident that I am a unique, special flower.

I was able to develop a model that did agree with my data, and used it (quite successfully) as a predictive tool on several occasions.

That, of course, is a whole ‘nother rabbit hole.

[and by the way, while I was shamelessly plucking that image from wikipedia, I noticed that one of the references from the wikipedia page is to an article written by our very own Roger Caffin (I assume there’s only one famous, bushwalking, Roger Caffin). We have a renowned expert in our midst! Sadly, the link to the reference was broken.]

[David Thomas]

If “Langmuir” was part of the joke, I’m amused.  If two different Langmuir did modeling of this sort, I’m surprised (as a ChemE, I see “Langmuir” and immediately think of adsorption isotherms).

So I did some digging.  Adam is referencing actual, published models.  My guy – the chemist Langmuir – published his adsorption model (like chemicals sticking to activated carbon) in 1916.  But Naismith, a Scottish mountaineer, published his hiking model in 1892, proving there have long been geeks on the trail. It appears Atkins weighed in with his tweaks in 1977 and Langmuir in 1984 so while I had a chemistry professor at UC Berkeley who was (1) publishing chemistry papers in 1916 (he taught my grandmother the next year) and just missed hiking in 1984 by one year, I think these were two different Langmuirs.

And Adam, actually, on a Half Dome hike?  I’m more likely to hit the trail but then miss my turn or walk right past that spring between LYV and QD if I’m pondering deep thoughts.

[David Thomas]

My model for hiking is one of “equivalent miles”.  Equivalent miles are horizontal distance + 10 x vertical distance.

10 flat miles?  that equals 10 miles.

10 miles going up 2,000 feet?  That equals 14 miles (2,000 feet x 10 / 5,000-ish feet/mile).

10 miles going down 2,000 feet?  That also equals 14 miles.

In metric, it’s even easier: equivalent KMs = horizontal KM + another KM for every 100m.

What this is best for is “how tired / sore / wiped do I feel afterwards?”  And “How much exertion can I manage (or enjoy) in a day?”  I suspect it also comes close for calories consumed.  For me, that’s about 60 calories (above basal rate) per equivalent mile.

It also works well for non-elite hikers if they divide the eq. miles by their hiking speed:

About 3 miles per hour for a casual hiker, 4 mph for a fit hiker, 3 mph for a UL backpacker, 2 mph for a fit trad backpacker, 1 mph for a large group of beginner backpackers (really, use 1 mph for planning if you ever lead a large group!).

Very fit hikers can handle the hills faster then this predicts, but even when I’m in fabulous shape, and well-conditioned, it lets me compare the tiredness / soreness / energy costs of one hike versus another. I also use that to plan my training hikes.  If I’m being doing 1/4 of the eq. miles beforehand – joyfully, I can manage the big hike I’m planning.  If I’ve worked up to easily doing 1/2 the eq. miles several times prior, the long event will be a piece of cake.

[Anonymous]

“Tom, your post really has me thinking–if I did a better job of limiting speed, could I do better with AMS on day one? Significantly better?”

Based on personal experience, observation of some very fit mountaineer people, and the literature I have absorbed down through the years, I feel confident enough to suggest that you give it a try. If it doesn’t work, for whatever reason, you can always continue your search and only have compromised one hike. But I suspect you will be pleasantly surprised. A slow first day, a good night’s sleep at altitude uninterrupted by headaches and other symptoms, supplemented with ample water and nutrition, and that second day will dawn bright, clear, and full of promise. Or something like that. I am
speaking in overly flowery terms, of course, but if my experience is any indication you will be cruising along at your infinity pace without engaging in a suffer fest for the remainder of your hike.

“It usually takes me a day or two to slow down, and to get myself to hike at what I refer to as my “infinity pace”–that pace that I could walk at forever. It’s challenging, because that pace is > 3mph at sea level. So I go up to the mountains, and if I’m not paying attention, I’ll naturally slip into that sea level pace, and lo and behold–the huffing begins. Where’s the air up here? I’ll say to myself, as I huff along at 3.5 mph.”

How well I understand. From your posts I gather that you work in a high tech field, engineering, IT, etc. Very demanding, intense, with time often calculated in milliseconds, microseconds, terraflops, and so on. In short, a very fast paced environment which takes at least a few days to escape. I worked in a pretty technical
area of IT, and it used to take me a week to slow down in the mountains. I always used to tell people my hikes began on the 8th day. To that end, I used to accumulate my days off and then take off for a month. I suspect you do not have that luxury, so you are confronted with a mental challenge if you are to force yourself to make the necessary downward adjustment in pace for that first day, when every fiber of your being is screaming to hike at warp speed, or at least at infinity pace. I think this may be the most difficult nut you have to crack. My 2 cents, FWLIW.

“On the topic of speed… I could also do some mathematical rambling on the topic of speed, having leapt down that rabbit hole last year. I’m aware of three reasonably well-known models for hiking speed:”

Interesting stuff, which sounds very logical and precise. But I have found the real world to be considerably more complicated, with a vast array of variables that would prove challenging for even a very competent mathematician to devise a model for. To mention but a few: Altitude; ambient temperature; humidity; tread material, e.g. sand, shale, organic matter, boulder strewn, et. al.; tread dry/wet/icy; trail shady or sunny; fitness of hiker; proprioceptive capability of hiker; hydration/nutrition status; and so on. These variables all come into play going either up or down, but somewhat differently, due primarily to the effect of gravity. At least to me, it would be very difficult to give even a general rule of thumb for pace for either ascents or descents based on grade and elevation gained/lost. My own pace down through the years has varied wildly based in no small degree on the conditions I have mentioned above, as has that of others I have hiked with. I would feel much more comfortable with models that factored at least the most significant of the above mentioned variables into their calculations, then tested the models against the results of a statistically significant
sample of hikers of varying degrees of fitness and experience, but I suspect that would be a very difficult project. Not trying to be difficult here, but I did feel the need to express my reservations.

[Roger Caffin]

“Plans never survive contact with the enemy.”
Being aware of the ideas David and Tom have laid out is good, but allowing for all the variables Tom outlined in his last para is essential. Don’t thrash it!

The first day of our last walk (at altitude) had a sleet storm all day, howling across the high plains. No where to stop to eat anything for 6 hours, let alone to rest. When we finally reached shelter, we KNEW that tomorrow would be … painful. It was a bit. But we knew why.

Cheers

[Adam White]

David,

Naismith’s model has been used for a similar purpose to your “equivalent miles”, and has a very similar conclusion, although the ratio is slightly different. Per the Naismith rule, the ratio the ratio is 8:1; every unit of vertical distance traveled is equivalent to 8x that in horizontal distance. The focus of the Naismith model was on time, which is not necessarily how stressing an endeavor was on the body (i.e., how wiped you were afterwards).

Interestingly, a journal article that was published in 2007 (Scarf) describes comparisons between predicted Naismith equivalent times and actual data from fell runners (pun: If they’re wanted to look at data from runners, why only look at those that fell? Har har har.)

The article is behind a paywall, but the abstract is:

“In this paper, I consider decision making about routes in mountain navigation. In particular, I discuss Naismith’s rule, a method of calculating journey times in mountainous terrain, and its use for route choice. The rule is essentially concerned with the equivalence, in terms of time duration, between climb or ascent and distance travelled. Naismith himself described a rule that is purported to be based on trigonometry and simple assumptions about rate of ascent; his rule with regard to hill-walking implies that 1 m of ascent is equivalent to 7.92 m of horizontal travel (1:7.92). The analysis of data on fell running records presented here supports Naismith’s rule and it is recommended that male runners and walkers use a 1:8 equivalence ratio and females a 1:10 ratio. The present findings are contrasted with those based on the analysis of data relating to treadmill running experiments (1:3.3), and with those based on the analysis of times for a mountain road-relay (1:4.4). Analysis of cycling data suggests a similar rule (1:8.2) for cycling on mountainous roads and tracks.”

Back to David:

It also works well for non-elite hikers if they divide the eq. miles by their hiking speed:

About 3 miles per hour for a casual hiker, 4 mph for a fit hiker, 3 mph for a UL backpacker, 2 mph for a fit trad backpacker, 1 mph for a large group of beginner backpackers (really, use 1 mph for planning if you ever lead a large group!).

Yes–and if you use 3 mph, that’s right back to the Naismith model.

What this is best for is “how tired / sore / wiped do I feel afterwards?”  And “How much exertion can I manage (or enjoy) in a day?”  I suspect it also comes close for calories consumed.  For me, that’s about 60 calories (above basal rate) per equivalent mile.

That’s an interesting way to calculate caloric needs–not one I’ve heard of before. I just double-checked a couple of my trips, and your approach comes pretty close to mine. It has the benefit of being quite simple–60 calories per equivalent mile. Done.

I’ve thought about the math behind energy expenditure while hiking, too (a third rabbit hole). I won’t go down that sidetrack, but one can use the Pandolf equation (Pandolf, 77) to calculate calories burned during a hike. To do so requires an elevation profile, a hiker’s weight, their pack weight, and their speed all of which we “know” a priori (speed can be “known” a priori by calculating it, using one of the previously aforementioned models). I don’t actually use that approach to calculate caloric needs on a hike–like probably just about everyone else here, I have my own empirical experience to inform that (and consider that more accurate than any armchair methods). But it’s still an interesting calculation. Pandolf is probably the best model we have for caloric expenditure during hiking–how close does it come to how many calories we actually eat on a hike (realizing, of course, that what we burn and what we eat are not necessarily equal)?

In my experience, it comes reasonably close. That’s calculating calories burned, of course, which can be quite different than calories consumed, particularly on a short (few day) hike.

Again, a whole ‘nother rabbit hole.

[Adam White]

Tom,

…To that end, I used to accumulate my days off and then take off for a month. I suspect you do not have that luxury, so you are confronted with a mental challenge if you are to force yourself to make the necessary downward adjustment in pace for that first day, when every fiber of your being is screaming to hike at warp speed, or at least at infinity pace. I think this may be the most difficult nut you have to crack. My 2 cents, FWLIW.

You’re spot on regarding my engagement to work, and my field. But I think I actually am pretty good at unplugging when I finally hit the trail. The problem is that the mental release of being in the wilderness is so needed, that my brain isn’t focusing on hiking, it’s focusing on introspection or the beauty around me–or maybe nothing at all (which is equally important). But while my mind is doing what it needs to do, my body is on auto-pilot, and it naturally reverts to the sea-level pace it’s so used to. In essence, warp speed is what I move at when I’m not thinking about anything (just ask my wife–she’ll tell you I’m always moving quickly and rarely thinking!). I need to consciously dial down the speed, and keep it there, I think. Again, it comes naturally by day two or three, but that’s often too late to do any good towards minimizing acute AMS.

Interesting stuff, which sounds very logical and precise. But I have found the real world to be considerably more complicated, with a vast array of variables that would prove challenging for even a very competent mathematician to devise a model for. To mention but a few: Altitude; ambient temperature; humidity; tread material, e.g. sand, shale, organic matter, boulder strewn, et. al.; tread dry/wet/icy; trail shady or sunny; fitness of hiker; proprioceptive capability of hiker; hydration/nutrition status; and so on. These variables all come into play going either up or down, but somewhat differently, due primarily to the effect of gravity. At least to me, it would be very difficult to give even a general rule of thumb for pace for either ascents or descents based on grade and elevation gained/lost.

You are completely correct here, of course. The original two questions I sought to answer with my data collection was: 1) There are three models for hiking speed versus grade, and they differ significantly. Which am I closest to? and 2) How accurate is best fitting model? How robust against changes in surface, weather, fitness, altitude, etc.?

What I found was somewhat surprising. First, the my data did not agree well at all with the published models either in shape or in amplitude. Second, repeatability was actually better than I expected across varying conditions (hiking at sea level vs at altitude; perfect East Bay fire roads versus marginally maintained Sierra Nat’l Forest trails, etc.). The most important caveat is the existence of a walkable trail: Where no trail exists, a host of variables govern speed far more than gradient does (is it effortless strolling across a sub-alpine basin, or hopping across talus?). None of these models are remotely useful there, because they completely neglect the most important variable: What does the surface of the earth look like?

I would feel much more comfortable with models that factored at least the most significant of the above mentioned variables into their calculations, then tested the models against the results of a statistically significant sample of hikers of varying degrees of fitness and experience, but I suspect that would be a very difficult project. Not trying to be difficult here, but I did feel the need to express my reservations.

I think that’s exactly what Naismith, Langmuir and Tobler did (at least–on good trails and walking surfaces), and I agree, if one thought they had a compelling model that captured details ignored by those three that should be shared (and used) by the public at large, that’s the way to proceed. But, my goals are not as lofty as that. Really, this is another n = 1 thing, where I’ve had some interesting observations that seem to starkly disagree with whatever models exist (and, keep in mind, those are relatively well accepted models).

Okay, not exactly n = 1; actually n = 2: I obtained some data from a fellow hiker (and BPLer). He’s a fast mover, but he cheats (runs). I looked at his data from three hikes when he didn’t run, and it was pretty starkly different from mine. But, it wasn’t a particularly good fit for any of the models, either.

Essentially, this left me in the same place that the altitude calculations did: This is certainly interesting (to someone with my bent), it is probably useful for me, and probably useless for anyone else, since it likely varies significantly person-to-person.

I’ll write it all up sometime. I think it will be interesting for some.

To make the apparent real-world usefulness (or lack thereof) of this clear, it’s probably worth adding that I don’t think this is remotely necessary in trip planning. I find that if I assume 3 mph on-trail, and 1.5 mph off-trail over a day’s worth of mileage (20 – 40 miles), it gets me pretty close–close enough that Roger’s “contact with the enemy” is a far more important determinant of where I’ll end up on a given day than anything else. Similarly, for others, their empirical knowledge of how they hike is certainly more useful (and reliable) than any non-personalized calculations.

 

[Anonymous]

For Adam-Where you are heading is down a path those of us who have been around for a while have all trod, yielding n=1 results of use primarily to that “1”. We are all unique in our physical gifts, goals, the stresses in our lives, and how we process the feedback that potentially will bring us closer to realizing our goals. You have started a thread of considerable interest to a few of us old farts, and I’m relatively comfortable in predicting that all of us will follow your journey with more than a little interest. So, PLEASE, keep us abreast of what transpires as you forge ahead on what, in the end, can only be a solitary journey. I will end by saying that you are off to an uncommonly good start. I wish I had accomplished as much, as early, as you have.

[Adam White]

Tom,

Thanks for the motivating words!

I owe a lot to you “old farts.” In fact, here’s an anecdote: I moved to CA in 2006, but didn’t visit the Sierra (Yosemite Valley–the starting point for so many) until 2009. A retiree that I worked with asked what I’d been up to, and when he heard that I hadn’t visited the Sierra (the real Sierra–speeding over Donner Pass didn’t count), he told me to go see Yosemite.

I did visit Yosemite, and I did the things that all tourists do. But I also looked up at Half Dome, and something in my brain changed, or flipped, or twisted. Something fell into place. I was looking up at a piece of the world that was brand new to my Wisconsin-borne soul, but–and this was obvious–it was a piece of the world that I was meant to explore. And Half Dome was just the gateway–like it probably is for so many. The High Sierra lay beyond it, and that is where the magic lies.

Who knows what I’d be passionate about these days, if not the Sierra? Maybe I’d be incredible at racquetball. I don’t know. But I owe it all to an “old fart.” Moreover, I suspect that we are lucky to live in the narrow window of time during human existence in which one can adventure in the relatively wild, relatively uncrowded, and relatively unspoiled High Sierra, and I’m therefore grateful to seize the opportunity whenever it arises. And because of that, it doesn’t trouble me in the slightest that I’m terrible at racquetball.

I’ll gladly keep you in the loop. I think BPL is one of the finest corners of the internet (I’m not talking to you, forum software!), and a lot of that is owed to the exceptional wisdom, experience and support available from its forum members.

[Anonymous]

Adam,

Like you, when I emigrated to CA from the Midwest I started in Yosemite, only out of Tuolumne Meadows, where I took a couple of 3 day hikes to check out my gear. Then I was off on my own solitary journey, almost all of it much farther south, and didn’t return to Yosemite until 2013. I completely agree that we have been fortunate to have been born in probably the best time in human history, with the rare privilege of having such a wide array of relatively unspoiled mountain wildernesses to explore and in the process deepen our connection to the natural world. I’ll be looking forward to enjoying the next chapter of a journey just beginning.

Here’s to being terrible at racquetball! ;0)

[ben .]

keeping it strictly on topic, racquetball is pretty fun…

[Eric Blumensaadt]

Lastly, (maybe I’m being to hopeful about that) look at people who spend their entire lives at high altitudes (above 9,000 ft./3,000 meters).

1. They have larger lung capacity than the average “flatlander”. (i.e excellent aerobic ability)
2.  They have a higher red blood cell count than average humans
3. They are usually fit and strong.

So to have at least a good chance of acclimatizing at high altitudes we need more TIME at high altitudes. Below are some additional ways to cope.

COPING MECHANISMS FOR HIGH ALTITUDE EXERTION:

1. Being as fit as possible, not just aerobically but strength-wise by having a good weight lifting program. A good capillary bed is essential and it takes both aerobic and weight programs for this.
2. I dunno if “blood doping”, as secretly used by some sneaky endurance athletes, is an answer many would venture to do. Maybe a few might try it, but it’s ‘spensive. Certainly you will get those extra oxygen-carrying red blood cells.
3. Certainly “better blood flow through better chemistry” like Cialis, Viagara  or the NO2 that I use does help. This has been proven over several years and many climbers.

These coping mechanisms for “flatlanders” are PRE-trip prophylaxis actions, not that I am recommending #3. Any medications taken during the trip are to treat symptoms. Obviously the best symptom treatment is going to a much lower altitude.

Yes, graphs are helpful but they represent averages and not individuals. We should know our own bodies if we are athletic and train in a reasonably consistent manner. Taking our resting pulse every morning before getting out of bed is one way to track our physical state. Is it higher than normal because we exercised strenuously yesterday or are we beginning to get sick?

Knowing our own bodies and physical/medical problems is important before going to altitude. This is where I say, “Youth is wasted on the young.” I wish I had the fitness I had at age 38 when I was a decent XC racer. Or the strength I had at 48 when I was lifting a lot as well as bike and XC racing.

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