The strangest thing is that we aren’t suffering at all; we are elated. Cold and exercise trigger an enormous endorphin release that pastes a maniacal grin across my face. It is as if the temperature is subservient to the task ahead. Six hours later I near the summit, bare-chested and with my legs caked in snow. In just a week I’ve gone from California palm trees to Poland’s snowy peaks and I feel perfectly warm—hot, even.
