Earlier this year, a determined team took on the challenge of climbing Mount Kenya, pushing themselves to their limits in one of Africa’s most breathtaking and demanding landscapes, all in support of Focus Foundation and charities providing vital mental health support and resources.
In this blog, our CEO, Katie Gibson, shares her personal reflections from the journey, offering a powerful, first-hand account of what it really meant to take on the climb alongside her colleagues and friends, and the emotions that come from conquering mountains, both mental or physical.
When I look back, it isn’t just the amazing scenery that stands out, but the whirlwind of emotions that accompanied my every step. At the beginning, I felt scared, not dramatic fear, but that quiet, creeping uncertainty that sits heavy in your stomach when you’re attempting something far bigger than yourself. It’s that moment when you look up at the mountain and think, How on earth am I going to get up there? Add in the thought of large cats prowling near the tents, eyes in the darkness, or snakes hidden nearby, and the unease deepens.
“There’s always gonna be another mountain, I’m always gonna wanna make it move. Always gonna be an uphill battle, sometimes I’m gonna have to lose. Ain’t about how fast I get there, ain’t about what’s waiting on the other side. It’s the climb”
These words from Miley Cyrus’ 2009 song The Climb played through our speakers as the fourteen of us walked in single file towards the Point Lenana summit of Mount Kenya. We didn’t realise then how profoundly those lyrics would resonate with us on the final day of our journey.
Before we set off, I had expectations of what reaching 4,985 metres might feel like. I knew I was physically prepared, I had trained hard, and believed I had the right equipment. But nothing quite prepares you for being pushed so far out.
Then came the anxiety. What if I can’t? What if I’m too slow? What if the altitude sickness hits me? Every climber claims they’re fine, but truthfully, we’re all quietly negotiating with our own fears.
But something shifts once you start walking. The fear softens. The mountain becomes a companion rather than a threat. There were moments of genuine fun, slipping on loose gravel, laughing with newly formed friends, finding comfort in the simple rhythm of walking. High altitude humour is very real.
Of course, it was painful too. Aching knees, burning lungs, cold and damp that seep straight through even the best layers. Yet somehow, the pain becomes part of the story, a stubborn reminder that you are human.
What surprised me most was how happy I felt, even when it was tough. There’s a strange freedom in being away from technology, immersed in nature, stripped back to the basics: breathe, step, trust, repeat.
The sense of achievement comes in waves. Mount Kenya is full of canyons and false ridges. You spend what feels like forever counting steps up a brutal incline, finally reaching the top, celebrating and then seeing the next challenge waiting ahead. Watching our guides and porters, using their expertise and strength to support us, gave me a sense of safety, admiration, and respect.
Above all, I felt grateful. Grateful for strength I didn’t know I had, for views that felt unreal, for being physically and emotionally capable of enduring the challenge, and for the friendships formed along the way.
Every member of the team faced their own personal struggles; altitude sickness, blisters, tummy bugs, exhaustion, Bambi legs, homesickness. But we supported one another relentlessly: sharing supplies, motivating each other, finding light in the dark moments. There’s something about a mountain that deepens connections, shared struggle builds a closeness you can’t replicate elsewhere.
We didn’t reach the summit. Just 200 metres from the top, the weather forced us to stop. The disappointment hit hard! Tears, frustration, anger. But when you’re told that no mountain is worth dying for, your priorities realign instantly. We already knew what truly mattered. And then Miley’s words came back to us: There’s always going to be another mountain. It’s not about what’s on the other side, it’s about the climb.
Life is the same. Everyone’s struggles are different. And what I’ve realised is that there is no true “summit” in life. There are goals, challenges, and triumphs and each ridge simply leads to another.
Life is the climb. It’s a journey, and the way you conduct yourself along it, the experiences you gather, the failures you endure, the celebrations you enjoy, and the people you support or support you along the way, is what defines your success.
The team received sponsorship money from this event – the total was a fantastic £18,968.64.
These funds will be distributed across mental health, grassroots charities, ensuring our efforts support others, with their challenges in life.
