5 Things I Did to Train for Aconcagua as a Person Who Struggles with Mental Health Issues

People drift between a psychedelic dreamworld and their own reality—chasing moments, collecting memories, tucking away fragments of time, place, and emotion like tiny treasures. As walking time capsules, we are uniquely filled, shaped by the moments we choose to hold onto. While we naturally hold onto the milestones that shape us, I like to call the smaller defining snapshots L.P.s—Little Peeks. These L.P.s are rare instances where, in the very moment, you just know: This will stay with me forever. 

The two years I spent preparing for Aconcagua will forever be etched as an L.P. — a snapshot of grit and determination that I didn’t know I had. From nursing injuries to the rhythmic clink of medicine bottles, every moment holds a piece of the journey that I’ll carry with me always.

There’s a reason people turn to the outdoors for healing. The simplicity of it—the rhythmic crunch of boots on rock, the crisp morning air filling your lungs—has a way of cutting through the mental fog. But nature doesn’t erase bipolar disorder (or any other mental disorders). In my case, it amplifies what’s already there..

Hypomania is a storm of energy, a lightning-fast surge of thoughts that feel limitless. It’s like racing through life at full speed, where everything seems possible, but underneath the thrill, there’s always a fragile edge, just out of control. There’s this strange, intoxicating sense of invincibility, as if the entire range is my domain. I climb for hours without a second thought. Each summit is a rush, every sunrise a painting I get to own. My mind is a whirlwind, spinning with plans—more climbs, greater feats, endless horizons. That’s why I set my sights on Aconcagua, one of the highest peaks in the world. 

While I feel invincible on the mountain, it’s a different story preparing to make the climb. What happens when you introduce medications and the unpredictable mental states into the mix of training? 

Balancing Bipolar Disorder and Mountaineering: Finding Stability in the Extremes

The mountains have always called to those searching for something—adventure, escape, clarity. For me, mountaineering isn’t just about reaching the summit; it’s about navigating the shifting landscapes within my own mind. Just like in the mountains, I’ve learned that resilience isn’t about avoiding the storms—it’s about preparing for them, enduring them, and knowing that, eventually, the sky will clear once more. 

Balancing this reality with the physical and mental demands of mountaineering has been one of my greatest challenges—and greatest teachers. In the wild, I’ve found both solace and struggle. I’ve experienced the purest sense of freedom and the heaviest weight of my own thoughts. The mountains have tested my limits, broken me down, and built me back up. But most importantly, they’ve forced me to confront what it truly means to find balance.

The Hardship of Training with Bipolar Disorder

Mountaineering requires relentless training—long hours of endurance work, strength building, and mental preparation. For most, training is about pushing physical limits. For me, it’s about navigating the unpredictable shifts in energy, motivation, and emotional stability that come with bipolar disorder.

When I’m in a hypomanic state, training feels effortless. I wake up before dawn, fueled by a surge of energy, ready to take on miles of trail running or heavy packs up steep inclines. I obsess over details, perfecting my gear list, mapping out routes, and setting ambitious goals. I convince myself that I’m unstoppable, that I can train harder, push further, and achieve more than ever before.

Then, without warning, the depression hits.

Suddenly, the drive vanishes. The same trails that felt exhilarating now seem impossible. My body feels heavy, my mind sluggish. Simple tasks—putting on my boots, filling my water bottle—feel overwhelming. Guilt creeps in. I berate myself for losing momentum, for falling behind schedule, for not being “strong enough.”

This cycle—pushing too hard in a manic state, then crashing into depression—can make consistency in training incredibly difficult. The key is learning to adjust, to accept where I am each day without judgment, and to develop strategies that keep me moving forward without burning out.

Training with Medication

Training for Aconcagua wasn’t just about endurance and strength; it was also about learning how to train while managing my medication. Some medications affect hydration, heart rate, and energy levels—all critical factors at high altitude. I had all of the above. I had to experiment with my dosage during training hikes, monitoring how my body reacted to physical exertion at different elevations. There were days when side effects slowed me down, forcing me to rethink my training plan and making me ask “what am I really doing out here, I don’t belong here”. Balancing the need to push myself with the necessity of listening to my body became its own mental challenge. I developed strategies to work with, rather than against, my medication. Staying consistent with hydration and electrolytes became a top priority. I scheduled my training sessions around when my energy levels were most stable, adjusting workouts when side effects were too strong. I also worked closely with my doctor to develop a high-altitude medication plan, ensuring that my mental health remained steady while avoiding dangerous side effects.

Training wasn’t just about getting stronger—it was about finding the right balance between physical preparation and mental stability.

How I Train Smarter, Not Harder

To manage the highs and lows of bipolar disorder while training, I’ve learned to:

• Follow a Flexible Schedule – Instead of rigid training plans, I allow for adjustments based on my mental and physical state. If I’m feeling strong, I’ll push a little harder. If I’m struggling, I give myself permission to go easy without guilt.
• Focus on Sustainable Training – Rather than extreme bursts of effort followed by burnout, I aim for steady, consistent progress.
• Incorporate Rest and Recovery – Overtraining during mania often leads to exhaustion during depression. I actively schedule rest days and listen to my body’s signals.
• Use External Accountability – Training partners, coaches, or even a simple logbook help keep me accountable when motivation fades.
• Accept Imperfection – Some days, I won’t hit my training targets. That’s okay. A step forward, no matter how small, is still progress.

The Importance of a Rope Team

Mountaineering often feels like a solo pursuit, but no one climbs alone. Whether it’s a trusted climbing partner, a therapist, or friends who understand my struggles, having a support system is everything.

Talking about bipolar disorder in the outdoor world isn’t always easy. There’s an unspoken expectation of toughness, of endurance at all costs. But real strength isn’t about pretending you’re invincible—it’s about knowing when to ask for help. The more we normalize these conversations, the more we can support each other through both the highs and the lows.

When I’m climbing with a group, I make sure at least one person knows about my bipolar disorder. I don’t need to go into deep details, but letting someone know that my energy levels can shift drastically is important for both my safety and theirs. Having that openness makes it easier to check in with myself and accept support when I need it.

Strategies for Managing Bipolar Disorder in the Mountains

Through trial and error, I’ve found a few strategies that help me stay balanced while mountaineering:

1. Pacing Myself – It’s easy to get caught up in the adrenaline of a climb, but I remind myself to slow down, take breaks, and check in with how I’m feeling.
2. Nutrition and Hydration – Bipolar disorder can make appetite fluctuate, but fueling my body properly is crucial, especially at high altitudes.
3. Journaling – Writing down my thoughts helps me process emotions and recognize patterns in my mood.
4. Mindfulness and Breathing Exercises – When anxiety hits, grounding techniques like focused breathing help bring me back to the present moment.
5. Medication and Routine – If I’m on medication, I make sure to adjust dosages for altitude if necessary and set reminders to stay consistent.
6. Having an Exit Plan – If my mental health declines rapidly, I have a strategy for getting off the mountain safely, whether that means turning back or relying on my rope team for support.

Climbing with Compassion

Balancing bipolar disorder and mountaineering isn’t about conquering either one. It’s about moving forward with awareness, with intention, with self-compassion. Some days, I feel unstoppable. Other days, simply lacing up my boots is a victory. Both are valid.

The mountains will always be there, waiting. The real challenge is learning how to meet them exactly as I am—strong, struggling, growing, human. And that’s more than enough.