Hot Soup, Thin Air, and 62 Miles: Kilimanjaro FKT FAQ (Part 1)

As an adventurer and ultra runner, Colleen is known for her unshakable grit and love of flying down technical descents. Specializing in racing 50 and 100-mile distance, Colleen spends as much time as possible training in the mountains. She has been an Ambassador with Arc’teryx since 2020, focusing on inspiring others to learn from failure and make the outdoors accessible for all- especially young women. When she is not training or crafting digital strategy, Colleen can be found adventuring with Brian (the boyfriend and fellow ultra runner) and Reign (the dog, also an adventurer and runner).

Connect with Colleen on instagram at @m_cmacdonald
Donate to her campaign here: Colleen’s fundraiser

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Read more from Colleen here:

Scree Slopes, Power Naps, and Not Quitting: Kilimanjaro FKT FAQ (Part 2)
Chasing the Northern Route: Why I’m Going for the Kilimanjaro Fastest Known Time
Steps to Setting the FKT on Kilimanjaro’s Northern Route: Obtaining a Visa

These questions are based on those sent in from folks via Instagram.

Are you required to use a guide for the recon and FKT on Kilimanjaro?

Yes. Kilimanjaro is a national park and since the early 1990s, it’s been a legal requirement in Tanzania that all climbers use a licensed guide and support crew. If you show up without one, you’ll be stopped at the gate and turned away. The rule exists for good reason: safety, conservation, and supporting the local economy.

For us, it was about more than just following the law. We wanted every part of the recon and the FKT to reflect our values and represent The Cairn Project well. That’s why we partnered with African Environments, a guide company that’s been on the mountain for 40+ years (and actually pioneered the Northern Route). They treat porters and staff fairly, operate with deep environmental responsibility, and understand that the mountain is more than a trail to the top, it’s a place to be protected.

On our recon, we had two of the best in the business leading us: Innocent Wellington and Farida Mussa. Their leadership went beyond logistics. They coordinated food drops, handled logistics changes, provided guidance on the route and even teamed up with another crew so that when we staggered into Stella Point, we were handed hot noodles at 18,800 feet.

Best and worst meal of the trip?

Best: Hands down, the hot broth the porters had waiting for us at 15,500 feet before the summit push. Salt, steam, and warmth in a place where everything else feels stripped away. Add to that the hot noodle soup at Stella Point – 18,800 feet, lungs on fire, legs shaking –  and suddenly noodles become a five-star meal. 

Worst: The 24 hours after the FKT. I couldn’t eat. Every bite made me gag, chewing felt impossible, and anything I managed to choke down turned to sawdust in my mouth. Recovery calories are supposed to be part of the celebration, but instead it was a quiet battle with a rebellious stomach. 

Unexpected thing that wasn’t planned for and solved anyway?

We’d mapped out two gear and food drops. Simple. Clean. On paper, it worked. But once we were on the mountain, it became clear from our conversations with our guides and our observations that a third gear drop was needed. We decided on School Hut, the base camp before the final 4,000-foot scree slog. That pivot saved us: lighter packs initially, warmer layers waiting where it gets cold, and real food stashed before the biggest climb.

But the adjustment came with a dose of chaos. Suddenly we were repacking and reshuffling in the middle of the recon, asking each other things like: “Wait, is my Bata AR jacket in the right bag? Did my wool hat end up at the wrong drop?” It was a comedy of sorting gear at altitude, but it worked. That extra drop turned out to be the difference between “barely surviving the summit push” and “arriving with just enough left in the tank to actually enjoy it.”

Was the FKT just the ascent? Or just the descent, or both?

Both. Our FKT was for the entire route, not just tagging the top and calling it good. We ran the full Northern Circuit combined with a partial reverse of the Southern Circuit, starting and ending at the Lemosho trailhead.

That meant:

• We climbed the Northern Route as usual.
• After summiting, instead of taking the standard descent all the way to the bottom, we cut west at Karanga Camp, dropped into Barranco Camp, continued on to Lava Tower, climbed back up to the Plateau, and then retraced our steps all the way back to the Lemosho trailhead.

On paper we thought it was going to be 53 miles. In reality? 62 miles, with the 19,341-foot summit smack in the middle.

Some FKTs on Kili are “up only.” Some are “down only.” Ours was the full loop. Up, over, down, back. Start to finish.

How did you acclimate?

We gave ourselves five full days to recon the route – which meant living, eating, and moving where the air is thin. Most of the circuit hangs above 13,000 feet, so every step was training for our lungs as much as our legs.

We built in “climb high, sleep low” days to push our systems and then recover, treated the recon like an extended high camp: slower miles, plenty of hydration, intentional fueling. 

Summiting during the recon was huge. Not just physically, but mentally. Standing at 19,341 feet once before the official push gave us proof: our bodies could handle the altitude, our heads could handle the doubt. And the two “rest days” weren’t back at sea level – they were still up at 7,000 feet – so we never lost all adaptation we’d fought to earn.

Did you run into any issues with altitude? If so, how did you solve them?

We were lucky. Our acclimatization was nearly perfect, so we didn’t have any major altitude drama. The usual stuff showed up – food sounding awful, that tight-band feeling around the head, lungs reminding us with every breath that oxygen was a luxury – but nothing that forced a stop.

The only real issue came after the summit. From Barranco Camp at 12,000 feet, the route climbs right back up to 15,000 feet at Lava Tower in just a few miles. My body did not love that. Halfway up, I started feeling nauseous and wobbly, and by the time we hit Lava Tower I couldn’t hold anything down. A few bites of food and I was immediately sick.

The fix was simple, and one we’d rehearsed and knew: Go lower. Fast. That section of trail drops quickly back to 13,000 feet, so we took off. Within an hour, I felt human again

What did you eat on the recon and then on the FKT?

Recon: More “real food” –  soup, sandwiches, oatmeal, pasta, veggies, bread, cookies, beans, mashed potatoes, even pizza. Our team had a cook who kept us well-fed and fueled, and it was heaven after long days of moving at altitude.

FKT: Science-meets-gut-meets-whatever-the-hell-we-could-keep-down. Gels, chews, waffles, broth, bars, instant noodles. We tested everything on the recon, then leaned into what worked best during the official push. Even so, eating was hard. Food didn’t sound good, chewing was work, and we definitely didn’t hit the “calories on paper” target. Our motto became: Something is better than nothing. Ie. even a little bite of food is good!

What did you do about water? Did you have to carry all water? Were there water sources?

We didn’t carry it all (too heavy), but we also couldn’t count on endless streams. On the recon, our guides helped us find and filter from safe sources along the route.

For the FKT, the plan was layered: refill when we could, carry enough to bridge the long dry stretches, and treat every liter like it mattered. At our drop bags, porters had limited boiled water ready for us,  a lifeline when we rolled in dehydrated.

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