Scree Slopes, Power Naps, and Not Quitting: Kilimanjaro FKT FAQ (Part 2)

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:

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

What was the hardest part of the project?

It’s hard to pin down just one. The whole thing was hard – logistics, training, staying mentally locked in, and then the sheer physical demand of moving for hours at altitude. But a couple moments stand out.

Physically

The ascent from School Hut to Gilman’s Point during the FKT push. It’s only about two miles, but those miles are straight up a scree slope that feels like quicksand. We hit it mid-day, which meant the sun was warm on our backs – but it also meant the scree wasn’t firm. Every step slid back half a step. Climbers and porters ahead of us had already kicked the trail loose, and there were stretches where it felt like we’d never, ever reach the ridge. Two miles stretched into eternity.

Mentally

Honestly, the hardest part is happening now, in the processing. When you pour years of training, dreaming, and planning into one massive project, the “after” is disorienting. There’s pride, yes. Gratitude, absolutely. But also exhaustion and a strange quiet. It takes work to sit with that uncomfortable feeling and to figure out how to carry the lessons forward. The climb was hard. But so everything that comes after..

Did you take the rest at Barranco when it was clear you’d get the FKT – or did you need to nap no matter what?

We debated it the whole way. I was against the idea at first. In 100-mile ultras, a nap usually means you’ve given up a podium spot – and I’ve trained myself to push through. Brian, on the other hand, has more experience in longer epic efforts like Arrowhead 135. For him, a short nap can be the difference between crumbling and finishing strong.

After the summit push – 5K miles of scree slogging and ridge hiking up to 19,341 feet, then surfing back down in loose gravel  – the climb back toward Barranco made the decision for us. By the time we gotten to the bottom of the Barranco Wall, we weren’t just tired, we were wobbly-tired. The kind of fatigue where your legs forget the script and your brain starts dropping lines.

So we made it intentional: bivy sacks out, alarms set for 30 minutes, phones and headlamps charging. We passed out hard, and when the alarm yanked us back, we both knew we’d made the right call. That nap wasn’t a luxury. It was the calculation that if we wanted to finish the FKT, sleep had to become part of the strategy.

Did you two ever spread out or did one fall behind?

Yes. There were stretches – especially on the climbs  – where one of us felt stronger and pulled a little ahead. In the back half of the FKT, it happened more often: I’d need a break and Brian would keep moving, or I’d catch a good rhythm and take the lead.

But the gap was never more than a few minutes, never out of sight. It was never about racing each other – it was about each of us managing the thin air and exhaustion in our own way, while still moving forward as a team.

Did you leave gear at the drop points to handle the big temperature swings?

Yes! We knew the higher we climbed, the colder it would get, so we stashed extra layers at School Hut – hats, gloves, puffies, shell pants, the whole “just in case” kit. The plan was to swap into warmer gear before tackling the summit.

The funny twist? We summited around 3:30 PM. Instead of the freezing pre-dawn temps we’d hit on our earlier recon summit, the afternoon sun had warmed the mountain. We ended up being closer to sweating than shivering – and didn’t use several of the layers we’d lugged up and stashed.

How did you track and verify the FKT?

On the recon, we mapped the full route with a Garmin GPS Map unit and used our watches to record everything so we could upload to Strava. That gave us a baseline – not just for navigation, but also for proof of the exact line we were taking.

For the official FKT push, we layered in redundancy. We carried the Garmin GPS Map, SPOT tracker plus two watches, all recording the route. That way, if one device failed (because batteries die, tech glitches, or altitude does weird things), we’d still have multiple backups.

Afterward, we submitted the route as a new FKT variation  – since no one had done this specific combination before. That meant uploading GPS files, photos, and a detailed explanation of the route. Once the route itself is approved, we’ll submit our time for verification with the same supporting data

Did you ever think about quitting?

No. We’d made a decision before we started: unless one of us was physically incapacitated – heli-rescue-level bad – we weren’t quitting. The project meant too much, and we knew that if we managed the risks, there’d be no reason to stop.

That doesn’t mean it was easy. The climb from School Hut to Gilman’s Point nearly broke me. Two miles of loose scree, sliding backwards with every step, staring at a ridgeline that never seemed to get closer – it was discouraging in a way only big mountains can be.

But discouragement isn’t the same as quitting. We let ourselves feel the weight of those moments, then kept moving. This is where the ultra running background mattered. Years of training in discomfort taught us that exhaustion and doubt don’t have to end you – they just mean the next step will be harder. And still, you take it.

What is the funniest or most awkward thing that happened during the whole project?

Plenty. You don’t spend five days on recon and then 36 hours straight on an FKT without a few ridiculous moments.

One of the best is in our sign photos. To track the route, we snapped quick shots at every camp or notable point – Gilman’s Point, Stella Point, and so on. The first few look solid: clean, smiling, still passing as normal humans.

Fast forward a dozen hours. Fatigue had settled in, our lips were so sun- and windburned that smiling was impossible, and every “happy” checkpoint photo looks like we’re either grimacing or growling at the camera. By the end, it’s less inspirational mountaineer and more two exhausted goblins clutching a trail sign. Add to that the fact that half of them were taken at night with a flash – so we also look like two dorks trying to figure out how a camera works for the first time.

Sometimes the funniest part of an FKT is realizing your “proof of life” photos double as proof of just how wrecked you really were.

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If you enjoyed learning and you are able, donate to Colleen’s campaign here: Colleen’s fundraiser.