Bearing the weight of the world does not sound like a pleasant experience, but as director of agronomy at Oakland Hills Country Club, Steve Cook has felt the sensation in the figurative sense on many occasions. As a seasoned mountain climber, Cook wanted to feel that pressure in the literal sense as well. As it turns out, he'll never know that feeling, and that's OK, too.
Cook spent three years preparing the mountain climber's trip of a lifetime - ascending the Himalayan peak of Ama Dablam in Nepal. Located just a dozen miles from Mount Everest, Ama Dablam has a summit of 22,349 feet.
At that elevation, the air is thin and it takes days in camp at a lower elevation just to get acclimated to what lies ahead.
"At 22,000 feet it is going to feel like someone is standing on your chest," Cook said last year while preparing for the trip that occurred over a three-week span in October and November 2015.
Three weeks into the trip, his group, which included two other climbers, a guide and three sherpas, cut the climb short some 2,000 feet from the summit due to unsafe conditions.
Organizing another Himalayan excursion to satisfy his quest for the thrill is no easy task. Finding the motivation to train for such a trip again has been an even harder challenge for the 57-year-old Cook, who says the only climbing he's done since Ama Dablam is off the couch to get to the refrigerator.
"I never thought I'd say it, but when I got back, I'd lost the adrenaline," said Cook, a speaker at this year's Ohio Turfgrass Foundation Conference and Show. "I could never find the energy."
That's understandable after knowing the emotional commitment it took to prepare for the climb.
"I recognize the commitment necessary to make that trip is so intense, and I've not found that commitment again," he said. "It's just not something you take on lightly. First, it's super dangerous; second, everyone else is dependent on your fitness level and commitment level. You don't want to get anyone else hurt, much less yourself. As I look back, I was thinking about the trip every second of every day for a year-and-a-half. I would get up at a quarter-to-four to go to work, work out my meals for the day, work on training for the day, leave work early, work out in the afternoon, get home, eat, shower, set up my meals for the next day, get up in the morning and do it all over again. If it was an off day, I'd spend all day looking at my gear, buying gear or switching out gear, trying different things. I spent four to five hours a day doing something to get ready for that trip, and I'd spend every waking moment thinking about it. I'm just not there now. I'm not in that space. I know what it took to do it successfully, to be a safe member of the team, to be physically fit to do it, and I don't have the motivation to put in that commitment again."
Cook says he does not miss climbing. If he does, he's not letting on.
"I like a quote by the Dalai Lama: 'We must learn to let go of the things that are not meant for us.' I'm not sure (climbing) is meant for me, at least not now and maybe not anymore, and that's OK."
What he misses is another avenue for staying active and fit.
Climbing, and the requisite workouts that come with such an endeavor, were as much about creating a release for on-the-job stress as they were about getting to the top of a Himalayan peak. The problem is he hasn't found the motivation for a replacement activity, and that's not OK, says Cook . . . and his doctor.
"I found that when I climb, there is no time in my head to be thinking about anything other than where I am putting my hands and my feet, so it is total and complete focus on what I am doing. It's clarifying for me, and I was able to take that back to work," Cook said. "It gave me the confidence to solve problems at work. I've discovered that a lot of things on the golf course aren't that big a deal after I've had my ass hanging out over the side of a mountain at 20,000 feet.
We must learn to let go of the things that are not meant for us. I'm not sure (climbing) is meant for me, at least not now and maybe not anymore, and that's OK."
"Climbing has allowed me to travel and see some stuff, and it's kept me fit. That's probably the biggest down side. I'm genetically disposed to high cholesterol, but I've always kept it below the borderline of medication through physical fitness. My doctor, prior to the trip, used me as his shining star for patients in their 50s and how physical activity can keep you away from meds. After my last physical three months ago, my cholesterol was off the chart, and I'm not my doctor's poster boy any more.
"I'm not a huge drinker, so to give up alcohol for a year-and-a-half (for the climb) was easy. Through the course of the summer, I'd have a drink every day. I'd come home from work and have a gin and tonic, which I like, and I'd eat anything that was in the kitchen, pizza, whatever. I paid no attention at all to my diet, I know that is taking place of what I gave up."
In the first few months after the climb, Cook put on 30 pounds, which he felt immediately on his slender 6-foot-1 frame. He's started working out some to at least manage his weight. What he lacks is a reason to work out.
"I'm missing the motivation to be physically fit. I'm not a guy who can go to a gym and stand on a Stairmaster for an hour. That's torture for me," he said. I'm better if I have a goal, and I have to figure out what that is."
That's a far cry from the flurry of activity that dominated Cook's life before heading to Nepal.
Before taking on Ama Dablam, Cook spent years hiking, trekking and climbing rock and icy faces, eventually graduating to U.S. summits like Mount Rainier in Washington and the Grand Tetons in Wyoming. None of that could quite prepare him for the Himalayas.
He learned after climbing Mount Rainier at age 50 that there are no short cuts in mountain climbing. That's true whether it's a 14,000-foot summit in Washington or a 22,000-foot climb in Nepal.
"Mount Rainier in 2009 was my first climb. I remember because it was my 50th birthday to climb that," Cook said. "I'd been trekking and hiking for years, and I knew if I was to go higher I'd have to learn to climb.
"(Mount Rainier) was a bridge too far for me then. I was probably not qualified to do that climb, but I decided to do it. It gave me an appreciation for the effort and commitment it took to do something like that. I'd missed two or three steps getting ready for that. They can drag anybody up the mountain, which is essentially what they did with me at the time. It made me take a step back to get better prepared for the next climb."
In preparation for an extreme climb on Ama Dablam, Cook camped out in his yard in sub-zero weather in anticipation of weeks of extreme cold that lie ahead. He practiced working with his gear in a pitch-dark basement until he knew every square inch of every piece like the back of his hand, and he even learned how to go to the bathroom while wearing what is perhaps a climber's most essential equipment - gloves. "A guide told me to make sure you work in the winter on going outside and peeing with all your clothes on and my harness on and my gloves. Otherwise, you'll pee in your pants," said Cook. "You can't unzip at 20,000 feet and take everything off to pee.
"Last winter, on the coldest night of the year at 17 below (zero), I went out and set up my tent at midnight, put my gear on and was moving around in the tent with all my gear on, getting in and out of the sleeping bag with all my gear on and moving in cold weather and seeing where do you put your water bottle, where do you put your pee bottle, because in a tent you're peeing in a bottle, you're not going outside on the side of a mountain. At night I'd go down in basement, turn all the lights off, put all my gear on and work with stuff in total darkness. Can I tie a knot in total darkness? Can I put gear on in total darkness? When packing food in all of my pockets, what does it take to get food out of my pockets with my gloves on? How does that all work? Every bit of energy you use to take your backpack off are calories you are going to need to finish that climb. It was really important in all this training to go through that."
Clearly, life at 20,000 feet and above is an experience that is not for everyone. Cook never figured that would include him, but he's learning to live with it.
While on Ama Dablam, Cook's trek to the top stopped dead in his tracks while navigating a section of the mountain called the Grey Tower. The group encountered a rocky chute that typically is covered in snow that holds loose rocks in place. With no snowpack, rocks were coming loose and falling below as the guide climbed ahead searching for a safe route.
"It's typically snow-packed, but there was not a lot of snow in the chute, and there was a lot of rock fall. The sun was hitting the soil and warming it up, rocks were coming loose and falling down that chute," said Cook, who was speaking this week at the Ohio Turfgrass Foundation Conference and Show in Columbus. "The guide was not comfortable moving us through it, so we turned around at about 20,000 feet. You could look up and see the summit. It was right there, so that was disappointing, but we got home safely."
He later learned that a Chinese expedition coming up the mountain decided to attempt to ascend the Grey Tower when one of the climbers was struck by falling rock and broke an arm. When even a minor injury like that occurs, it's trip over for everyone in the climber's party. The emphasis changes from summiting the peak to getting the injured down the mountain to safety.
"I could hear the sherpa next to me saying 'mountain bad mood; mountain bad mood,' " Cook said. "I wouldn't consider a broken arm a serious injury. If you suffer a serious injury, there is no rescue at 20,000 feet."
Return climbs to Washington and Wyoming, his wife, Robin, suggested, would require far less training would still allow Cook to stay active while he preps for the easier climbs. But after climbing a mountain in the Himalayas, anything short of that would be like choosing meatloaf over filet mignon.
"The views were just beautiful. I can't put it into words," he said.
"I'm sure I'll climb or trek or backpack again, or do something, but it's a big undertaking. Maybe for someone who's 27 it's not such a big thing, but I'm 57. My feet hurt, my knees hurt. When I try to pick up the training intensity, I'm now icing my knees.
"Maybe biking is my next thing. I don't know. I have to find something to fill that void."