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Kilian Jornet Set Out to Summit 72 of America’s Tallest Peaks — in Just One Month

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Kilian Jornet Set Out to Summit 72 of America’s Tallest Peaks — in Just One Month

The Beginning

Kilian Jornet was drenched and tired.

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Mr. Jornet, 37, was just a few days into an ambitious odyssey, a self-designed project he had named “States of Elevation.” His goal was to link, by foot and by bike, the tallest peaks in the contiguous United States — a series of 70-plus publicly accessible mountains in Colorado, California and Washington known as the “14ers” because they are all 14,000 feet or higher (symbolized on the map as ). He estimated it would take him around a month.

But now, in early September, Mr. Jornet wondered whether he could continue.

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It is not often that Mr. Jornet, one of the most accomplished endurance athletes on the planet, seems susceptible to human frailties. In 2017, he reached the summit of Mount Everest twice in one week, without support or supplemental oxygen. In 2023, he climbed the 177 tallest peaks in the Pyrenees in eight days. Last year, he needed just 19 days to tackle the 82 tallest peaks in the Alps.

But now, after a long flight from Norway, where he lives with his wife, Emelie Forsberg, a former skyrunning world champion, and their three young daughters, Mr. Jornet was jet-lagged and struggling to acclimate to the high altitude of the LA Freeway in Colorado, a mountainous traverse along the Continental Divide.

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Figuring out the correct gear was part of the puzzle when Kilian Jornet was planning his “States of Elevation” project.

Nick Danielson

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Making matters worse, a steady rain left him feeling as if he were soaked through to his core.

“I just felt exhausted,” Mr. Jornet recalled in a recent interview. “It felt impossible to do one more week, let alone another month. But then the body switched, and I went from fighting to adapting.”

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Climbing peak after peak in Colorado, he seemed to grow stronger as he moved west, through the Mojave Desert and into the Sierra Nevada, across Northern California and finally into the Cascades.

A small support crew in a recreational vehicle met up with Mr. Jornet periodically while he was hiking, and followed more closely during his long bike rides. He also had a rotating cast of friends and fellow athletes who joined him for parts of the project.

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And, over the course of 31 days and 3,197 miles, he conquered a challenge in which, on any given day, he was completing a feat — or, in some cases, feats — that many climbers would consider a lifetime achievement in and of itself.

Colorado

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16 days | 1,207 miles | 56 peaks

A couple of days before Ryan Hall, the retired Olympic marathoner, was set to meet Mr. Jornet near Crested Butte, Colo., he checked the forecast. An avid climber, Mr. Hall was alarmed enough to send Mr. Jornet a text message asking if they really wanted to tackle the Elks Traverse in a snowstorm. Mr. Jornet was not concerned.

“Yeah,” he replied via text, “we might get a little wet out there.”

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The weather, though, turned out to be pleasant, and Mr. Jornet and Mr. Hall chatted throughout their 12 hours together — about their families, about training and nutrition, and even about “different levels of consciousness,” Mr. Hall said. At one point, Mr. Jornet, who is from Spain, described climbing as an out-of-body experience.

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Mr. Jornet focuses on each step of the journey along the way, rather than talking about the enormity of the project.

Nick Danielson

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Mr. Hall was surprised to learn that Mr. Jornet did not drink coffee. His explanation? He worries caffeine will make him push too hard and hinder his ability to recover. Mr. Hall said Mr. Jornet made no mention of feeling tired or hungry during their time together.

“It was interesting to see how he managed his body and what he was putting it through,” Mr. Hall said, “and how, mentally, it wasn’t taking up any space.”

Mr. Hall also noticed that Mr. Jornet refrained from talking about the project. Instead, he seemed present. The only mountain that mattered was the mountain he was on. Mr. Jornet, Mr. Hall said, was “full of peace” — an impression that was reinforced when they reached Castle Peak, their fifth and final summit together. Not that Mr. Jornet was keeping track.

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“The peaks don’t really mean anything to me,” he told Mr. Hall. “The peaks are just an excuse to be out here.”

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The journey included 16 days in Colorado.

Bjarne Salén

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Dakota Jones, an elite trail and mountain runner, joined Mr. Jornet for his final two days of climbing in Colorado, which started with an ascent of Mount Sneffels and a 25-mile traverse through the early hours of the night.

When Mr. Jornet awoke the next morning, he rode his bicycle several hours to the next trailhead. Mr. Jones followed Mr. Jornet’s crew in his Toyota Tacoma and prepared for the day by consuming a burrito, several doughnuts and lots of coffee.

“He’s so far beyond what the rest of us can do,” Mr. Jones said of Mr. Jornet.

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At around noon, they embarked on a nearly 14-hour run through the Weminuche Wilderness, a remote area of the San Juan National Forest. By the time they reached their final peak of the day, Mr. Jornet had run out of food.

“He never said a word,” Mr. Jones said. “He just kept going. That’s Kilian.”

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Mr. Jornet spent a total of 16 days in Colorado, where he made 56 summits while covering more than 1,200 miles.

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Mr. Jornet’s climbing partners in Colorado struggled to keep up with him, even though he did not catch rides in his support vehicle, or ingest caffeine.

Nick Danielson

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Desert Ride

5 days | 877 miles

Up close, there was nothing inherently sexy about Mr. Jornet’s quest. Day after day, hour after hour, minute after minute, he was simply putting one foot in front of the other, or pedaling one stroke at a time. Mr. Hall likened him to a “metronome,” his rhythmic movements never hurried or rushed.

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Mr. Jones approached Mr. Jornet as if he were part of an anthropological study: What was he capable of doing next?

“He has both the physiology to be great and the infinite discipline and focus to make the most of what he has,” Mr. Jones said. “And that’s a really rare combination.”

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After completing his climbs in Colorado, Mr. Jornet spent five days biking nearly 900 miles across the Mojave Desert.

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Nick Danielson

Mr. Jornet’s discipline was clear when, after conquering Colorado, he spent five days biking nearly 900 miles across vast expanses of the Mojave Desert. He averaged about 14 hours a day in the saddle.

He was accompanied for portions of the trip by athletes like Chris Myers, a trail runner, and Gemma Arró Ribot, a former teammate on the Spanish ski mountaineer team. But Mr. Jornet also spent a great deal of time alone, and he battled boredom, fatigue and the heat by listening to music and audiobooks.

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Mostly, though, he biked as a mode of transport, as a means to an end.

California

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7 days | 593 miles | 15 peaks

One of Mr. Jornet’s early challenges in California was Norman’s 13, a winding, 100-mile route that links all 13 of the 14,000-foot peaks in the Sierra Nevada. In search of some expertise, Mr. Jornet recruited Olivia Amber, a world-class trail runner who, about two weeks earlier, had done the route on her own.

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Some context: Ms. Amber, 30, described Norman’s 13 as a “dream project” that she had pieced together over several years. For even the most accomplished adventurers, the route is serious business. And when Ms. Amber completed it in 89 hours (which included four hours of sleep), she became the fourth person to ever do so — and the first woman.

And then there was Mr. Jornet, fresh off hundreds of miles of bicycling through the desert, who intended to move through Norman’s 13 as just one part of a much larger project. It was difficult for Ms. Amber to comprehend.

“He’s rewriting what’s possible in the mountains,” she said, “especially with endurance feats.”

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In California, Mr. Jornet took on Normals 13, a route that covers 13 separate 14,000-foot peaks.

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Andy Cochrane

On Sept. 25, Ms. Amber was set to meet Mr. Jornet at the junction of the Taboose Pass Trail and the John Muir Trail, before their shared trek up Split Mountain. To reach him, she had to jog 12 miles while ascending 6,000 feet — and she had to do it in a hurry after receiving word that he was moving quickly.

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“I honestly thought he was going to beat me there,” she said. “It was crazy.”

From the start, Ms. Amber could sense Mr. Jornet was egoless. He seemed genuinely grateful for her help. With rough weather approaching, he agreed when she suggested that he take a quick nap before leaving camp.

“I wasn’t totally sure if he was committed to sleeping,” Ms. Amber recalled.

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Each section of Mr. Jornet’s journey would be considered a major accomplishment for most climbers.

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Andy Cochrane

They set out before dusk, and as they began to move through the night, heavy snow blanketed them. It was Ms. Amber’s sixth time up Split Mountain, and Mr. Jornet’s first. It hardly mattered.

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“He had this feel for where we were and for the terrain even though he had never been there before,” said Ms. Amber, who accompanied Mr. Jornet for 25 snow-filled miles. “I could just feel that energy from him — a confidence that came from a place of deep understanding of how to move in that kind of environment and in those conditions.”

Of course, Mr. Jornet made it look easy, even when it was not. Later, after biking another 390 miles over two days into the Cascades of Northern California, he reached Mount Shasta — the 71st and penultimate peak of his project — where he was buffeted by an Arctic wind. He had to crawl the final 1,000 feet to the summit.

“You need to laugh in those situations and find the way to pass through,” Mr. Jornet said.

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Mount Shasta in California was Mr. Jornet’s 71st peak of the project.

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Nick Danielson

Oregon Ride

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3 days | 489 miles

A few hours after summiting Mount Shasta, Mr. Jornet was on two wheels once again. He was joined by the triathlete Ian Murray for a 60-mile ride on crushed volcanic gravel before they slept just south of the Oregon border.

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Mr. Jornet was by himself for the next two days as he rode 430 miles to the foot of Mount Rainier in Washington. The end was near.

When he was planning the project, Mr. Jornet worried about being hit by a car or a truck while biking. “A lot of people were telling me it would be very dangerous,” he recalled.

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Mr. Jornet rode through much of Oregon with the triathlete Ian Murray.

Nick Danielson

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He and his team worked hard to locate the safest roads with the widest shoulders, and he found, to his surprise, that most drivers gave him ample space. He also was grateful for the company of his friends, new and old.

“He clearly could have done every inch of this on his own and he would have been totally fine and totally happy,” Ms. Amber said. “But he had this deeper appreciation that people showed up for him and were willing to help him.”

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Mr. Jornet wanted to share the experience with those who joined him for portions of it — and with the wider world. Mr. Hall, for example, laughed whenever Mr. Jornet broke out his selfie stick. It was important to Mr. Jornet that he and his team use social media — Mr. Jornet has nearly two million followers on Instagram — to convey the beauty of the natural world and the importance of protecting it.

During his travels, Mr. Jornet saw moose, coyotes, goats, eagles, snakes and even a couple of bears from a distance. None bothered him, he said.

“We would look at each other,” Mr. Jornet said, “and say: ‘Hey, guys! How are you doing?’ And just continue.”

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Mount Rainier Finale

Mr. Jornet started up Mount Rainier at dawn on Oct. 3, and it was a final test worthy of the project — a 29-mile haul up 14,320 vertical feet before he reached the summit. About 17 hours after he had set out that morning, he returned to the trailhead where his support team was waiting with celebratory slices of pizza and pickle juice shots.

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After 31 days and 72 summits, Mr. Jornet’s objectively absurd project was complete. He covered 629 miles on foot and biked an additional 2,568 miles, which outdistanced this year’s Tour de France by more than 400 miles. And he did all that while amassing 403,691 feet of elevation gain.

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Mr. Jornet closed out the project with one final test: a 29-mile climb up Mount Rainier that involved 14,320 feet of elevation gain.

Nick Danielson

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Throughout the project, Mr. Jornet wore a smartwatch that tracked his heart rate, his mileage, his sleep totals (he averaged about six hours a night) and even something called his “recovery score,” which registered zero — yes, zero — for 17 consecutive days. (At one point, he broke his cellphone, and members of his team questioned whether he had done it on purpose.)

Mr. Jornet estimated that he had burned about 9,000 calories a day, but he managed not to lose any weight. One of his secret weapons: flasks of olive oil that he guzzled raw. By the end of his journey, he was looking forward to homegrown produce from his garden and thick slices of his wife’s sourdough bread.

The day after summiting Mount Rainier, Mr. Jornet awoke feeling disoriented. His first instinct, he said, was to reach for his bike: Didn’t he have more miles ahead of him? No, he realized, it was over. He slept more peacefully the next night.

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His trek through the Alps last summer, while less physically demanding, had left him mentally drained because so many of the climbs were so challenging. His jaunt through the American West was a comparative breeze.

“It was just fun,” he said. “It was nice to ride and to run and to see the things and just to enjoy those places. And I could have gone on. I was happy to finish and go home, but physically it felt like my body was ready to continue.”

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For now, Mr. Jornet plans to take a break and spend time with his family.

“But I know myself,” he said, “and I know in a couple of months that I will start to think of something else.”

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‘A Man on the Inside’ is the cozy mystery we need : Pop Culture Happy Hour

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‘A Man on the Inside’ is the cozy mystery we need : Pop Culture Happy Hour
The charming Netflix sitcom A Man on the Inside stars Ted Danson as a lonely widower who’s hired by a private investigator to live undercover in a senior living facility. His mission is to find out who stole a precious item from one of the residents. Created by Michael Schur (The Good Place), the series is also a tender and poignant depiction of loss, aging, and finding community. A Man on the Inside just returned for a second season, so today we’re revisiting our conversation about the show.
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Inside Luxury Retailers’ Bare-Knuckle Fight to Win the Holidays

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Inside Luxury Retailers’ Bare-Knuckle Fight to Win the Holidays
With market leader Saks struggling and Ssense in bankruptcy, competitors from Bloomingdale’s to Mytheresa to FWRD see a rare opportunity to grab market share. They are openly courting top customers, vendors and even the employees of their struggling competitors.
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New poetry stresses that our stories are more precious and urgent than ever

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New poetry stresses that our stories are more precious and urgent than ever

Editor’s Note: This review discusses suicide.

How can poetry help us now, when practically every morning brings a fresh assault on knowledge, wisdom and safety? Amid the cruel political discourse horrifying headlines that seem to envelop everything, where is there a place for poetry? What can a bunch of artfully arranged words do?

A lot, I’d argue.

Words are among the many things under attack. Our stories, the ways that we fill our words with our own meanings, are more precious and urgent than ever, as three new books this fall by poets in – or entering – mid-career make clear. They lay claim to stories of identity, suffering and hope, to a kind of collective subjectivity, to the inner life of a country in the throes of deep pain and uncertainty. Here’s a look:

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Blue Opening by Chet’la Sebree

Chet’la Sebree’s third book begins with the thwarted wish to have a child: “Many in my family have been plagued/ by menorrhagia in early middle age–/ fibrinous weeds causing their bodies to bleed streams,/ flooding lands no longer suitable for plants.”

What follows is a rapidly paced, heart-stricken coming to terms with a body and a future suddenly altered by autoimmune disease, with the meanings of motherhood and daughterhood, and with the stunned language required to describe it all when there is “no one to know/ my body’s vernacular, that it would mistake me for foreigner.”

Blindingly clear and unornamented, these poems have all their cards on the table, “pregnant with grief—/ it’s bloated, black, a matted thatch.” If the body is in revolt — “I am not the owner of this vessel I thought I owned, implies the man trying to sell it to me” — then it is through language that Sebree can lay claim to herself, to her story, and take it back.

The lexicons of motherhood and illness (“I accept this list of words:// necrotizing lymphadenitis and swell-scrambled nerves”) become a vocabulary of grief and profound disappointment with what may and may not be possible. Sebree searches for language to carry the grief and to promise some kind of hope and inner rebirth; she finds a surprising kind of peace and power “when a centrifuge spins/ my blood 3,000 revolutions per minute/ to render me perhaps anew to me again.” A new kind of creation becomes possible, as well, through poetry.

The Seeds by Cecily Parks

With The Seeds, her third book, Cecily Parks comes into her full powers. These poems are dark, lavish, far-reaching and subtly layered, making a harsh and rich mirror of the pastoral and the domestic. Parks reckons with the compromises that every life demands, that motherhood and art demand, that a country where violence and cruelty are suddenly triumphant require: “now I think of hope// as a swing chained to a branch./ it can be used until/ the branch sweeps the ground/ with a shush shush because/ it cannot bear/ so much weight and still loft through/ the dream-trafficked air.”

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Parks’ powers of description are breathtaking, not only because one feels transported but also because, as in the poems of Elizabeth Bishop, the emotion, the domestic or personal story, is interwoven into – always an undercurrent of, a reason for – the description. But somehow, the world as described also feels like the world, not a projection. In these poems, Parks feels with her eyes.

The writing is simply beautiful: “the grackles plummet down to pierce the lawn/ for seeds and fat brown live oak acorns.” The words dart in and out of the rhythm like the grackles’ dark beaks, making gentle animals of a mother and her “ravenous daughters.” This book is a delight, a feast of grief and determined celebration. A fallen world this lovingly observed must be at least somewhat redeemed.

The New Economy by Gabrielle Calvocoressi

Hopelessness is a beloved enemy in these poems, a necessary muse. So are grief and fear. “The days I don’t want to kill myself/ are extraordinary,” begins the most affirming poem about suicide I’ve ever read. But these are not merely affirming poems (though one of them is titled “Affirmation Cistern When I Let Go of My Fear Life Becomes Magical”). Calvocoressi is at home in the dark, they live there, even if light is their element. They’re wise because they’re wary: “every being will slaughter/ their neighbor if they’re hungry,/ and enough.”

All of our violence, they assert – with a compassion so pure it feels out of step with the times – is born of fear: “when I was little I wanted/ to be tough to beat people up to own a gun./ wanted the boy body that would keep my body/ from being so scared.” Violence begins in each of us, is always inflicted first upon ourselves. And yet, we persist, try to do better – we must.

A series of “Miss You” poems, high-energy elegies for loved ones who have died, celebrate life emphatically by not quite letting go of the past: “miss you in your puffy blue jacket./ They’re hip now. I can bring you a new one/ if only you’ll come by. Know I told you /it was okay to go. Know I told you it was okay/ to leave me./ Why’d you believe me?” Why let the past go? Where else do we live but our stories? Where else can we rest from the terrors of the present? Where else can we remind ourselves of the beauty of the world?

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If you or someone you know may be considering suicide or is in crisis, call or text 9 8 8 to reach the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline.

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