I have felt the breathe from the devil's own backside and stared a fate worse than death in the face.

A hellish day's hike comes to a fitting end at the toilets in Purgatory, I mean Lobuche (pronounced Loh-booshay), a barren outpost of two or three lodges on the edge of the Khumbu Glacier, two days from Everest.

Never before in my life have I inhaled such a stench of ammonia and eggs that is now choking the back of my throat. Groaning with about as much dramatic gusto as I can manage, and with the day's lunch safe for now, I turn about face and issue dire warnings of the noxious fumes within to anyone who'll listen. And they say altitude sickness is the worse thing to worry about.

A little over six months previously I was gripped with a rare sense of adventure and signed up to do one of the more gruelling treks the world has to offer. Being for the British Heart Foundation it also meant the small matter of raising money for the charity at the same time as putting myself through a fairly rigorous training regime in order to be reasonably fit for the event.

Something like this is potentially a huge commitment of time and energy, and everybody has their own agenda for entering into such a physical and mental challenge. What was mine? Unlike some of my fellow trekkers I had not just had a heart operation, nor a heart attack. I had thankfully not lost anyone to the disease either. I also wasn't running away from anything, or anyone. I didn't think. Basically I had no emotional connection to this. Or so I thought. I was doing it for myself, the personal challenge and the mid-life crisis monkey on my back that needed to be fed. Though is that any less of a reason?

Then, fittingly I knew I did have a heart condition, just not of the physical kind, and doing this was going to cure me or make me a better person or something. I also needed to know what I was capable of. As Andy - one of our Trek leaders later told me, most of us rarely achieve our true potential. But was doing this the answer? Was I asking the right question? I didn't know, but I did hope it would be good for me, and if I didn't find ways to grow then I could never move forward.

Following a BHF meeting in the Lake District in November - essential to testing my fitness, learning about the challenge that lay before us, and being introduced to everyone with exciting talk of bears and the yeti (and loo facilities), I had spent the last three months in preparation. Now I was worrying that I had done enough exercise, or even the right kind of exercise. Weeks spent on the step and incline machines working up a sweat and working up those quads and, as I was prone to pushing myself too far, watching my heart-rate with an eagle eye.

By now I was also gradually eating into my overdraft buying all the right equipment from the comprehensive list supplied by BHF. I had also acquired a rather groovy pair of Adidas A136 Elevation Climacool sunglasses very kindly donated to me by my local opticians in Haywards Heath with the promise of a piece in the paper - it's after all important I look good wheezing for breath half-way up the side of a mountain (though those who've seen me in my rent-a-glow-in-the-dark-and-blind-you fluorescent pink down jacket would probably have something else to say about that).

I'm forever grateful to Pauline at Batemans for her support as these specially adapted glasses fitted with corrective lenses proved to be - alongside my brand new digital camera - one of my most invaluable accessories. This is especially so when considering the considering stronger UV rays at altitude. It was well worth the 'Are you being sponsored by Adidas?' comment too, I think one of the coolest things anyone said to me over the forthcoming weeks in Nepal.

I had the day sack, the walking poles, the Platypus hydration pack, most of the right clothes and enough energy bars to feed Gary Barlow, or - should I go missing - myself for the next three years, but I still had my worries. Were my Meindl boots going to be sturdy and waterproof enough? Was my waterproof jacket and trousers set - good enough for a whale watching experience ten-years previously - going to stand up on this trek? Did I have enough energy bars?

Ironically I would need my waterproofs more between Hassocks and Newhaven than anywhere in Nepal. I got all my blisters in training too.

As for food intake, we had been told that it was paramount to keep the body charged up on 30g of energy bars per hour. Factor that out over 12 days and then say bugger to that. Beginning the day with a good solid breakfast consisting of porridge and honey, a fried egg and cup of tea with two or three bars spread out throughout the day should see you through. Drinking heavily is without a doubt the most important thing to do when hiking for seven to eight hours a day at altitude. This does not mean downing a pint of Everest Lager. That leads to dehydration, possible altitude sickness and even death. Actually the lager isn't that bad.

It was now April the 11th 2008 and before I knew it the date of departure had come around. I knew the reality of the situation wasn't going to hit until I was on the plane (and as it turned out - much later than that). "A man's gotta know his limitations", famous words adorned a supportive postcard given to me by a friend. Either I was now being offered a stark warning of the dangers or I'm being likened Dirty Harry. I hoped I wouldn't need a gun.

Following the flight via Doha, hotel staff in Kathmandu - capital of Nepal, bearing floral garlands greet us upon arrival. In my mind the name Kathmandu conjured up all sorts of mystical and romantic notions of smoky crowded opium dens, mysterious strangers and hidden temples down buzzing side streets full of colour and music. I wasn't far off. People drive with the horns in this city. It's non-stop noise, dust and it's almost organised chaos. It was also coincidently, and pleasingly, the Nepalese New Year. Would this be a new beginning for each of us?

Previously we had arrived into the International Terminal clutching a sea of red BHF bags. But while they were identical we certainly weren't. Everyone from all walks of life in this room was now represented - a room that was occupied only a week earlier by the victorious Maoist leader Pushpa Kamal Dahal. From builders, solicitors, hotel inspectors, press agents, gardeners, retired nurses, web designers to er… newspaper staff, we were all here.

But none of us was Doug Scott CBE. On September 24th 1975 Doug, with fellow climber Dougal Haston, had successfully summited Everest as part of the expedition led by Chris Bonington. As the first Englishman to do so it's probably his most famous achievement, but this man had also ascended the Ogre in Pakistan two years later and survived the descent with two broken legs. Worthy stuff indeed. Now, once Claire from BHF followed by Ian and Andy of Community Action Treks (CAT) and finally Mahesh the Sirdar (Chief Sherpa) had spoken to us en masse, here he was - after some pestering - having his photo taken next to me!

Ancient Nepalese proverb says that a good flight in Nepal is one that lands, and Lukla - a village and home of the 'planet's scariest airport' (Virgin Media.com) perched on the mountainside - provides us with our first real sense of the impending adventure and feeling of recklessness. The runway begins on a cliff edge and ends with a two-storey high brick wall. With about 4 seconds between the two. It's the kind of airport where everyone the cheers when the Dornier 228 lands. Including the pilot.

Yeti Airways (who also do Everest flights), Sitar Airways and the slightly less evocative Agni (Agony) Air all land here - often at the same time due to restrictive weather windows - and each with the same insistent engine noise that sounds like the world's largest bee buzzing round your head. At times it can feel like Heathrow, without the delays and disorganisation of course.

"Wealth is lost, nothing is lost. Health is lost, something is lost. But character is lost, everything is lost", is an interesting and quite truthful quote on a plaque that adorns a building where our passport 'signing in ceremony' marking the true beginning of our trek takes place - soon after arrival in Lukla. I think this is another ancient Nepalese proverb though later find out is rather disconcertingly attributed to famous the Evangelist Billy Graham. From here it is truly where we will begin the test of our character. For now though it was about the wonder and realisation, with a little bit of trepidation, that here we were actually doing this for real. And after a 4am start in Kathmandu, the beautiful views we were now taking in were helping to soften the blow.

When anyone comes back from Nepal with a camera full of images they are guaranteed to have endless shots of three things; yak with porters, yak on bridges, yak behind you, yak in front. Ok, four things. Yakity yak, they're everywhere, and they're always in the way. But that's not a complaint. Yak are beautiful and forlorn creatures, forever the pack-horse of the Himalayas, and I'm sure they know it. The bells around their neck, a badge of slave dom partly made of yak tooth, offer a continuous, calming and harmonious tinkling sound. It's a sound that I would never be bored with as we frequently crossed their paths patiently waiting as they laboured under the strain of our tents and belongings on narrow rocky paths.

There were many other constants throughout the journey. There were the many shrines called Chortens and Stupas with prayer flags fluttering in the wind (always pass on the left for luck), the offering of a respectful greeting of 'Namaste' ('I bow to you' or more simply a form of hello) to almost everyone you meet - porter, villager or fellow trekker passing in the opposite direction, the numerous bridges crossing the Dudh Kosi River (if you've seen Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom you'll know what I mean), and the energy bars that cluttered up my CAT bag. I had so many that I transferred the excess into my tent-mate Paul's bag. I still don't think he has forgiven me.

Starting on the 15th April, the Chinese had done a deal with the Nepalese government where they had allowed the Chinese to enforce tougher security. This was perfect timing for us as it meant our bags, or at least those with padlocks being eyed with particular suspicion, were now being groped by the Royal Nepalese Army. It was more of a gesture of compliance I think than a serious check. Beside, who wants to open Pandora's Box of tricks in the middle of the Sagarmartha National Park? Cans opened, worms everywhere (or rather, plastic bags everywhere). Packing and unpacking my CAT bag into more plastic bags was soon to become my Vietnam.

I can't fully describe the frustration of having to go through the same process night after night and after morning after morning in the confined space of our tents, often with nothing more than a PETZL torch strapped to my forehead to see what I was doing. When I previously said I couldn't organise my sock-drawer I was being literal. This was like trying to stuff a bag of potatoes into a sock, with five minutes to do it in.

I envied Paul with his minimalist packing skills, I don't know how he did it. Actually I do. He packed five minutes before we left for Heathrow and left half of it behind by accident. By half of it I mean hat and gloves. I was jealous of the strength of organisational skills on display before me.

Two days in and we were already arriving in the well-known trading post and tourist of Namche Bazar. It's a long, steep and hot, sweaty hike to get there but it's well worth it. At an altitude of 3450m (11,286ft) it is truly a city in the clouds. It is the most important Sherpa town and former trading centre with Tibet. A lot of potatoes are grown here.

It's a place where you can get anything from yak bells to prayer flags to Nepalese singing bowls to beautiful textiles to prayer flags to yak bells. It's also the last proper place to make contact with the outside world with the many cyber cafes offering great value international phone calls and emailing facilities.

It is here that we have the first of our acclimatisation days. This basically meant the opportunity to get used to breathing in the oxygen depleted air. There's a well-known Japanese hotel in the area where, legend has it, a group of Japanese tourists were flown in to celebrate it's opening. Upon leaving the plane and spending the night three of them (including the pilot) promptly dropped dead from extreme altitude sickness.

At Namche we continued to hike even higher for the day. Split into two groups - one going to the Kumjung School set up by Sir Edmund Hillary, while the other (us) went to the now unused airstrip that once served the (still-open) Japanese hotel and then hiked further afield before returning to camp. It was here, when I wasn't being called The Invisible Man, that I somehow landed with the nickname Indigo (Jones).

After another rough and mostly sleepless night we all get the chance to see Everest for the first time. At sunrise. The jet stream of high winds that whip round the earth catch the tip of it's distinctive shape and snow seems to continually blow off it quite spectacularly. It remains in our field of vision for days to come. Two soldiers in green fatigues carrying automatic weapons mooch around in the background to where we stand.

The day has proved to be a welcome one of respite following the relaxing hike earlier and spot of shopping in the afternoon. But many people have been suffering the effects of the change in diet. It's vegetarian, and is fairly inoffensive but there's nothing to prick the taste-buds other than the popular soup. I imagine what we'd all be like had cooks been serving up piping-hot curry every night! However, I'm now in the darkness drowning in a sea of bloody tissues yet again from burst blood vessels - maybe as a result of the altitude - but more likely from me trying to blow a trumpet with my nose.

The other problem, when I'm not trying to squeeze into my sleeping bag, is my almost rampant non-stop coughing that only seems to occur at night and I'm convinced has the annoying effect of keeping Paul up. Though he maintains otherwise. I am reminded of the famous Khumbu cough. But if wasn't my coughing in the tent, keeping myself up and possibly Paul, then the newly christened 'Dogs of Namche' do a good job of keeping the entire group up 'all' night with their constant barking and taunting of the yak tied up nearby.

They rob us of our sleep and valuable energy for the next days trekking. I think most of us are already awake when the by now familiar alarm call of banging of tin pots and pan start up at six. Is this what the army is like?

Onwards and upwards, and sleep or no sleep, we get on our way, 'Okey dokey! Let's go!' says an as ever cheerful Mahesh. En-route through the Rhodendron forests to Tengboche I have the good fortune to have one of the Sherpa's accompanying me. Nyima Gyaljen Sherpa, successfully summitted Everest with the Korean team in 2006, and plans to do so again in 2009. He leaps and bounds about on the rocks as I wheeze up the steep path. It's an honour to be walking with him and I proudly shake his hand and have my photo taken with him. It's even more of an honour to have him wait while I make my first loo stop 'al fresco'.

A corner has been turned. Day's later he points to a peak (Awi Peak) on our left and says he climbed it, before matter-of-factly pointing out how he saw some of his good friends perish in an avalanche on an adjacent peak (Lobuche East). This takes me and a couple of others by surprise and I try to comprehend it, but it's an impossible task.

People tend to think of a Sherpa as a porter or a guide. But Sherpa as a caste. Sherpa is also not just an ethnic identification; like other minority groups in Nepal, Sherpa's often use their ethnic name as their last name as well. The world knows of just one Sherpa - Tenzing Norgay, but it's obvious that without any of them, every ascent of Everest and other peaks would be rendered near impossible. I can't praise them and the other support staff enough, and their daily routine says it all.

Sherpas, porters and kitchen staff wake us up after being up themselves from about 3am in the morning fresh from preparing breakfast. They then dismantle the tents and finish doing all the washing up. After loading up the Yak and themselves they proceeding to get to the next camp stop before us so they can cook evening tea. They are also sufficiently ahead during the day to provide us with lunch. All done without and song and dance and with a smile on their faces.

These are the true heroes without a doubt. We in the West could learn a thing or too sometimes about what it means to make a real effort.

Over the next couple of days we make it to Tengboche monastery which is said to have the most stunning sunrises on earth spectacularly looking out over a mountain panorama that includes Everest, Lotse, Nupste and Ama Dablam (meaning Mother and Pearl necklace). Then it's onwards passing through Pangboche village where the monastery there once allegedly held a Yeti scalp and was apparently, if rather conveniently, stolen a few years back.

After lunch sometime beyond here the terrain goes through yet another transformation. From looking like the American Rockies before Namche Bazar, the landscape now resembles the Scottish Highlands, only more forbidding.

In the middle of this beautifully bleak terrain lies Pheriche (pronounced Ferishay). An outpost in the windiest of valleys. So far on the trek I was thoroughly covered up for the sun. The closer you got to Everest the stronger the UV rays become. I had finally found a use for the big floppy hat from a previous holiday to hide under and cover my neck and forehead. I was also wearing the fashionable buff - de rigueur for the 2008 season (and every other season) to mask my face from the dust. With my sunglasses covering the remainder of my face I did indeed look the spit of The Invisible Man.

An image completed by the red gloves covering my hands. But out here it was not just the sun to be wary of, it was the wind too. And here again the buff performed admirably and could be worn all over the head. I looked for most part like I was about to demand someone 'give me all their money'.

Another acclimatization day is had here which means more high altitude hiking. I'm usually quite slow, but I handle today well. This I decide is down to a fairly good night's sleep (no dogs here!) and the right combination of energy bars (after breakfast). After an evening of food, ginger teas, birthday celebrations followed by a well organised and immensely fun quiz night and another evening of laughing like lunatic – I have decided that yaks are asexual and a collection of them is known as a Yakult (this has to be the effect of the altitude I am sure) - it's off to bed for more packing and unpacking. I've managed to pick up a couple of Toblerones here too. In fact it doesn't matter where you go there's always a shop containing all your favourite junk food.

Toberones, Snickers and flat Coke - it's all here. Standing in the open air in the dark silence much later that night I have decided the melodic cacophony of yak bells is my favourite sound in the world (next to heavy rain on corrugated roofs).

Previously at Namche Bazar I had begun to suffer a headache that was slow to shift. Mainly because I wasn't paying enough attention to my body and probably climbed too fast. But at the Chortens of Thokla after lunch the next day that I really begin to feel the effects of the altitude. It was becoming obvious that it didn't matter how fit you were, you just don't know how your body is going to react. And my head was telling me that I was pushing myself as far as I dare. And that day hiking after lunch from the base of the steep Thokla Pass to Lobuche with the headache like a three-day hangover after downing a bottle of Absinthe was easily the biggest test of my resolve.

I didn't want to resort to Diamox but unfortunately I felt I didn't have a choice. The signs of Acute Mountain Sickness are typically headache, nausea, vomiting, fatigue, loss of appetite, dizziness, inner chills and irritability. Which to me sounded no different to how I felt back home in the office every day. And if two or more symptoms present themselves it would be time to consider whether you are fit to carry on. At this point I was only suffering the headaches. Diamox is a drug that can be taken to combat these feelings, but there is a danger that it masks the symptoms and therefore you don't know quite how much the body is suffering.

Beyond that is High Altitude Cerebral Oedema (HACE) which consists of severe headaches that don't respond to drugs, vomiting, hallucinations, behaviour changes and worse that could result in eventual coma and death.

Earlier that morning in Pheriche Ian announced, rather ironically, that our Nepalese doctor had been taken ill with Pulmonary Oedema. This is a very serious condition that affects the lungs (constant shortness of breath, dry cough, coughing up blood) and where you can effectively drown in your own fluids. The way to deal with this is the same as Cerebral Oedema, you must simply return to a much lower altitude, be given oxygen amongst other things and wait for normal health to return.

At this point by day seven we had already had two of our fellow trekkers from the team feel the effects of altitude sickness and have to return home – and the most exciting thing that you can say about that is that you get to fly in a helicopter. And now, after our doctor, another member of our team found that he could not go beyond Thokla.

Later on near base camp a final person would also succumb to Pulmonary Oedema. Fortunately, I'm happy to report all are okay, but it showed how important it was to be aware and listen to the signals your body was putting out. A man has truly gotta know his limitations. Of course if you think altitude sickness was bad enough then you obviously haven't been to the 'loos at Lobuche', though Gorak Shep allegedly contained an out-house of even more diabolical proportions.

Gorak Shep was the last outpost before Base Camp - our first sight of which was made earlier in the day (day eight). Again, like Lobuche the 'town' consisted of a couple of lodges - this time sandwiched between the ever receding Khumbu Glacier and Kala Pattar (Black Rock). At 5560m it is a location which overlooks Base Camp and forms the highest point of our trek should we take the option to climb to it's summit. Following another exhausting day a group of us climb only as far as the shoulder of Kala Pattar. From here we still get excellent views of Everest's black south west face. Other major peaks we can see clearly from up here, before the clouds roll in and the temperature drops, are Pumori, Khumbutse, Nuptse and Lotse.

The final push: Ian and Andy had given their usual moral boosting talk to set us on own way by outlining the days plans the night before. But now we were being asked to seriously consider whether we each were mentally and physically 'in the right place' for making the last push to Base Camp. There was no room for manoeuvre, were our bodies up for it? The night before during dinner we had been given an arbitrary deadline of 11.30am this morning to make it in what was a good three to four hour hike. This was mainly due to the importance of getting to Base Camp and back to Gorak Shep before nightfall. I was about to find out what I was capable of, and whether I had it in me to make it within the allotted time given.

Since our arrival in Nepal we'd had clear blue skies and today was no different. And as ever I was one of the last to leave the camp, in fact I excelled myself on this day by being the actual last person to leave. This was mainly due to the usual rigmarole of packing and the fact that I was unavoidably detained (again) in the toilet tent moments before setting off. The walk from Gorak Shep to Base Camp in April is a challenge, not least because of the deadline imposed, but also because it's not unlike walking through the world's largest quarry, and like a quarry it was potentially quite dangerous.

There weren't any oversized cranes, but with rocks the size of footballs to boulders bigger than BMW's littering the winding path you are forever watching where you put your next step to ensure you don't twist an ankle. Or worse. Just beneath the gravel and rocks is the slowly melting ice shelf of the Khumbu Glacier itself, and one careless foot here or badly placed walking stick there and you could end up on your back. And so, perversely, despite time and deadlines being a factor - care, attention and taking it slow was still the order of the day. Or so it seemed.

I was pumped. Whether it was the deadline, the Diamox or the Kendal Mint Cake, nothing was going to stop me from reaching Base Camp. It was what I had been in training for. I hadn't been spending every other the day up the gym, going hill-walking with Paul, Sara and Tessa just to 'almost' get there and meet other members of the team coming back.

We had always been encouraged to walk at our own pace and now my pace was doubled. Did I have the grit and steely determination to make it? I found myself chanting with every step to focus, focus. To not have my head, heart or any other part of me let me down. But more importantly I didn't want to let anyone else down either - from the many who had very generously sponsored me to Emily back home. I wanted to make her, more than anyone surprisingly, proud of my achievement. To return home without having done so would feel like failure.

Then suddenly it wasn't about making it to Base Camp in time at all. It was about make it there first. My focus became all the more intense as a result. It became a race in my head and anything less would be a disappointment. This was what pushing yourself was all about. I found I had the resources to walk at a normal pace.

I could slowly dig myself in up a steep path or navigate myself over tricky rocks, but I didn't need to take much of a rest break after to gather my resources. It was not Base Camp that mattered anymore, it was the beating of everyone else.

If there is one particular profound experience I can take away with me it is the all pervading silence that shrouds the Himalayas. It is something I'd never 'heard' before and will probably never encounter again. In the West there is always the din of something - traffic, a train, bird chirping or a tree rustling in the wind somewhere.

But in the Khumbu Valley, particularly on the final push to Base Camp, the silence is so complete and so enveloping it is like being wrapped up in cotton wool in soundproof room. It is a cliché that snow forms a silent blanket over all that it touches, while I had been disappointed not to wake up to the beautiful and calming sight of a freshly laid white sheet outside our tents for at least one morning during my stay in Nepal, here in the Khumbu Valley there was no such need for snow.

If to be blind was waking up in the pitch darkness at one in the morning in Monjo, then this was to be deaf. In the Khumbu Valley if you stand still for a moment and hold your breathe, you can hear the sound of silence. The mountains provide the best sound-proofing to the world and are too huge for any camera to capture truly. There are no words for the scale of these strong and silent behemoths, and these two factors combined to evoke closest to what I would consider to be a feeling of awe.

Base Camp itself however elicits no such feelings. After the ice pinnacles and glacier it is after all, to put it bluntly, simply a rainbow of tents nestled at the base of a mountain (at 18,000ft). However, the stories of Base Camp being a bit of a dump are thankfully completely untrue. It is clean and well-run under the scrutiny of the 'Mayor'. This very man jovially greets me when we arrive and politely asks not to take any video.

A request that may be attributed to the delicate subject of the Olympic torch and the controversial decision by the Chinese government to not allow anyone to attempt to scale Everest until after May the 10th, by which time the Chinese would have completed their mission. This was a cause for much consternation amongst the seventy or so teams (including Sir Ranulph Fiennes) I saw camped out, and who were most likely getting very frustrated at not being able to take advantage of the excellent weather we'd been having over the past week.

Every year there is a very limited window - of about 10 days - for expeditions to ascend Everest. Any delay can lead to 'bottle-necks' and the increased potential for these expeditions to be caught at various stages up the side of the mountain. This happened most famously, and devastatingly, in 1996 when 15 climbers lost their lives when the weather unexpectedly closed in. It's a story recalled in the acclaimed book 'Into Thin Air', and it was obviously a concern that this wasn't repeated.

These events going on around us have helped to contribute to the feeling that in some strange way I was somewhere in the eye of a storm, with the world watching. Of course I wasn't, but the eye's of the world would occasionally look in the direction of Base Camp during the very time we were there. And Sir Ranulph's imminent summit attempt would without a doubt contribute to that feeling.

In some small way I felt it somehow gave our brief time at Base Camp a little extra resonance. We were in the company of great men and big things were about to happen.

While rumours flew about of the China giving Nepal a £200 million loan to secure their allegiance, or the more outrageous one that, as a back-up, the Chinese had already scaled Everest with the torch and filmed their attempt last year - just in case they couldn't do it this year, I was happy to celebrate my own more modest achievement with a delicious chocolate chip cookie from Base Camp's very own bakery! Thankfully, McDonalds haven't yet secured a franchise.

Ironically, Everest itself, and the summit in particular, cannot be seen from Base Camp because it is too close - the view is being obscured by the West Ridge - but this did not diminish the sight of the famous Khumbu Ice Fall. Not only is it spectacular gleaming in the bright sunlight, but it is also spectacularly treacherous thing for climbers as it hides numerous deep crevices to navigate.

There is much shaking of hands as we all arrive, and after permission to properly enter Base Camp is secured we then gather to have our group photograph in the centre of 'town' with the Khumbu Ice Fall as backdrop. Lunch follows, and before we know it, it's time to think about the journey back to Gorak Shep.

Although our journey had symbolically ended where many peoples' begin at the foot of the world's highest mountain, we all knew as we considered the pressured three day journey back to Lukla, that it wasn't over yet. We were covering twice the ground in half the time and it was as much a test of our endurance as the journey here. A weight had been lifted from knowing what I had achieved, and altitude was no longer a factor, but now, more than anything, time was. There was a plane to catch.

The final arrival back in Lukla further hit home this feeling of where 'closure' really lie. Comparing the muted congratulations at Base Camp to the now full on celebrations and visible relief on everyone's face back at the hotel in Lukla - as we all downed bottles of Russia's finest champagne - it was clear to me what this has been all about - the team effort of making it somewhere and back over an approximate distance of 125km with our health intact (not forgetting the knowledge that we may never have to sleep in a tent for charity ever again).

Perhaps it has been the ultimate group achievement. But it has also been a private experience and not an easy one to absorb. I can't tell whether the actual act of walking to the roof of the world has been a life-changing experience or even a moving one, perhaps this is because it has been done with people who have shared the same experience and it's hard to put into perspective.

What is undeniable though is that it is something that could not have been achieved without the co-operation and help of countless porters, Sherpas, kitchen staff, BHF staff together with Community Action Treks, in conjunction with the British Heart Foundation. Plus of course each and every one of us pulling our weight and looking out for each other at the same time - whether it be the tent buddy you have gotten to know over the past two weeks or the person you realise is your friend on the last day.

The heart of the matter: The other undeniable, and most important, fact is that the British Heart Foundation has so far raised, from this one event alone, over £131,000. This money will go to helping BHF saving lives through pioneering research, care and campaigns and is a figure that will continue to rise as people continue to donate.

Now if I can just get the feeling in the tops of both my big toes to come back.