I Climbed Everest And Still Can’t Maintain An Erection
Of his expedition to the summit of Mount Everest, legendary mountaineer Sir Edmund Hillary said, “It is not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves.” His succinct words speak volumes about my own experiences. Like Edmund, I, too, have scaled Everest. I had my fears and limitations to conquer, of course, but there were deeper motivations. I climbed Mount Everest to maintain erections.
For some years, my erections would rise with little effort only to hurriedly dwindle to a paltry nub. The shame was immense. I could nary look my good wife in the eye as she struggled valiantly to restore my flaccid member to its once proud stance. Having shunned all pharmaceuticals years prior, I needed a solution befitting of my naturalistic and spiritual approach to healing. And then, a thought occurred: Perhaps it is not the malfunctioning penis that requires repair, but the soul attached to that penis.
That is why I, along with my closest friends, Mads and Wilbur, and our Sherpas, Nawang and Babu, scaled the mightiest mountain on Earth. The spiritual enrichment I’d experience upon reaching its peak would produce a bounty of erections—or so I thought.
The expedition was treacherous as we traversed the infamous Khumbu Icefall, a deadly path created by the frozen runoff of a glacier. It was there where our party lost its first member. Babu was swallowed by a crevasse that opened without warning beneath his feet. We would have called off the expedition to mourn if not for Babu’s dying words. He said, “I hope you find the resilient erections you so seek.” I assume. I didn’t speak his language. We marched on.
Wilbur was the next to fall. The thinning air rendered futile even our deepest breaths from our oxygen tanks. Wilbur, always the resourceful one, had planned for such an occasion. He brought along a satchel of Viagra, the erectile dysfunction medication. Studies have shown the drug opens small veins and arteries in the lungs in the same way it does to a useless penis—of particular use for mountain climbers gasping for air. It brings me great shame to admit I betrayed my search for a holistic cure. The only rationalization I provide myself is that the pills were taken in the name of survival, not to revel in the achievement of magnificent hours-long erections.
I could have taken Viagra at home like all the other loafers who gain nothing from exploiting shortcuts, but only through the hard work of a spirit quest would I find authentic erections. I enjoyed my expanded lung capacity and only found the pharmaceutically-induced erections useful as divining rods guiding me toward my true goal.
Oh, and Wilbur’s heart exploded from too much Viagra. The bang caused a small avalanche that woke Nawang and I with a start. The poor chap.
A malaise fell over as we inched ever closer to the summit. How could I be so near my journey’s end and feel not a twinge of confidence that I could maintain penile rigidity without the splint of a pill? I pushed the thoughts away as best I could, and was myself pushed out of the way as a large furry white creature charged past me to maul dear Mads. Could it have been the legendary Yeti of Nepalese folklore? Yes.
I will admit the near whiteout conditions hindered visibility considerably. Mads could have been ripped to bits by anything—snow, a stiff wind, a mountain lion. But the chances of confusing bits of snow for a large violent mountain ape are low. Perhaps the yeti was frightened off by the ferocity of my ungodly chemical erection? I do not know.
Only Nawang remained. He spoke little English, and I spoke little of whatever he spoke. I mostly shouted and gesticulated wildly. He seemed to understand. Together we completed my journey. The peak of Everest was ours. Surely, a lifetime of confident erections lay before me as all of human civilization, save for the cowards in the International Space Station, rest beneath me.
Nawang averted his eyes out of respect to my privacy as I dropped to my knees, peeled off my gloves, and unbuckled my trousers to revel in my rediscovered erection.
It fell yet again, as it has every day since.
If in the end the journey was for naught, were their deaths in vain? The question lingers so many years later. The only advice I would give my past self, and you, is to skip the misguided globetrotting adventures to instead focus on practical remedies, like snorting powdered rhino horn or rubbing ground baby crocodile hearts on your penis like the ancient Egyptians did. Both can be found at any local Whole Foods.