The journey began with the legendary flight to Lukla Airport, often dubbed the most dangerous airstrip in the world. As our plane descended into the narrow mountain valley, adrenaline surged. The energy of the Himalayas was palpable. Stepping out of the aircraft, I felt an instant sense of reverence—the real pilgrimage had begun.
We spent the day acclimatizing, walking around the village, and tuning into the rhythm of the mountains. My breathwork and grounding asanas helped stabilize the nervous system and prepare mentally for the road ahead.
The trail meandered through pine forests, suspension bridges, and small Sherpa villages. Though we were descending slightly in altitude, the path was already teaching me the importance of mindful steps and breath control.
We reached Phakding by afternoon. A short yet significant walk—the first real test of carrying my yogic mindset into motion. The sound of the Dudh Koshi River became a mantra as I practiced Nadi Shodhana (alternate nostril breathing) by the water.
This was one of the most demanding stretches. Long, steep ascents and countless stone steps. The final climb to Namche tested both endurance and willpower.
The thin air started to become noticeable. To combat fatigue, I paused regularly for pranayama and simple spinal movements. By evening, as we entered the vibrant Sherpa hub of Namche Bazaar, I felt the altitude’s grip tightening—but also a deeper connection to my breath.
Even in a bustling town, I found a quiet corner and practiced Tadasana and Utkatasana, drawing strength from the stillness within.
We hiked up to Everest View Hotel (3,880 m) for acclimatization. The first clear view of Mount Everest left me speechless. Her silent majesty called not for conquest, but for reverence.
I chose a secluded spot overlooking Ama Dablam and performed Surya Namaskar and gentle twists, offering gratitude. This day reminded me that yoga is not about escape—it’s about presence, no matter where we are.
The trail narrowed and the air thinned. As we approached Tengboche, the famed Tengboche Monastery came into view—a sacred sanctuary nestled amidst clouds.
I received the blessing of the monks and performed Trikonasana and Virabhadrasana in the monastery courtyard, facing the peaks. The silence, the chanting, and the scent of incense made this moment a union of practice and pilgrimage.
The landscape became starker. Trees disappeared, replaced by rocky terrain and yaks. The body moved slower, and the breath had to be deeper, more conscious.
Reaching Dingboche, I experienced my first light symptoms of altitude strain. I responded with diaphragmatic breathing and restorative poses like Supta Baddha Konasana to balance oxygen levels. Yoga here was no longer practice—it was medicine.
We ascended a nearby ridge to about 4,800 m. The views were vast, and so was the silence. I sat for a long meditation with Anulom Vilom and then practiced Bhujangasana and Ardha Matsyendrasana under the open sky.
It was in this silence I realized: The mountain doesn’t test you. It shows you yourself.
This stretch felt more spiritual than physical. The memorials at Thukla Pass, dedicated to climbers who lost their lives on Everest, brought tears to my eyes.
I offered a moment of still meditation in front of a stone monument and felt the impermanence of life deeply. The asana that followed was humble—Balasana (Child’s Pose)—an offering of surrender.
This was it. The final push. Breathing became labored. Muscles sore. But the spirit was unwavering. Reaching Everest Base Camp, surrounded by ice, stone, and prayer flags, This wasn’t just the highest yoga session of my life—it was the deepest. Every breath was earned. Every posture was prayer. The energy of Everest moved through my spine.
A world record was set, but the real triumph was unseen—the inner ascent.
