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In Tajikistan's rugged and isolated Wakhan Valley -- where animal carcasses thrive and wild campsites are a shallow river's width from Afghanistan -- my lungs gasped for air above 15,000 feet, my body rejected every piece of contaminated food I consumed, my throat coughed out sobs that were forcefully whisked away and my eyes shed rocks instead of tears after hours of battling vicious sandstorms. I fantasized about vegetables and vowed to never drink another RC Cola as long as I lived. Luckily, for every hurdle there was salvation.
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