Finally, we reach the Lake of the Clouds Hut. We hide behind it to gulp down our lunches as the snow and wind begin to pick up.

"Okay, who wants to try to make it to the summit?" Alex says. "If we're not at the top in one hour, we have to turn around. The weather can change in an instant, and I'm afraid that some of you may not make it." To my surprise, two of the tough guys from New Jersey immediately announce that they're heading back down the mountain.

"You still want to go to the top, right?" I ask Sarah. I feel like I still have lots of energy in reserve.

"Definitely," Sarah says. She looks like she's still drooling over that sublime, imaginary pizza on the summit.

"Okay, for those of you set on going, we're going to split into two groups." Alex says. "I'll take Hank, Sarah, Eyal, and Ilan. Stephanie and Lisa, you'll go with Bob. The weather is getting worse. It's now or never guys. Let's book."

With Alex leading and Sarah seemingly super-glued to his backpack, the eight of us begin speeding up the mountain as fast as we can. But it's been snowing all night and day, and two- to four-foot snow drifts blanket the mountaintop. It takes a huge amount of energy just to take a single step and then pull our legs out of the resulting hole in the snow. After about 20 minutes of climbing, I look behind us. Bob, Stephanie, and Lisa have vanished.

"They've already turned back," Alex says as I scan the landscape. I feel despondent, sad that Stephanie's second Mount Washington winter summit attempt has been unsuccessful.

"I didn't expect this much snow," Alex says, snapping my attention back to our own situation. "This is tough."

Alex's verbalization of the situation makes me feel better, validating the fact that every step in the deep snow seems to sap all of my remaining energy.

"How are you guys doing?" Alex asks when Eyal and Ilan catch up to us. They're not moving quite as fast as Sarah and I. Everyone murmurs that they're feeling good, but it's clear that everyone's energy reserves are dwindling rapidly -- except Sarah's.

Hikers walk on ice sheets with crampons on Mount Washington.

As we continue slogging through the deep snow, over thousands of ankle-twisting rocks, we pass a sign that reads, "STOP: The area ahead has the worst weather in America. Many have died from exposure, even in the summer. Turn back now if the weather is bad." As if on cue, the wind seems to have reached over 25 miles per hour, the temperature is dropping, and the snow blowing through the air is causing an almost-total whiteout.

I think to myself that if I were on the mountain by myself right now, I'd probably turn back, not being able to see a route to the top. I'm worried that Alex is going to force us to turn back. We're well behind our summit schedule, barely still within our safety margin. But Alex has summited the mountain tens of times, and his resolve does not waiver.

"Let's do this," Alex says. His confidence acts like a huge jolt of caffeine, and we continue marching toward the top with seemingly newfound energy. I'm exhausted, and all I can see ahead of me is a sea of cotton, but it feels like an invisible rope, tying me to Alex and Sarah, is dragging me up the mountain.

Hikers huddle next to the Lake of the Clouds Hut below Mount Washington's summit cone.

Suddenly, a 30-foot-tall, white structure that looks like a clock tower emerges from the snowstorm, appearing 10 feet from my face. I'm surprised to see hikers from another group huddled against it. I realize that we've reached the observatory on the summit.

"We're here!" I yell. We congratulate each other and take photos in front of the "Mt. Washington Summit" sign, but our celebration is short-lived. The wind is increasing and it's getting significantly colder.

"We have to get off this mountain," Alex says. Then, like a human GPS device, he starts guiding us down the mountain at a breakneck speed -- so fast that I know that he perceives real danger. I'm moving as fast as I can, but I feel like I'm running through a bowling ball factory with my eyes closed. Mount Washington's summit is covered in rocks, and since they're covered in a blanket of snow, it's impossible to see what I'm stepping on until it's too late.

A sign on Mount Washington warns hikers that they will encounter the worst weather in America.

I trip on the rocks over and over and over, trying as hard as I can to avoid crashing into the snow, but the whiteout makes it nearly impossible to see anything. On one rock that I trip over (maybe number 63?), I bash my boot into it particularly hard. When I try to stop myself from falling, one of my crampons gets caught on my pant leg, ripping it to shreds. In a gloriously anti-balletic move, I smash into to the ground, badly twisting my knee. When I look up, I see Alex and Sarah fading into the infinite white.

"Sorry… I fell… my knee…" I gasp when I finally catch them again. I look behind me and Ilan and Eyal are gone. We wait, and in about a minute, they emerge from the bleached expanse. Ilan looks like he's been run over by a truck carrying ten tons of snow.

"I… can't… see," Ilan pants. "My goggles."

At an unbelievable speed, Alex, like Mary Poppins, magically pulls a clean pair of goggles from his backpack, grabs the iced-over ones on Ilan's face, and puts on another pair.

"Okay, let's move," Alex says as he heads down. At this point, it feels like we're running down the mountain, and Alex, Sarah, and I are moving faster than Ilan and Eyal.

"CAN WE TAKE ANOTHER BREAK?" we hear Eyal yell.

"GUYS, THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NO TIME TO STOP," Alex yells. "YOU MUST KEEP WALKING FORWARD."

"HE CAN'T SEE," Eyal yells back. Ilan's goggles have been completely covered in ice again.

"CAN YOU SEE ANYTHING?!" Alex yells.

"NOT REALLY!" Ilan yells. "I CAN BARELY MAKE OUT THE BACKPACK IN FRONT OF ME!"

A climbing guide surveys the situation at the Tuckerman Crossover sign on Mount Washington.

"GOOD ENOUGH." Alex responds. "WE DON'T HAVE TIME TO STOP. THE WEATHER, GUYS. THE WEATHER IS GETTING DANGEROUS."

"Shit," I say to Sarah. "Our elf-filled forest winter wonderland has turned into a death trap."

We're nearly running down the mountain, and as the wind speed nears 50 miles per hour, it feels like we're flying. Three separate times, I think I see through the whiteout the outline of the Hut, but each time, it turns out to be a mirage. I realize that I have no idea where I am. I can't stop tripping on my shredded pants.

"I keep thinking I see the Hut, but it's just mirages," I say to Sarah.

"Yeah, I think maybe we already passed it and we're taking a different route...?" Sarah wonders.

And then, seemingly by a miracle (but really due to our guide Alex's prowess), my fourth mirage turns out not to be a mirage at all. We've made it back to the Lake of the Clouds Hut.

"It'll get easier from here," Alex yells as we head down the trail back under the tree line. On the way down, we pass a dejected Stephanie and Lisa, who tell us, sadly, that they didn't have the energy to brave the storm. After trying to cheer them up and being careful not to mention Stephanie's bad blind date who reached the summit, we head back to the parking lot, though my knee is screaming in pain.

Hikers hike up Mount Washington's summit cone in near-whiteout conditions.

After saying goodbye to the group and thanking Alex and Bob profusely, Sarah and I jump in the car and turn on our heated seats. Then, we drive directly to Elvio's Pizzeria in Lincoln, New Hampshire and order the world's biggest, most delicious pepperoni pizza. At least, as we're eating it, that's what it tastes like.

As I'm driving to the Boston airport the next morning, a news story on NPR catches my attention. The reporter says that, yesterday, four hikers became lost on the Mount Washington summit in the whiteout and had to be rescued in the middle of 0-degree temperatures and 95 mile-per-hour winds a bit before 3:30 AM. I realize that they were hikers from the group that I saw on the summit. Suddenly, my inelegant, knee-twisting crash while dashing down the mountain doesn't seem so bad anymore.