Higher Than Fear : Lucia Janičová on Everest
Raw & Unfiltered: Lucia Janičová on Reaching the Roof of the World
Lucia Janicova has stood where few ever will — on the summit of Mount Everest. In this unedited conversation with Exploraris, she shares the gear that kept her alive, the moments that tested her resolve, and the lessons carved into her memory high above the clouds. From funky-looking down suits to the quiet hum of low-flow oxygen, this is Lucia — candid, unpolished, and at altitude.
Exploraris: Lucia, first of all, congratulations! can you please introduce yourself?
Lucia : Thank you. I’m Lucia Janičová — a Slovak immunologist working in Scotland, mountaineer, climber, and mother. In 2024, I became the first Slovak woman to summit Mount Everest. But my Everest story didn’t begin on a mountain — and it was never a childhood dream. I grew up carrying invisible weight: trauma, self-doubt, and years of letting others control my path and make me feel small.
Climbing taught me how to fall and rise again. Science gave me the tools to understand the body — both at sea level and at altitude. And motherhood gave me the courage to stay focused, to be brave, and a reason to always come home. Everest brought it all together. It became a symbol of everything I had to overcome — both outside and within.
Exploraris: You are the first Slovak woman to stand on top of the world. What was the first thing that went through your mind?
Lucia: As I stood on the roof of the world, I couldn’t think — not at first. But I could feel: a flood of euphoria, emotion, and something close to ecstasy. I had made it. I was still alive. I hadn’t given up. This wave lasted only a moment, and as a single tear traced down my cheek, my logical brain kicked in, urging me to act. I took those final steps, snapped a few proof-of-life summit photos, and then heard the imagined voices: “You can’t stay here. You have to go down. Now.”
The wind was howling. The weather was harsh. My oxygen was limited. You could feel the death zone pressing in on you. This wasn’t one of those picture-perfect summit days with crowds lining the ridge. It was empty. Sacred. The mountain looked untouched, as if no one had stood there since the year before.
And in that silence of thought, I knew: I had done this for every woman who was told to be small. For my daughter — to show her that women are strong, that breaking free from unhealthy traditional norms is possible, and that equality matters. So she won’t have to walk the same difficult path I did. We carry the power to change things — for ourselves, and for those who come after us.
Exploraris: Was there a moment on Everest when you questioned everything? What pulled you through?
Lucia: Every step is hard up there — but the moment I truly questioned everything was during my period, high up at Camps 1 and 2. I felt awful: cramping, weak, and barely functioning at just over 6,000 meters. I remember thinking, How can I possibly reach the top feeling like this? To make matters worse, I was dealing with diarrhoea. But I kept going. I reminded myself that the reward — the summit push — would come during the best part of my cycle.
I leaned on mantras that helped me stay grounded: “Don’t look at how far you have to go. Look at how far you’ve come.” I challenged the thoughts spiraling in my head: “These are just negative automatic thoughts. You’re tired. You’re hungry. You’re dehydrated — give yourself time. This will pass.” And then I looked up at the rock around me — 60 million years old. That ancient silence reminded me: You are lucky to be here. Even in pain, be grateful. You are privileged to witness this.
Exploraris: In your own words, what does “Everest” symbolize for you now — as a woman, as a Slovak, and as a human being?
Lucia: As a woman, Everest symbolizes reclaiming power in a world that still tells us, “This is a man’s world.” That we’re too fragile. That our place is in the kitchen, or at home caring for children. Climbing it was my way of pushing back- of proving that we don’t have to fit into those outdated boxes. As a Slovak, it’s about stepping into spaces where we’ve historically been absent and showing that we do belong, that we no longer want to be in those traditionally labled boxes. And as a human, Everest is a mirror. It strips everything away and shows you exactly who you are - raw, real, and unfiltered. It helps you see what you have inside of you - power, strength, resilience.
Exploraris: What did your summit day look like from start to finish? Give us the raw, unfiltered version.
Lucia: On the night of May 11, 2024, I planned to leave Camp 4 around 7:30 p.m., but conditions were quiet — unusually few climbers on the mountain, just around 20. So we decided to rest a little longer, knowing we wouldn’t face the infamous Everest queues.
By 22:30 Nepali time, we stepped out of the tent — exhausted after three sleepless nights, but ready to climb. I looked up and saw stars blazing in the frozen sky, and the air instantly cut through me with its cold. I spotted head torches far above — what looked like halfway up the mountain. In the dark, I wasn’t sure if they were still approaching the Balcony or already past it.
A wave of doubt hit me. Had we left too late? Had I messed up the timing? But even if I had, I knew I had to at least try. As we were setting off, I heard a bird cry out. It felt surreal, almost like an omen. Rinjin, my Sherpa, was fast. I don’t even know how, but we quickly caught up to the first set of head torches. He clipped me to his harness as we overtook them. I couldn’t believe it — not only had I reached them, I was passing them.
And we didn’t stop. We kept overtaking team after team, all the way to the Balcony. There, we swapped out our oxygen bottles. But by this point, the weather had already started to deteriorate. The wind picked up, and the cold turned brutal. Still, the climb continued.
The trail from Camp 4 had been steep from the start. My headlamp beam barely pierced the void in front of me. Every breath was precious, rationed carefully through a regulator with the oxygen flow rate kept as low as possible. You know if you run out — you’re dead.
We reached the Balcony (8,400 m), where I was finally happy to step into the darkness alone. I felt exhausted, yet mentally strong. I tasted the emptiness of the mountain. Rinjin paused to have a cigarette. After 20 minutes or so, we rejoined and continued. The conditions were punishing. We passed ridge slabs — I loved them. One long, steep wall filled me with joy. I imagined climbing it without a rope. I gave it a VS grade in my head. Beautiful holds, stunning rock formations. A steep climb for something many call a "walk."
When we reached the South Summit, I felt a surge of excitement — my goal was near. But then I saw the 20-meter descent ahead and what looked like three more Everests stacked beyond it. Getting off the South Summit meant abseiling into uncertain terrain. It was intimidating. From that point on, I refused to look forward. I didn’t want to see how far there was still to go. I kept my head down and focused, talking to myself as the wind battered me.
The infamous Hillary Step loomed ahead. To be honest, I didn’t even realize I was on it at first. It wasn’t technically hard — just nerve-wracking. I calculated how much rope was in the system and how far I could fall if I slipped. That’s when I saw the frozen body beneath me. If I slipped, I’d end up beside him. Panic started to rise. I was hyperventilating. I knew I had to stop it — if you panic, you’ll end up lying next to him, I told myself. I focused, slowed my breath, blocked out the image, and made the awkward move up.
Then I climbed on. I kept repeating names of people I love. I kept reminding myself: Don’t look how far you have to go — look how far you’ve come. Eventually, we reached the cave. I knew we were close, but not once did I allow myself to believe I’d make it. I stayed present, fully. Then I saw something that looked like the summit — but instead of joy, I lowered my head. It might not be the top, I thought. Just keep going. Then I heard Rinjin yell, “Summit!” Only then did I believe it.
I stood still. He passed me. I felt an incredible wave of achievement, euphoria, and the strange stillness of the death zone. It was empty of life — and yet full of mine. At 7:25 a.m. on May 12th, 2024 — Mother’s Day — I took the final steps and stood on the summit of Mount Everest: 8,848 meters above sea level. I couldn’t think. But I could feel — euphoria, disbelief, something close to ecstasy. A tear rolled down my cheek before my inner voice whispered, "You cannot stay here long. You must go down."
The summit was empty. Sacred. Untouched. Unlike the crowded images you see online, there were no queues that morning — just wind, silence, and snow crystals swirling in the air.
Reaching the top meant showing my daughter that even in a world that tells women to be small, we can rise high. And that rising isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s silent, cold, and achingly beautiful.
The descent brought its own dangers. I took 8.5 hours in harsh conditions to climb up, but it took me about two and half hours to get back to Camp 4. When we arrived, we collapsed — completely wrecked, like jellies that didn’t want to get eaten by the mountain. We rested for a while, pulled ourselves back together, and then continued the long, brutal descent to Camp 2.
I ran out of oxygen shortly after leaving Camp 4, which made everything harder. By nightfall, we were in Camp 2. From there, we moved back through the Yellow Band, down the Lhotse Face, into the ever-creaking Khumbu Icefall, and finally, after days of descent, reached the "warmth" and "safety" of Base Camp. I was utterly drained. But despite tiredness i could not sleep that night. i was too excited but also i started having flashbacks of the dead climber from Hillary.
Exploraris: What was the most unexpected thing that happened on Everest — funny, surreal, or downright unbelievable?
Lucia: It was pitch black on Balcony (8400m). The kind of black that swallows you whole. The only thing piercing it was the narrow beam of my headtorch, cutting through the swirling snow. The wind was slapping our faces with icy snow, but as long as I kept moving, I stayed warm. Barely but managably.
My guide Rinjin pulled out a cigarette and lit it with difficulty. I knew he still needed to change his oxygen tank, but all I could think was - I can’t wait that long. Standing still, I could feel the cold creeping in. One more minute like this and I’ll freeze from the inside out, I thought. I thought if i go on my own, it will be fine, because he wont stay alone and he will catch up with me.
I told to Rinjin. “I have to go or I will freeze.” He didn’t argue. Just said "always clip in”.
And just like that, I stepped into the dark. Alone. Breaking trail, pulling rope burried by snow. Their headtorches were slowly fading behind me until it disappeared completely.
And then it was just me. Just me and the mountain. Me. A woman. A mother. A scientist. Once upon a time a very little girl from Slovakia, climbing towards the roof of the world.
Just a tiny human against this monstrous, frozen giant, the Goddess. I was exhausted. But I felt powerful. I was becoming someone new. For nearly twenty minutes, I moved through the dark, utterly alone. No voices. No footsteps. Just wind, snow, and the sound of my own breath inside my mask. I wasn’t afraid. I felt alive. Like the mountain was peeling away everything unneeded, exposing the core of me. Moving with purpose.
Exploraris: Was there something you brought with you to the summit that had personal meaning — a photo, a talisman, a promise?
Lucia: I carried a photo of my daughter and necklesses from her, my partner, my mum and a women called Dina Sterbova. She attempted to climb the mountain in early 90s but she only reached camp 4. i carried it like a baton. this along with my daugher's photo, and mittens is now in the Slovak olympic museum.
In the meantime, I am swapping oxygen masks for microphones and microscopes — sharing stories of grit, science, and survival on stage, while quietly building the next expedition from the lab bench up.
Lucia’s words need no embellishment — they carry the grit, wonder, and humility of someone who’s stood on the highest point on Earth. Her climb may be over, but her perspective on endurance, preparation, and the quiet beauty of the mountains will keep inspiring anyone bold enough to dream of their own summit. Don’t miss Lucia Janičová’s Everest feature in Exploraris Adventure Magazine.
Thank you Lucia for sharing your adventure and photos with us. Follow her on:
Credits & Acknowledgements: Photography by Manish Maharjan and Slovenská sporiteľňa (SLSP). Forthcoming film by Hot Aches Productions and future 8,000er plans with climatologist Dr. Baker Perry.
@manishmaharjan
@slovenskasporitelna
@hotachesproductions
@l.baker.perry
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