I was ready to turn around five minutes in. I was hot, my feet were starting to rub against my boots, and I was out of breath. Oh, and my triceps hurt?! As an accountability coach, I spend my days helping people push through the “dip,” but standing on that trail, I was the one staring down the urge to quit.
This weekend I did one of my favorite things: I put on my skis and climbed up the mountain. Until 4 years ago, I had no idea a sport like this existed! I thought there were only two types of skiing: the kind you do across the land (cross-country) and the kind you do using gravity (downhill). But then, while I was downhill skiing, I saw some friends skiing up the hill.WHAT is this madness and why are they doing it?
I immediately invested in lighter-weight downhill skis, boots that had a walking mechanism, bindings that allowed me to ski down the hill but then switch into a walk mode that brings the bottom of the binding up a bit (for when you’re going straight uphill), and skins – these are like heavy velvet stickers that affix to the bottom of your skis to create extra traction to prevent sliding backwards when you’re pointed directly up the hill. Not the way you go up on cross-country skis (feet out wide like a duck, or side-stepping).
I should back up and say that I suggested my husband and I do this because it was supposed to be a high of about 5 degrees, and instead of sitting on a cold chairlift, I thought making our own heat would be more fun, more productive, and warmer.
I stripped down a layer, took out my toe warmers, and started again. Michael was ahead of me. He told me he would see me at the top, that I shouldn’t wait for him, but just to go. So when he was ahead, I thought, “This won’t do, I need to get in front,” but the sane part of me said, “Nope, just keep going. One foot, then the next. One, two, one, two, one, two…” But my arms kicked in and started pushing me up the hill (hence the sore arms). Finally, I passed him, found my rhythm, and settled in. I took in the scene: the white snow and gray trees, the low clouds up ahead, the clumps of skiers whizzing past me, the silence except for the loud crunch of the snow and my breathing.
I used my radio to let our daughter know where I was on the mountain (she was stuck in the lodge with a fractured shoulder). “I’m just at the top of Eagle chair! I passed Spookie! Oof, looks like someone is reconsidering life decisions over on Upper Hardscrabble.” And so it went, as I went up and up. Michael would radio in, “Mommy’s about 100 feet ahead… about 100 yards ahead… I just passed Spookie…”
When I made it to the final ascent, I radioed, “I’m at Taft, just past the saddle. I’m going into my dark place.”
When I started off, I both looked forward to and dreaded my dark place. It’s where I went when I was in labor. It’s where I went when I injured my hamstring so badly that I couldn’t walk. It’s where I go on the final ascent.
I love it. I hate it.
It’s where I feel most alive. It’s where my usual overthinking self quiets down and I become so focused on the immediate next step that it’s almost survival mode – take a breath, take a step, take a breath, take a step. My mind shuts down to everything except what my body is telling me.
The dark place shows up when you’re getting near the end. You can sense the finish line, but you still have some really hard work to do before you get there. Maybe your body is exhausted. Maybe it’s because you’re so close but there are still more challenges – harder challenges – to overcome before you finally get there. What makes this dark space so powerful is that it’s really about you, your dedication, and your ability to focus. You either get it done or you don’t. At this point, there is no in between.
On Saturday, I was climbing through the clouds. I could see about 100 feet in front of me at most – just far enough to spot the next snow gun. I’d estimate the number of steps between each one and count each step until I got there. Sometimes it was 10, sometimes it was 60, but the goal was on each step. All focus and attention went to my legs, one at a time. The acknowledgement that they made it, that they succeeded in each small step, was just a number.
And then, within 100 yards of the top, I’d made it through the clouds, through my dark space. I could see the summit just ahead. The mountain flattened, and the sun – quite literally – started shining on me and my goal.
It was beautiful.
I know I could have done it without my daughter and husband, but it was a lot more fun – and motivating – knowing they were there. Every time I radioed in a milestone, Annika would cheer me on, congratulate me, tell me to keep going. She was rooting for both Michael and me, telling us we could do it. Just their presence on the other end of the radio, or Michael just below me on the mountain, kept me going, kept my skis pointed up and me motivated.
When I told her I’d reached Spookie, I felt excitement – I was halfway there! When I saw the skier stopped on Hardscrabble, I radioed that in too, admitting I was kind of rethinking my decision to do this climb. Having them there meant I had someone to tell my story to when it was all said and done. And because I reported in at each milestone, we had something concrete to talk about later.
That’s what a good accountability partner does – they know what you’re up to, they celebrate your milestones with you, and their presence alone keeps you moving forward.
There are so many times when I use cheerleaders like this to help me through complex and difficult projects – people who can keep me accountable and on track for deliverables. Sometimes you can power through on your own. But other times? Having someone waiting to hear about your progress makes all the difference between stopping five minutes in and making it all the way to the summit.
If you have a big project or goal and need some help staying on track, I’d be happy to be that voice on the other end of the radio. Download this milestone tracker to map out your climb and celebrate each step forward, or grab some time on my calendar and we can figure out a plan to get you to your goal.