UNCOMFORTABLE!
Uncomfortable
When was the last time you felt frustrated, demoralized, frightened, and excited—all within the same thirty-minute window?
For me, it was in the Canadian Rockies, hiking out of Icefall Lodge. The scenery was the kind of breathtaking beauty that postcards wish they could capture—jagged peaks cutting into a crisp blue sky, glacial meltwater running like silver ribbons through the valleys. But my eyes were often less on the view and more on my next step—because one slip could mean a very fast trip down the mountain.
At one point, I found myself scrambling along a steep mountainside, one hand clamped desperately to the rock, the other fumbling for balance on crumbly, treacherous footing. And then came the “downclimbs.”
Before this trip, I had never even heard the term. I discovered it meant walking backward down a near-vertical face, feeling for toe holds you couldn’t see, while trying not to look at the drop below. Bless our guide for protecting me through this experience.
I share this story not to brag about my mountaineering prowess (trust me, there was none), but to talk about being uncomfortable, learning something new, and “doing hard things.” We toss those phrases around like motivational slogans, nodding vigorously when the advice applies to other people. But when it’s our turn? We often cling to the familiar.
Before this adventure, I liked to think of myself as growth-oriented, mentally tough, and willing to tackle challenges head-on. But over those four days, I had to question that. There were moments when I muttered under my breath, “This is effing stupid.” That’s not a phrase I’ve ever been in the habit of using—not once in 21 years of coaching did, I utter those words to my teams. Yet somehow, dangling on a mountain with loose rock beneath me, the words flowed easily.
And the trip wasn’t just mentally taxing—it was physically grueling. We hiked over 50 miles in four days, six to eight hours a day, uphill and downhill over uneven, unpredictable terrain, with a 20-pound pack on my back. The only reason I knew how far we’d gone was because my 30-year-old niece tracked every step and elevation gain. I found myself strangely grateful for her updates—sometimes the only thing keeping me moving was knowing we were, in fact, making progress.
Lessons Learned:
#1 – Never let your wife take you on this type of hiking trip!
I’m kidding… mostly. It was an incredible adventure. The views are the type that need to be earned and for that I am grateful. The people we encountered were full of positivity for we were all “outside” enjoying nature. And there’s something deeply satisfying about being shoved—sometimes literally—out of the comfort zone we guard so carefully.
#2 – We need to push ourselves more.
As we age, we tend to play it safe. We get attached to the steady hum of routine, to the idea that “comfortable” equals “good.” But comfort also has a shadow side—it can quietly drain life of its color. We need people to challenge us, to push us, to dare us into uncomfortable spaces. Our guide, Antoine, did that for me daily. I thanked him and cursed him—sometimes in the same breath.
#3 – Mental toughness must be practiced.
We like to think of ourselves as the kind of people who can rise to any challenge, respond well to adversity, and “come up clutch.” But resilience isn’t a permanent feature—it’s a muscle. And just like a muscle, it atrophies when we don’t use it. Those mountains reminded me: you don’t get to keep mental toughness on a shelf and dust it off when needed. You must train it.
#4 – Being a beginner is good for you.
I’ve been a coach for decades, and I’m used to being the one with the answers. But on this trip, I was the rookie again—the freshman on the basketball team looking to the upperclassmen for guidance. I took advice from experts. I even accepted unsolicited feedback from my wife without argument (Miracles can happen). It was humbling, but also freeing, to admit I didn’t know it all and to feel myself learning in real time. Sometimes, the coach needs to be the athlete again.
I’m not sure I’ll put myself in a situation like that again. I hope I do. If not hiking, then something else that makes me a little scared, a little uncomfortable. Over the years, I’ve overcome the fear of public speaking, left the safety of a career in education to start a business, and now survived “scary hiking.” What’s next?
Here’s the truth: every hard experience teaches us something—if we’re willing to reflect. Every person we meet can teach us something—if we’re willing to listen. And more often than not, those lessons aren’t about the mountain, the speech, or the new business. They’re about us.