Imagine lying in a tent, physically exhausted and mentally drained after hiking for 17 hours.  

It’s close to midnight, and I just want to get off my feet and steal a few hours of sleep before my 4 am alarm goes off. Outside of the tent, there was a storm so fierce I was convinced they were filming a sequel to the movie Twister.

Last summer, I was in the middle of a timed endurance challenge called 29029. You climb the equivalent of Mt. Everest in 36 hours. Hike up the mountain, and ride the gondola down.  

Each trek equals 2.3 miles. Repeat 13 times. You have 36 hours to complete.

Some parts of the mountain were so steep the gradient/incline was 35%. 

To fully grasp how steep that is, try this next time you are on a treadmill: set the incline to 12% and picture it 3 times as steep. Now start walking.

Going into this event, I knew there would be ups and downs. Physically and mentally.  

At some point over the 36 hours, I figured a dark conversation would occur within the 6 inches between my ears.

After mother nature decided to give it a rest, I got about 2 hours of poor sleep. Waking up at 3:30 am, frustrated with the lack of quality sleep, I was more annoyed than seeing green bubbles on an iPhone. 

Little did I know that frustration would become the least of my problems. The dark conversation just walked into the party uninvited and certainly not welcomed.

For the next 30 minutes, that internal voice of self-doubt was in a rage unlike anything I’d ever experienced.

Here are some of the highlights of the dark conversation, in which my participation was limited to listening only.

“Go back to sleep. It’s okay if you don’t finish.”  

“Even though you told your family, friends, and clients you were going to do this crazy thing, they’ll understand if you don’t accomplish your goal.”  

“Only 60% of the people who toe the starting line of 29029 finish. You don’t belong in that group!”

“The temperature outside the tent is in the low 40’s. Get back under your covers and stay warm.”

And then everything changed with one question.

One question stopped me in my tracks and shook me to my core.

One question that still gets me emotional every time I share this story. 

“Are you okay having a conversation at some point in the future – maybe 3 weeks, maybe 3 months, maybe 30 years – with both of your girls and telling them that it’s okay to tap out and quit when life gets hard?”

“Stay in bed if you’re okay having that future conversation with your girls. If you’re not okay with that, get your ass up and finish what you started.”

Knowing I tapped out because it got hard, I couldn’t fathom having that conversation with my girls.

Quitting with gas left in the tank wasn’t an option.

So I got up, got dressed, and finished my last five summits over the next 10 hours to complete the challenge.  

Why am I sharing this story less than 48 hours before I shut off my cell phone for the next 365 days?

Too often in life, we avoid significant potential in the future because of little inconveniences in the present.

As I prepared for 29029, I created a mantra that I repeated during the grueling workouts in the days and weeks leading up to the event. It also propelled me during low points on the mountain.

Tomorrow Me Loves Today’s Pain

It was and still is my constant reminder that no matter how much today’s pain sucks, the tomorrow version of me will love it. However, tomorrow’s version of me only reaps the fruit of my labor through the pain experienced today. 

There will be times that you do things that you don’t like or aren’t comfortable with. It sucks. It’s not all rainbows and unicorns.

But everything you go through, good and bad, is an opportunity.  

An opportunity to learn. An opportunity to grow. An opportunity to do it better next time.

As I get ready to shut off my cell phone tomorrow night, I do so with my eyes wide open.  

I’m excited for tomorrow’s version of me as a husband, a dad, a friend, a speaker, and a coach.

I know there will be highs and lows.

There may even be some dark conversations.  

At the end of the day, 365 of them to be exact, I’m not doing this to show people that it’s possible to go a year without a cell phone.

I’m doing this to find out who I’ll become.