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Angie Wiley

You Are Strong

By 29029 Everesting

November 21^st, 2025

Before the mountain, there was a tap.

It was a quiet pull I couldn’t quite explain. The kind that wouldn’t go away, no matter how much life I layered on top of it.

It started years ago.

I was a mom, a wife, and a professional.

But I still felt like I should be doing something more.

My husband, Chuck, called it the God Tap.

And he was always supportive of me trying to follow it, even when neither of us knew exactly where it would lead.

I had been an athlete through college, and through that time, came to understand the power of mindset.

Not only how it could work for you, but how it could work against you if you weren’t careful.

In 2013, I had started to understand what my God Tap was about:

The power of the mind, and helping others realize it, too.

I started a company with that aim. I wanted to help others tap into the power of mindset.

Chuck and I named it together: You Are Strong.

At the time, it sounded like a message to share with others.

Little did we know that less than two years later, those words would become the mantra we would need.

In 2014, Chuck was diagnosed with cancer.

Five and a half years of treatment followed.

Five and a half years of hope, heartbreak, and holding it all together.

During the days, I worked. At night, I was the caregiver, wife, and mom trying to keep life steady.

Every day felt like another climb.

One step, one treatment, one prayer at a time.

That’s what You Are Strong meant then.

2020 was a challenging year.

COVID.

My youngest daughter moving away from home.

And Chuck passing away.

Then, in 2021, I was laid off from my full-time job.

I was 49, and now a widow, empty-nester, and unemployed.

The silence that followed was like nothing I’d ever known.

But somehow, through all that loss, I still felt the spark of purpose.

The mindset work I’d built for myself, and for others, through You Are Strong, was still there.

I wouldn’t let the hardship go to waste.

If grief was the mountain I didn’t choose, then I was ready to find one I did.

That’s when 29029 found me.

I wasn’t looking for a race, I was looking for meaning.

Something that tied the mental and physical together.

Something uncertain enough to feel sacred.

Climbing 29,029 vertical feet felt like not only a way to honor Chuck, but a chance to live the words we created together.

It felt like a chance to prove that You Are Strong wasn’t just a name.

It was truth.

When I told my kids, they didn’t hesitate.

We all signed up for 29029 Mont-Tremblant.

My daughter, Liz, and her husband.

My son, Logan, and his wife.

And my youngest, Jaden.

Together we would climb.

Together we would honor Chuck.

The second we arrived in Quebec, the nerves kicked in.

The mountain looked big. The air felt heavy. And after a summer-long infection that lingered for over a month of the peak training, I wasn’t sure what my body would have left.

Normally, I’d show up to something like this confident.

This time, I showed up curious.

There was only one way to find out how strong I really was:

Climb.

The first ascent felt like gratitude.

The energy. The music. The community.

It was a joy just to move, be there, and feel a part of something bigger.

I looked around at hundreds of people chasing their own Everests, and felt grateful to be a part of it.

If the first ascent was gratitude, the fifth ascent was unease.

Reality had set in.

Ten to go.

My legs were heavy, my breathing sharper, and the chatter around me quieter.

The mountain had turned serious, and my fatigue had grown from a whisper to a howl that couldn’t be ignored.

But I’d learned not to listen to the wrong thoughts.

I’d learned to write my own story.

One step at a time.

One thought at a time.

One ascent at a time.

That’s where strength lives.

By the ninth ascent, the sun had set, and the skies started to shift.

Wind.

Rain.

A mountain storm.

I stabbed my poles into the ground to brace against the gusts, my jacket flapping in the wind.

Headlamps danced through the rain, each drop feeling colder than the last.

Every step felt like walking through resistance itself.

The plan was always eleven climbs before bed, but sometimes plans bend in storms.

I made one more.

Then I stopped.

Not because I couldn’t keep going, but because strength also knows when to rest.

Sleep came fast, but shallow. I woke less than 3.5 hours later, body sore, yet mind ready.

I was back at the base in the dark, moisture still dripping off the trees.

It was time to keep climbing.

The early morning ascent felt quieter.

The fog hung low. My poles clicked against wet rocks. My breath found rhythm again.

My confidence was building.

Now, it wasn’t about whether I would finish, but how I would finish.

My mindset shifted from effort to presence.

When I finally reached the Red Carpet, I thought I'd feel triumph.

Instead, I felt release.

Like a breath that carried every year, every climb, every prayer.

Relief.

Gratitude.

Exhaustion.

The music blared, cowbells rang, and cheers pulsed all around me.

But somewhere in that mix, I felt peace.

It wasn't loud, but it was real.

Because sometimes victory doesn't roar.

Sometimes it sounds like the whisper of the one who first said You Are Strong.

It took a few days, but I realized that the summit wasn’t the end of anything.

It was confirmation.

Proof that grief can turn to growth.

Proof that mindset matters.

Proof that strength isn’t found in perfection or speed, but in what happens when you decide not to stop.

The climb at Mont-Tremblant was a physical exclamation point on everything I believe, teach, and live.

We all have to climb in life.

This one just happened to have 15 ascents and a purpose bigger than the mountain.

It was for the man who said the words You Are Strong.

And it was to remind myself that I am, too.

Footnotes

Voice: Angie Wiley. Story: Evan Wishloff. Photos: Megan Dunn, Brendan Ladd, Evan Wishloff

Button Label

FootNotes

Voice: Angie Wiley. Story: Evan Wishloff. Photos: Megan Dunn, Brendan Ladd, Evan Wishloff

Lance Friedman

Angie Wiley

You Are Strong

FootNotes

Do One More

No Emotion, Just Motion

Brian Goldstein

The Foundation for the Summit

Tom Turcich

Higher Together