Home

10%

Charlotte Huisman

No Emotion, Just Motion

By 29029 Everesting

February 6^th, 2026

The moment I knew something had to change was not dramatic.

After returning to an office job, I looked down at my watch at the end of the day.

3,000 steps.

Before going back to office work, I was always over 10,000.

It felt like a warning light.

I have a sticker on my laptop that says:

Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.

When I saw a video from 29029, something in me lit up.

It looked intense.

It looked overwhelming.

But it also looked like normal people doing something extraordinary.

Hikers trek up a grassy hill at night, headlamps illuminating their path. Silhouetted trees line the horizon against a purple-tinged sky with a hint of red sunset. A ski lift stands to the left.

The day registration opened, I signed up.

My first thought: What have I done?

I wanted to do it right, so I also signed up for one-on-one coaching with Jarrod Marrs.

I thought he would teach me about motivation.

I was wrong.

From the beginning, Coach Jarrod’s message was simple:

“Do what I tell you to do. Not more. Especially at the beginning.”

It felt controlled… almost too controlled.

Which is when I didn’t listen.

A man hikes uphill with poles on a foggy day, wearing a bib that reads

I wore a 10-pound weighted vest for three hours straight on only my second time using it.

Much longer than Coach Jarrod suggested.

That gave me a stress fracture in my ribs, and taught me something quickly:

It wasn’t about pushing harder. It was about pushing correctly.

Legs wearing blue socks and red running shoes move quickly across a blurred brown, grassy surface.

The biggest mental turning point for me came in Switzerland in June.

I was there with family and wanted to take the opportunity to train in some real mountains.

I chose a trail similar to Stratton and hiked it with my two kids.

It was filled with rocks, loose footholds, and challenging terrain.

When we finally reached the top, my daughter turned to me and said, “Okay, Mom, you just have to do this 16 more times in Stratton!”

Exhausted and overwhelmed, I thought about that for a moment.

And then broke down and cried.

It wasn't just that it felt hard. It was that it felt bigger than me. Bigger than my fitness.

Bigger than my motivation.

When I uploaded the workout, I wrote a comment to Jarrod: I don’t think I can do this.

His response wasn’t soft like I expected.

"Hard. Exhausting. Endless. The same emotions you will feel for this event on the mountain. But emotions whether positive or negative won't keep you going. Only action will. Just putting one foot in front of the other and taking that same action again and again. So whether you feel awesome or you can't go on, just take action."

I’m not entirely sure what I thought I knew about coaching before, but whatever it was looked different from his reply.

There was no rah-rah.

Just truth.

It didn’t matter how I felt.

I couldn't wait to feel motivation.

All that mattered was that I chose to keep going.

When I told my kids what Coach Jarrod said, they came up with a slogan for me.

No emotions, just motion.

No emotion.

Just motion.

Stratton would test that.

Wall covered in square wooden tiles, each with a triangle design, receding into the distance. Black and white.

The morning of the start was beautiful.

Sunrise, cowbells, people cheering my name on the trail… I felt good as I climbed the early ascents.

I kept my pace just like what had been drilled into me during training.

Don't go big early. Stay controlled. Stick to the plan.

The goal was twelve before I’d take a break for the night.

By the afternoon, nausea and fatigue had hit.

That made it hard to eat, so I ate less.

Weak turned into weaker.

My pace dropped, and as the afternoon turned to evening, the mountain settled into darkness.

After 10 pm, I had only completed nine ascents.

Sitting in the recovery room for a quick break, I was scared to return to the mountain.

Scared of how I felt.

Scared of the dark.

Scared of going back out.

But fear didn't change what I had to do next.

That ascent was my longest.

It took me hours to get up the cold, dark, slippery slope of Stratton.

Stepping onto the gondola, exhausted and spent, I realized I was still two ascents short of where I was supposed to be before sleep.

As I returned to the base, I saw Coach Sarah by the firepits.

I went up to her and said something I normally don’t:

“I need help.”

She gave me a plan.

Short rest. Try for sleep. Reset. Get back out on the mountain by 4:30 am if you want a chance at the Red Hat.

The plan took all the emotion out of it. I just needed to follow it.

Flames burn inside a metal fire pit with decorative cutouts. Silhouetted trees and mountain shapes frame the orange fire.

Back in my hotel room, I tried to sleep, but it wasn’t coming.

My body was exhausted. My stomach still felt off. My head was spinning.

I lay there, waiting for something to shift. For motivation, courage, or a second-wind... For anything that would make going back out feel easier.

Nothing came.

That's when I realized something.

I'd been here before.

Not on this mountain, but in Switzerland, when Coach Jarrod's message reminded me that it was supposed to be hard.

Lying in that hotel bed, I understood it now.

I didn't need to feel ready.

I didn't need to feel strong.

I didn't need to feel anything at all.

I just needed to move.

It was 4 am, and I decided to get up.

Not because I felt motivated.

Because I was committed.

I stepped back onto the mountain.

Dark, low-angle shot of a narrow passage lined with white barriers labeled

From there on out, it was a grind.

Nausea. Dizziness. Long, slow climbs.

At one point, I told Coach Brent, “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Stop,” he said. “That’s just a story you’re telling yourself. The fact is, it’s Saturday afternoon, and you are still out on this mountain climbing. That’s it.”