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Patrick Keeble

Serve Those Who Serve Others

By 29029 Everesting

November 18^th, 2022

When I first read the book “Into Thin Air” I became fascinated with Mount Everest, all the other 8000+ peaks, and the men & women who climb them.

It’s not something I’ll ever do - I’m afraid of heights - but I’m drawn to those stories.

Part of my enamor comes from the parallels between climbing mountains and sobriety.

I’ve been sober for 29 years, and I’ve learned that every day is leading toward a summit or a better experience. But it’s a grind. There are hard days.

There are hard days climbing a mountain too - there’s an exhilaration you can sense those mountain climbers feel when they achieve those goals.

In the recovery community, it’s why we celebrate milestones - those milestones are our summits.

But the day after a milestone? You have to get back to work. The day after summiting a peak? You have to get back to work too. The next mountain won’t climb itself.

I was drawn to 29029 for many of the same reasons I am drawn to the stories of mountaineers. It was that fascination with Everest (an itch I’d never scratch) in conjunction with my love for the outdoors. I first heard about 29029 from a story in Outside Magazine, and after the weirdness of covid times, I thought it could be something fun to do for me.

When George Mallory was asked why he climbed Everest, he said “Because it’s there.”

99% of people won’t understand that answer.

But I did.

I get it.

I registered for 29029 because it was there.

In 2021, I was going to 29029 Snowbasin.

The mountain scared me to death. I barely slept for days before the event, and when it finally started I nervously climbed.

I went through the grind - it was no big deal at first, but as time went on, I struggled. It was my first endurance event and I had no clue how to pace myself, or even just how to hydrate properly.

I talked to others to help me up the mountain. I leaned into other participants and coaches, their positive vibes helped to keep me moving forward.

I finished in about 30 hours and pulled on the Red Hat, but I didn’t leave. I stuck around at the top to cheer on others as they finished, whether it was someone reaching Everest themselves, or someone just gutting it out with as many ascents as they could before time ran out.

The finish line is when I started to get a real appreciation for what 29029 was about. My first 29029 was for me, but I knew there was more to it than that.

Being up top - watching others achieve something amazing - was energizing.

I felt a calling to return.

In the fall of 2021, I went to the doctor for a routine exam, only to learn that I was in the early stages of heart failure. A second opinion only confirmed it. Physical activity was off the table, and I was on a slurry of aggressive heart medication. They gave me the speech about getting my affairs in order…

I wouldn’t say I’m fixated on success, but it was always something important to me. I come from a family of achievers, and I wanted to follow a similar path. I’d done some things and had all the stupid titles you’re supposed to have, and all the stupid little LinkedIn things you’re supposed to have.

The scare with my heart made me realize all those things weren’t me. I sat down and wrote out what was important - the parts of me that were in fact me.

Son. Grandson. Brother. Husband. Father. Uncle. Godfather. Friend.

That was the obituary I wanted.

All the other things didn’t matter.

It was during that reflection that I also realized that crazy event I’d done just a few months prior had really brought out the best in me. I decided, given the medical clearance to do so, I would celebrate my 29 years of sobriety in 2022 with each 29029 mountain.

It wasn’t just the heart scare that woke something up in me. My experience at 29029 in 2021 - that crazy mountain in Snowbasin, woke up something in me too…

I was blessed to have great parents growing up. Now, I did get the ADD, alcoholism, and bald cards, but still a great family outside of the genetic predispositions.

My parents walked the talk when it came to their actions. They believed in making the world a better place, not just by donating money. They donated their time.

They didn’t believe in handouts, they believed in help-ups. It wasn’t about writing somebody a cheque, it was about looking them in the eye, asking them what they needed, and then helping them get there.

Three philanthropic awards in Nashville are named after my parents because of their acts of service in the community. They never talked about giving back, but they displayed it every day.

That was the example on display for me and it stuck. I wanted to do good in life - I wanted to do good for others.

I experienced trauma when I was 5, 6 and 7 - you can probably figure out what it was.

Why did I end up an alcoholic? It had a lot to do with that trauma.

I had to deal with the alcoholism, and in dealing with that, I had to work through the trauma too. Eventually, I got there - I got through it.

The 12th step of AA is to give back - to help others. So that’s what I did. It reinforced those lessons I recalled so vividly from my parents.

Fast-forward my life, and things were going great. I was crushing it! I had an amazing family, a loving wife, and three stupendous daughters. To top it off, I was growing a very successful business.

In 2007, our daughters, at a very early age, experienced their own trauma. The story was all over the papers. During this same time, both of my parents passed away.

People didn't know what to say, so they avoided us. There was no justice. No sense of community.

After that, I checked out. I disappeared. I wasn’t spending much time helping others, I was just trying to process how such terrible things could happen. I turned my focus inwards to myself and my family.

14 years later, Snowbasin 2021 happened. That mountain, even though I had climbed it for me, had re-awoken my drive to serve others. It reminded me of what I was on this planet to do.

I climbed all three mountains in 2022, but that’s not what’s important. What matters is how I played a small part in contributing to the 29029 community.

The gift of 29029 is that you get reminded of why you’re here. For me, it reminded me of the power my interpersonal connections can have. It reinforced my knowing that a random act of kindness can be all the difference in the world to somebody. Just a single act can bring unmeasurable changes to somebody else's life.

In Vermont, I hiked with somebody who was using 29029 to work through some of their own trauma. For four hours through the night, I hiked with her. I let her set the pace. I let her choose to open up about her why.

I watched her change over those four hours. For her to have somebody there to listen to her, and more importantly, to validate her story. I respect you. I’m proud of you. I love you.

I really like the person I am on the mountain. There are three things I find myself saying to others on the slopes of a 29029 mountain - my own special way of helping build others up.

I respect you.

I respect anybody who shows up at 6 am on that Friday. I don’t care how many laps you do, you have my respect for being there.

I’m proud of you.

There are people who finish like rockstars - you know the ones, fast finishers that pull on their Red Hat before midnight. Then there are people who will need the entire 36 hours just to get halfway.

It doesn’t matter which person you are, at 29029 they are all there lined up on Friday morning with a nervous smile on their face. It’s not about finishing, it’s about being a part of something bigger.

I love you.

I say I love you on that mountain more than I do in real life. It’s not like I’m going to walk around my business, or the country club, telling people I love them. Maybe I should, but I’m not going to, because in those contexts, people might be put off.

But not on the mountain.

Courage is not internal. It’s an external thing. We act courageously when we feel as though we’re valued, loved, and respected. When we feel like somebody has got our back, it gives us space to show courage.

Climbing the equivalent of Everest, in crazy weather, on a crazy mountain definitely takes courage, and that courage comes from leaning into the community.

I want to be a part of that community - that’s what keeps me coming back.

If you only get exposed to 29029 a single time, I could see how you might walkaway thinking it’s all a facade. Is this all an act? Are the people really this nice? Is this just contrived?

When you come back for a second time, and you really notice the way that Marc, Matt or any other number of 29029 staff and volunteers treat people, you realize it’s legit. This community is the real deal.

When you come back for a fourth time, after having everested 3, you get a Black Bib to symbolize your consistent accomplishments.

To me, that Black Bib symbolizes far more than what I've accomplished. To me, the Black Bib is an opportunity to serve the 29029 community - an opportunity to provide leadership and support to anyone on the mountain who will receive it.

29029 changes lives. Not just because people climb a mountain while at 29029, but because of the people you do it with. Fellow participants, 29029 staff, volunteers, Matt, Marc, Colleen, Brent, and Eric all make 29029 worthwhile.

They inspire us. They give us the space to challenge ourselves to be better, not just on the mountain, but in our everyday lives.

If you’re worried that you’re going to show up alone and be alone, rest assured that’s not the case. 29029 is a transformative organization, filled with loving and courageous people that provide the space for others to achieve something remarkable.

My sobriety is for me. I climb for me - my elusive quest for some peace. But I live for others.

Especially my amazing, beautiful and strong wife, Pip, and our three daughters, Abby, Caroline, and Sophie. To those four ladies: I respect you, I'm proud of you, I love you.