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Penny McWilliams

From Fearful to Fierce

By 29029 Everesting

September 8^th, 2023

I’ve always had a short, stocky build. Growing up, people would often tell me that I looked like an athlete.

I always wanted to be.

I always wanted to be an athlete.

But I always saw somebody else out there that was better than me.

I felt like I was second-tier - like I wasn’t good enough to be part of the premium athletes that I looked up to. I told myself I was a practice squad kind of athlete - never good enough to keep up with the rest.

I didn’t believe in myself.

And because of that, I didn’t even try. I didn’t want to disappoint myself. I didn’t want to fail myself.

I didn’t believe I could ever measure up. I gave up.

29029 was a chance to rewrite my narrative.

As the training program kicked off, I made sure to listen to every coaching call, every Q&A, and every mindful minute. There was always one common theme: if you’re doing this - if you’re doing 29029 - you are an athlete.

It came up again and again and again.

I had years of that old narrative stuck in my head. You are not an athlete. You are not good enough. You are best suited to supporting from the sidelines.

But that theme, driven home through almost every call with 29029, provided a glimpse of light.

Maybe I am an athlete…

Another theme that popped up often on the training calls was having a why - something deep to help fuel you.

I didn’t have a why yet.

Everybody kept asking me, what’s your why?

I was anxious, and I was looking for one.

I had my gym friends who were doing it with me - our strong community. That could be a good why.

One of my gym friends lost a daughter, Lizzy, at far too young of an age. That could be a good why.

We started a fundraiser for the WeIsStrong Foundation in honor of Lizzy and others battling cancer. That could be a good why.

But were any of those enough to fuel me to the summit?

I realized that lost in the many different whys that centered around others, I had something else deep down within.

For 54 years I had told myself I wasn’t good enough.

For 54 years, I had refused to put myself in situations to push my abilities.

I had found my why.

My why was proving to myself that I was worth it.

My why was putting myself in a position that I always used to shy away from - putting myself in a position to prove I was an athlete, that I could do hard things, and that I could break-free from old narratives.

The day before the event, my brother called to wish me luck.

“You’ve got this, I believe in you.”

I started crying.

“What’s wrong?”

I told him I was scared.

“What are you scared of?”

I told him I was scared that I was going to do it again… That I was going to give up on myself. There were incredible athletes all around me that would be climbing this mountain, and I didn’t feel like I belonged with them.

I was afraid that I didn’t deserve to be there.

I was afraid to fail.

I was already considering giving in to the mountain and waving the white flag.

“So what if you don’t finish? What happens? If you don’t pull on that Red Hat, who have you failed? There are people out there who couldn’t do even one! There are people out there who wouldn’t event attempt to do one! Settle your mind. Don’t think about it, just do.”

That snapped me back. It reminded me of some of the mindful minutes in the lead-up.

Don’t think, just do.

Everything with a purpose.

That was something I had learned from all the coaching calls and sessions.

Each aid station, I’d grab exactly what I needed and continue on, no time wasted.

When I got off the gondola, I’d go right.

Back onto the mountain, immediately.

If I was stopping for a meal in the lodge, I’d make sure I was quick.

Everything with a purpose. Everything with intention.

I wanted my time to be on the mountain.

I was many ascents in, and I still didn’t believe I was going to finish.

But others did. The people surrounding me did.

The coaches. The staff. Fellow participants. They all believed.

There was a plan for me to follow - a plan put together by people who believed in me.

I had to get out of my head and let myself go.

I had to give myself up to the mountain.

I had to trust the path for success that the coaches who believed in me had provided.

The plan was to get 9 ascents before resting.

I was so committed to that plan that I didn’t even bother watching the clock. My only reference was asking the aid stations as I passed if I was still on pace.

As long as I’m on pace, time doesn’t matter.

After a few grueling hikes at night, I had checked off 9.

It was time for well-earned rest!

As soon as I laid down, my mind started racing.

You have 4 left. Can you do this? Will your body hold up? Will your mind hold up?

It was like as soon as I stopped moving on the mountain, a space opened up for all my self-doubts to flow back in.

It was a restless night with little sleep, and when I returned to the mountain early in the morning, I was not doing well.

Maybe my doubts were right…

I realized that the voices that believed in me were on the mountain, not sitting down at the breakfast table in the lodge.

You just have to get out on the mountain.

Get on the mountain, and listen to those voices. Stop listening to yourself.

Just go. Just climb the damn mountain.

I forced myself out of the lodge and started climbing again.

I’d be lying if I said that 10th ascent went smoothly. It was genuinely horrible.

I was nauseous. I was shaky. I was dizzy.

I had to force myself to eat and drink, and I had to force myself to make every single step forward.

But I kept following the plan.

Fuel. Hydrate. Breathe.

As I got to the top, I stopped to witness one of the most incredible sunrises.

You’re on the countdown now. 3-2-1. Then the Red Hat.

That was when I finally stopped telling myself what I couldn’t do.

That sunrise on day 2 - the sunrise during my 10th ascent - was when something flipped.

For the first time, I truly believed in myself, deep down straight from my core.

I am good enough. I can be good enough. These people all believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself, and I listened to them.

And now I believe in myself.

Then, I got to pull on the Red Bib.

The final ascent.

The flood of emotions overtook me. I balled almost the entire time up the mountain that final time.

And finally, the Red Hat.

It was mine!

It overwhelmed me how much I realized 29029 wasn’t just an event.

It brought something out inside of me that I didn’t even know I had, but that I had always wished was there.

29029 found that deep down, and presented it to me.

I feel different now. I came back to my life and my work with a new belief.

I can do these things. I can handle this.

I had achieved a calmness. A self-belief. A new version of myself.

29029 was the most difficult and amazing thing I’ve ever done in my life, and the lessons I learned on the mountain will stick with me forever.

If you don’t believe in yourself yet, you don’t have to. The people at 29029 believe in you, and all you have to do is put your belief in them.

If you believe in what they tell you - believe in their plan - and follow it, you’ll climb that mountain.

And when you reach the summit? You’ll have no choice but to start believing in yourself too.

Footnotes

Story: Evan Wishloff. Photos: Mitch Meyer, Brendan Ladd, Evan Wishloff.

Button Label

FootNotes

Story: Evan Wishloff. Photos: Mitch Meyer, Brendan Ladd, Evan Wishloff.

Lance Friedman

Penny McWilliams

From Fearful to Fierce

FootNotes

Do One More

No Emotion, Just Motion

Brian Goldstein

The Foundation for the Summit

Tom Turcich

Higher Together