A Story about Mountaineering and Coaching

"What if I don't know if I can became always I just did?"

Did I tell you about the time I drowned?

In mid 2015, I visited Yosemite National Park for the first time, with my then girlfriend and a few of our friends. Being the local resident, it felt like our duty to show them a good time. So, we did. We found a beautiful little campsite, brought ample food and entertainment, and lots of floaties. On our third day, we all decided to go on a hike, and so we hiked up to Vernal Falls. It was rough, arduous, and long, and by the time we reached the top, it was just a friend and I. The view from the top was well worth the uphill climb, and exhilarating seeing the powerful pool of water below. A bunch of people were cliff jumping into the water, something I had never done. The two of us being being boys, of course we were egging each other one, and daring the other to follow suit. I don't know exactly what I was thinking, but all of a sudden, I remember running towards the edge, and before my brain could catch up to my feet, I remember diving feet first into the water! It was a long way down, and as I was falling, I remembered why I hesitated initially. I never learned how to swim…

After what seems like forever, I land in the water. First impression is that the water is much colder than I’d thought. It is October, after all. Second impression is to move to the nearest rock and pull myself up. I begin to swing my arms around and approach the mossy green rock, about 25 feet in front.

I get to the rock and let out a sigh of relief as I reach out to grab it. I managed to manage it, I think. Instantly, my hand slips from the rock and realization hits that I can’t lift myself up; this rock is too slippery. I start to panic as my right hand, the hand I was using to paddle, starts to give. I hadn't planned on not being able to get up, and as soon as I felt the rock, I stopped whatever swimming motion had led me here. I feel myself slipping under water. I barely manage to tilt my head and as I look up, I can barely make out all the people about 70 feet above me. I don't think they can tell that I'm dropping. I can see them waving me to get off the water, so the next person can jump. I try shouting for help, but no words come out. I know that I’m going to drown. I can feel myself slowly go even more under water. I know that this is it; I'm going to die today. I'm going to leave all my friends, family, and life behind. I can see flashes of my mom crying over my dead body, and my dad being mad. I can see my girlfriend being heartbroken, and my friends not knowing what to do. This is their first time in Yosemite, after all.

Suddenly, my panic stops. As I continue to sink deeper, I can feel my heart start to slow down. I can feel a sense of calm arrive, and a sense of gratitude for the life I'd lived and the adventures I'd experienced. I notice the sun shining through the water, as I sink deeper. I remember smiling and feeling my heart open, because for the first time, I encounter ultimate peace. And that is when I experienced awe, in creation, in my blessings, in the divine.

Next thing I remember is being on the shore as my friend is hunched over, attempting CPR. I open my eyes, with the sun directly in my eyes, with the same smile that I had on my face last. It never went away. My friend looks at me and says that I’d been unresponsive for close to 5 minutes. I tell him that it’s good to be back, still with the same smile.

I share this story because I experienced something similar this past weekend, as I
summited one of the highest peaks on Vancouver Island.

The first 1500 meters were hard, but doable. The last 200 meters are where it got dicey. Loose rocks everywhere, exposed cliffside on one side, and a slopey scramble on the other. One wrong move, and most likely one is slipping down. It required mountaineering and jumping off a ledge to pull oneself up. Neither my friend nor I had any such equipment. At first, he tried to lead and I followed. 10 meters in, he decided that it was too sketchy. His journey stopped there. I tried to go a second time, this time a little farther. But, the path really was dangerous, and so I turned back. It could’ve been the right and safe choice to stop right there and turn back. We didn’t have the ropes or the skill to do it safely. And we had done enough climbing at that point anyways. But, I felt an inner knowing to see this through. And so I waited. Eventually, another group came by, and someone there had a rope. Two members of that group thought it was dangerous, and therefore, it was just one member from their group, and one member from ours. Eventually, I mountaineered in my Chacos, and in the process, summited. It was dangerous the whole way through. But the most interesting realization for me was that the same crux that held us back earlier seemed like a cakewalk on the way back. Something about doing difficult things made other less difficult things easier in perspective, and by doing something harder, the same thing that seemed impossible at first felt so much easier.

Through this, I understand that the idea of fear is that it’s telling us something. And it’s up to us to decide if that something is worth listening to, or is it worth working through.

I share this story because I believe that there is a power in generating courage to chase awe. Because awe is the road to spiritual experiences and inner awakening.

Lastly, this story also serves as a metaphor for coaching, and why I love it. Some of us have the knowing inside that the life we live may not be the life we want to live, but we're afraid to take that leap of faith, because we don't have the experience or the skill. But, just by listening to that knowing, there's a possibility to persevere until the time comes when someone with the skill and/or knowledge comes about, and together, we can take the leap of faith together.