pride and the fall

The last thought I remember was, "I am so much faster than Craig". And then it’s happening before I fully grasp the gravity of the situation. I’m in the air flying but I’m not free. The front tire of my mountain bike has twisted into a complex bunker of rocks and I’m over the handlebars in a twisting mass of violence. Now I feel the full force of that very same gravity. It’s not kind…

I land on my stomach first. Blunt force. I feel something tear into me and I know instantly it’s not good. I stand up. I gasp for breath but no breath comes. I run around like I always did as a kid when I fell off my bike, but I can’t shake it. I lie down in the dirt, a twitching mass of symptoms. I try to slow my breathing down. My heart is racing. And then it begins. Shock. It comes first in the tips of my fingers and then up my arms and into my chest. Then from my toes on its way through my groin and the site of the bowel tear. My whole body is vibrating with strange primal electricity…

Craig is trying to talk me down but I’m breathing way too fast. I’m spacing out. He gets me to sit up but I can’t stay that way for long before sharp pains rip through me again. Forty-five minutes pass and I’m relatively calm. I stand. I think I can walk my bike down…

We're only 100 meters from the car, 35 km and 1000 meters of descent from the start of the deadliest trail in Moab. I think back to the sign at the start of the trail: “riders have died on this trail; riders just like you.” I work my way down to the road and something from inside my bowels cuts into me again. I set my bike down on the road and lay down next to it, waiting for Craig to retrieve the car. Vehicles scream by. I hold my arm up so they know I’m there. I’m wrecked. But even then I understand: it’s no accident. It's purpose.

the crucible

My good friend and mountain guide Patrick Delaney took me on my first lap of the Razor's Edge. This Exshaw testpiece is the masterwork of the visionary trail builder Blue Falconer and was one of the most difficult and dangerous mountain bike trails in Alberta. But I didn't know that at the time. When Diddy took me on it, he didn't make a big deal about it, so I never paid it much mind. He knows better than I do what I am capable of on a bike, so if he chose it that must mean that I can do it. I didn't ride everything and had a few harrowing moments, but I did a fairly smooth loop. This was my introduction to very technical rock faces on a bike.

The beautiful Portal Trail in Moab Utah is one of the most difficult and dangerous mountain bike trails in the world. I heard about it at the Poison Spider bike shop while on a spring trip there in 2019, just before the isolation of COVID. I had several years of difficult technical riding under my belt and was immediately curious and ready for something big.

Apart from a few very mandatory walking sections where people had fallen hundreds of feet to their deaths, I rode pretty much the whole trail. I was in such an intense flow state for most of the way that I remember very little of the ride itself. My partner Craig was an elite level cyclecross racer and was killing me on the uphills but I discovered I could beat him down by taking more risk on the descent. This turned out to be an unwise strategy. The place I crashed was just before we got back down to the car and after all the very intense technical riding was over–a testament to the price of hubris and a momentary lapse of concentration. I spent eight days in the hospital. I was well on my way to going septic before they took me by helicopter in the middle of the night to an emergency surgical team in Colorado.

Four weeks after the surgery, with 32 staples still in my abdomen, I returned to the Razor's Edge. It took me several tries but I managed to clean all the hard techy moves on the ascent and descent. I got back on the horse and back to the car in one piece, feeling satisfied, content and fully expressed. I had achieved a level of mastery I was pleased with and had no remaining ambition to continue this kind of riding. I still mountain bike for fun, but I have adjusted my risk calculus. Having unlocked the mysteries and charms of that route, the rewards no longer justified the risk. It's just too easy to get fucked up on a mountain bike and I am no longer willing to take those sort of chances. I've rarely crashed on my bike since then.

the calling

I met Karl Nagy when we were nineteen and we became fast friends. Karl was just starting to make his transition from being a denturist to becoming a mountain guide. Over the next few years we spent a lot of time in the mountains iceclimbing, alpine rock climbing, backcountry skiing and mountain biking. At the time, he was the youngest person to become a full guide and had done it in the shortest time. I stood up for him when he got married and he joined me as a co-facilitator in my group workshops.

I hired Karl to do a crevasse rescue course. Crevasses are the cracks and crevices that open up in a glacier as it tumbles over and around the terrain on the mountain. I've always liked the metaphor of "jumping a crevasse" to capture the scary feeling entrepreneurs have when dealing with their personal and business growth edges.

The day we picked for the training was cold and blustery. We hiked from the Chateau Lake Louise around the emerald blue waters of the lake and then up the Plain of Six Glaciers to the shadow of the North face of Mt. Victoria. We were all miserable and standing around shivering while we watched Karl climb into a crevasse to set up the scenario we'd be learning. I couldn't help but notice the sparkle in his eye despite the rigourous conditions. It was the look that said, "there is no place I'd rather be than right here and right now."

Later that summer I had the good fortune of attending a Colin James concert. Colin was ripping into the solo on his song, Speechless, when I caught that same sparkle in his eye. It seemed to me that there was no place that he'd rather have been than there and then. I was a few years into a coaching business that I didn't really know was a coaching business. When I met Karl I considered becoming a mountain guide but I became an industrial designer instead. After years in that business, I needed to pivot. So I became a guide for entrepreneurs on the mountains of their lives and businesses. I am just beginning my 30th year as an executive coach. But even after many years in this business I still need to pivot.

Karl was killed while examining on a guide's course, when a large rock rolled off an otherwise benign ridge and snatched the life out of him. We were 37. The dice rolled on. He died doing what he loved. I got to find out what I love.

the contentment

After many seasons of climbing with Karl, he decided to climb Polar Circus without a rope. Polar Circus is one of the great ice climbing testpieces in the Canadian Rockies, rising almost 700 metres above the road between Banff and Jasper. (The upper three tiers below are each about the length of a football field.)

I had made an attempt on the route the previous winter but my partner and I ran out of water four pitches from the top. We were at about the same place the following year when Karl effortlessly slipped past us. We soldiered on and met up with him again when he was descending after his successful solo climb. Our resolve was spent, and Mexican food seemed more interesting, so we decided to head back down with him.

I met Patrick Delaney years after Karl's death and we became fast friends. I never thought I'd find anyone to fill Karl's big boots, but Diddy answered the call. After several solid years of iceclimbing together I got the call on a Sunday night that we'd be climbing Polar Circus on Wednesday. He knew my history. Polar Circus was the one that got away. Unfinished business. He also knows more than anyone how I let fear and self-doubt get in the way of finishing something worthwhile. He also knows better than I do what I am capable of on a set of crampons and iceaxes in my hands, so if he chose that objective, it must mean that I can do it. And we did it, in good style in seven hours car-to-car.

I got back on the ice and back to the car in one piece, feeling satisfied, content and fully expressed. I had achieved a level of mastery I was pleased with and had no remaining ambition to continue this kind of climbing. I still climb ice for fun, but I have adjusted my risk calculus. Having unlocked the mysteries and charms of that route, the rewards no longer justified the risk. It's just too easy to get fucked up hanging under steep pillars of ice under massive avalanche slopes and I am no longer willing to take those sort of chances. I am looking for the next mountain. So what's next?

the climb

In my first stage of life, I became a professional industrial designer. I embodied this formal role as a prototyper, what I'll call Keith 1.0. In my second stage of life, I became an executive coach. I embody this formal role as a guide, what I'll call Keith 2.0. (I just gave you a detailed origin story for the guide in me. You have yours for you.)

When I published my giant magnum opus two years ago, I launched my third stage of life. I started becoming a professional facilitator and organizational designer. I embody this formal role as mentor. This is where I am building new strength. This fits well with my forty years of supporting entrepreneurs. I have lots to give back. I am in the process of writing the origin story for this next stage of my evolution. I am not entirely sure who this new version of me is. I am not pivoting out of coaching. I am adding more of a community.

The impact collective is my community of CEOs, leaders, entrepreneurs and personal growth missionaries. The members of my collective are high impact, high intelligence, high integrity and high innovation. This community was waiting for me to organize and facilitate it. This is the masterpiece I am willing to spend the rest of my life investing in. The project that is worthy of me. I have spent the last thirty years mastering guide craft. Now I am launching myself as a mentor. That is also a craft with a long arc. I'm just getting to base camp with you after a very long trek. We have a small climbing party about to set off for camp one. I think the rewards are worth the risks.

The starting has always been the easy part for me, when the enthusiasm of a novel climb fuels the first few pitches. And then it gets hard. Ego, fear, self-doubt and bad habits start to creep in. This is the edge. This is the time and place it is easiest to get hurt and the time and place it is easiest to turn back. But everything we want is on the other side of the edge. There will come a day when there are no more summits but that is not today. So what do you imagine the view looks and feels like from your next summit?

You have an exciting vision for your future and a compelling objective for the year. You have a worthy challenge to overcome and a serious existential threat to deal with. There is a person or group whose effective participation is crucial to your future happiness and success. So...

Who do you need to become to pull all of this off?

Which of these emerging strengths are you embodying for the three to five years? (pick the one)