The ATM
Managing risk in big environments and in life
I’ve done many things in the mountains nobody knows about.
Soloing far above my pay grade, moving through spaces not meant for humans. Days out that would have been easy to not come home from. You won’t find them on my Strava and you’ll never hear the stories. I’ll never speak about these days to others because I don’t do them for a pat on the back or a “like”. I do them for me. I am me because of the things I’ve lived through on these days. I will forever be grateful for the sights my eyes have seen, quietly, only with myself to rely on.
I also don’t want someone else dying thinking they can recreate an experience I had.
But that makes my mind examine my own human nature. How does one manage risk in such outings. How do you decide how and when to go to the extreme limits of your capabilities? Where you don’t get to have a bad day, because a bad day means you don’t come home? How do you know you’re ready for that type of experience? And even more interesting to me, can you translate the thought process around that measurement system into the real world, into the more normal day to day?
I’ve always visualized risk in the mountains like a bank account you never get to see the balance of. All year you go to the ATM and make deposits, with training, with studying routes, with long miles and heavy reps in the gym, with nutrition, with sleep and recovery, it all goes into the account, trying your best to pad it, so that when the time comes, you’ll have enough to “funds” for what you set out to do.
Every time you enter into a large space, you go to the ATM and make a withdrawal…of your fitness, your preparation, your skill, your knowledge, your ability as a whole…it all comes out in a lump sum that when you step off into the deep end of things, you hope is enough to prevent an overdraft. And you’ll never know if it’s enough, until you do the thing and come back alive.
I guess if you do realize it wasn’t enough, it’ll only be for a few seconds of free fall.
But that’s the game. You prepare for something so huge, so hard, so top end, that you can’t possibly say 100% that you are ready. But at some point, the work has been done and you step off, when you’re as close to ready as you can possibly become. You have to take an unknown step, into something that can kill you.
How do we apply this to life? I actually think it’s fairly simple.
You don’t know what’s ahead. You don’t know what’s going to happen to you, to your family, to the space you inhabit, you don’t know what situations you’ll be put into to survive just as much as you don’t know what opportunities you’ll have to thrive. You don’t now how much “currency” in the form of your health that you need to navigate the things life is going to throw at you without over drafting, so you better pad that fucking account.
Go to sleep. And get enough of it.
Train. Hard. With intention. Every single day.
Don’t eat like an asshole. It’s not that hard.
Drink water.
Cut the bullshit. Put the cigarette down. You don’t need booze to be happy.
Get outside. Feel the sun, step in grass.
Read a book. You aren’t as smart as you think you are, fix it.
And the list goes on.
Check the boxes big and small every day. Screw the whole “1% better every day”, get .0001% better every day and do it till you’re 100 years old. Do you really want to leave yourself compromised in life because you’d rather stay up playing video games instead of getting the sleep you need? Is that extra drink at the bar really worth setting yourself back? Is an entire pizza for dinner the best you can do? We all make so many god damn excuses for why we can't do the right thing, but they’re really just our laziness manifested into words. Be better. You’re in your own way.
So look ahead, into the void. You don’t know what’s there, but it’s substantial, you better be ready, because in this game, in life, the free fall doesn’t end in a few seconds if you fall short. It’ll last for decades as you whither away in a sad, underwhelming existence. Be more.
Onwards, Always.