What mountain is next?

On motivation, focus, and boundaries

Mt Rainier from the Mt St Helens summit

I’ve never rushed two miles straight into the sky before. Not at this grade, scrambling up boulders tenuously suspended in volcanic ash.

On Friday, I summited Mt St Helens, witnessing a view from photos that fail to capture that 4,655-foot ascension.

110 daily passes are issued during the peak season. Braver winter mountaineers climb with ice picks and a much heartier constitution. This hike isn’t outlandish. In fact, I met a range of people along the way—some in their twenties, others in their seventies—all moving at a pace that suited them. AllTrails reviews promise that being in moderate shape guarantees a successful summit. I agree with that assumption.

Still, the summit is a goal, one I’ve been training for since finishing a 79–mile, 5,764-foot cycling climb up Mt Hood. One that I had to motivate myself to crawl out of bed before 5 am and drive an hour and 40 minutes to tackle. One that I was supposed to do with a good friend, who unfortunately got hit with his first round of Covid this week, and so I had to then motivate myself to climb solo.

We’ve spent the last three-and-a-half years on Conspirituality criticizing a range of wellness ideas, charismatic charlatans, toxic cult leaders, and conspiracy theories. We’ve also discussed our own beliefs and highlighted many people and ideas getting it right. But oddly, I rarely engage with the concept of motivation that, for decades, defined a substantial part of my career as a group fitness instructor.

This isn’t a motivational speech. But you need motivation to climb a mountain, to even set a goal to climb a mountain, and then to follow through and do it. With that in mind, I’m briefly going to peel back my own process. Not to convince you to motivate yourself; we all have our own ways of getting things done. But I’m interested in what health influencers get right, and where they go astray, so I’m going to touch upon that as well because there’s a lesson in patience and self-worth in there.

Beginning the third mile, or the real ascent up St Helens

As my career in group fitness evolved, I relied less on the language of yoga (where it started) and more on finding that precarious balance of helping students push their boundaries while knowing that any level of effort was good enough. If I’m holding 49 people in Warrior 3 for what feels like an eternity and someone needs an early Savasana, both sticking it out and lying down are the right responses at that moment. 

Such a balance is easier to accomplish in actual studios compared to the social media spaces many of us occupy—a space where some treat their anecdotes as true for all. There’s less friction in brick and mortar spaces. Something about being in the company of others tempers most of our wild accusations. 

The pandemic created a lot of this friction, especially as our physical environments collapsed. And so the boundaries of our mental and emotional space shrunk along with our built environments. 

I miss teaching, sometimes. Yet teaching too much—at one point, 20 classes a week—caused me to avoid my own workout goals. The pandemic offered a different form of motivation, in which I decided to chip away at my own goals at my own pace, which often involves pushing myself to an attainable but challenging degree.

And I like challenges. After sharing a video at the summit of Mt St Helens, one heights-adverse friend replied, “but, why?” 

My response: 

Why? Because if I don’t constantly have goals I’d fall into depression. Plus, I like having hours by myself to think without the noise of society.