Breathe. Breathe. Step.
Breathe. Breathe. Step.
Breathe. Breathe. Step.
Vomit.
“You okay?” called my father from above.
Ugh.
“I guess,” I replied feebly. I took a sip of slushy water. The insides of the bottle were coated in ice.
Breathe. Breathe. Step.
Breathe. Breathe. Step.
The sun was up now, so at least I was getting warm. We had left Camp Sherman at midnight to begin our ascent, and I had been bitterly cold for hours. I needed food but was too nauseous. That would have to wait until we returned to a lower altitude. I felt dizzy.
Just keep going.
Breathe. Breathe. Step.
Breathe. Breathe. Step.
Up ahead, a group of four were stopped, talking: another rope team. My friend Karl was among them. He was quitting. They were going to leave him to rest, climb the last thousand feet, and have him rejoin on their way down.
There it was. My chance to quit.
“Do you want to stop and wait here with Karl?” my father asked.
Yes, I thought.
If I quit now, the struggle would be over. I could rest. And I wouldn’t be the only one, so there would be no shame in it. Or, at least, the shame would be diluted because it would be shared. The mountain would still be there. I could climb it another time.
But then all this struggle would be for nothing!
If I wanted to climb it, I’d have to suffer through this ordeal all over again. It would be stupid to quit now, when the summit was this close. Stupid, but extremely tempting. I understood why Karl had made his choice, and part of me really wanted to join him, but I couldn’t.
I didn’t come this far to not finish the climb.
“No. Let’s go,” I finally replied. And our rope team once again set off up the mountain.
Excited that the summit was within striking distance, we tried to go more quickly. But the air was so thin, and our athleticism being what it was, we returned almost immediately to our slow, steady pace: two breaths for every step.
Breathe. Breathe. Step.
Breathe. Breathe. Step.
No one had the energy to talk, and we were separated by some distance, connected only by the rope that tied us together – that, and our common mission. We plodded along wearily, alone with our thoughts, alone with our exhaustion.
Breathe. Breathe. Step.
Breathe. Breathe. Step.
Breathe. Breathe. Step.
Until finally, at 9:30am, under clear blue skies, we reached the top of Mt. Rainier. I was 15 years old.
Reminding Yourself of Past Successes
I live in Seattle, so I see Mt. Rainier fairly often. And whenever I see the mountain, I’m reminded of the fact that I climbed it, which helps me remember what I’m capable of more generally. I immediately feel more powerful, more determined, and more confident.
Critically, though, this achievement and the emotions connected to it never come to mind without seeing the mountain: If I don’t see the mountain, I don’t think of my experience climbing it. Recognizing this phenomenon made me realize the importance of achievement reminders.
I’m sometimes prone to believe that I’m lazy. I’m sometimes prone to think I’m weaker than I really am. I’m sometimes prone to feel like I’ve never achieved anything. I certainly don’t feel this way all the time, but it’s never helpful when I do. And I’d bet that I’m not the only one who occasionally has these irrational notions. So I believe we should all find ways to remind ourselves of our past successes.
Achievement reminders serve to set the record straight in your own mind. They force you to confront the facts: You’re not lazy, you’re not weak, and you have achieved something. Therefore, your mind concludes, you can succeed again.
You can use achievement reminders to remember any past successes, big or small. They can be recent or from the distant past. They can be public victories that came with trophies or certificates, or they can be private victories for which no recognition was given. The important thing is remembering that you did them. They serve as evidence that you can do hard things. They remind you of your own strength.
It’s even more powerful to remember an achievement if it’s something you didn’t think you could do. Recalling this sort of success reminds you that the way you feel about your current challenges might be wrong. You might be underestimating your own abilities. Or you might be wrongly assuming that the abilities you have today cannot grow.
And don’t count on “just remembering” because you probably won’t. Count on reminders. If you don’t, you probably won’t remember as often as you should.
Here are two examples of how I deliberately remind myself of past achievements:
- I once completed a ridiculously hard jigsaw puzzle and learned some surprisingly valuable lessons in the process, and I now keep that puzzle on my wall as a reminder of my own resilience and the lessons I learned.
- Also on my wall is my ‘Baccalaureate Honors Degree with Distinction’ from Montana State University. I had been a slacker for the first three years of college, so in order to satisfy the requirements of this honors degree, I needed to take 40 credits my senior year – 19 the first semester and 21 the second – and earn a 4.0 both semesters. It was the hardest I’d ever worked, and seeing that on my wall every day serves as a steady reminder that I am not, in fact, lazy.
I normally advise people to keep their eyes on the process and not on the outcomes they want, but that’s an approach for future goals. To reach a future goal, you have to focus on doing the work that will get you there. For past goals, however, the process is embedded in the achievement itself. Remembering what you achieved inevitably triggers thoughts of all that you did to make that achievement possible.
When I see Mt. Rainier, I do think of the glorious feeling of standing on the summit, but I also think of the choice I made that day and the training I did to make it all possible. I remember waking up early to go jogging on rainy mornings. I remember running hill-sprints alone after school. To me, Mt. Rainier is a symbol of how hard I’m capable of working when I set my sights on a difficult goal. It’s a symbol of how much mental toughness and willpower I really have.
So how can you remind yourself of what you’ve done, and use the memory of those achievements to strengthen your sense of self-efficacy?
Title Image by Walter Siegmund (talk) – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0