The truth is, your mind, your courage, and your determination are far more powerful than you've given them credit for. And when you choose to work with them instead of against them, you can achieve incredible things no matter your age.
Welcome to RenewHer, a podcast for women over 50 ready to reignite their energy and explore what's next. I'm Genell Lemley, brain fitness coach. Here you'll hear real stories from women taking on new challenges after 50, along with brain health tips to boost focus, energy, and the mindset to move forward with confidence.
Let's dive into today's episode.
Hey there. Welcome. I'm Genell, your host of the RenewHer podcast. I'm excited to share this story with you today about my 29029 Everesting experience this past August. For a little context, 29029 is a 36-hour challenge to climb the equivalent elevation of Mount Everest, hiking up the mountain, taking the gondola down, and repeating until the total elevation is 29029 feet. At Whistler, that meant eight full ascents.
I want to share my journey in a story format so you can feel the anticipation, the doubt, the small victories, and the shifts in mindset and body, so you can imagine yourself in those moments too. I step onto the mountain knowing this isn't just a physical challenge, it's a mental one. And in many ways, that's the part that drew me to 29029 in the first place.
I wanted to prove to myself that at 63 I could take on something big. Something that demanded more than muscle or training plans. Something that would require presence, emotional steadiness, and mental grit. Something that would force me to meet myself, honestly.
Here's where my story begins. I step up to the starting line. The morning is crisp. Excitement, hums. You can feel it in the air. Anticipation, energy, nerves. And I can feel it too. I'm ready. I'm strong. I can do this. I refuse to let doubt start the race for me.
A coach's voice cuts through the air, and I hear and feel every word. You're here because of the people. You're here because of the energy. Be in these moments. You're exactly where you're supposed to be. This is a challenge to test your soul. It's supposed to be hard. We don't grow when it's comfortable. We only grow when it's hard. Lean into the hard. It's not just about the red hat, it's about the journey to get there. Be willing to pay the price. Sometimes it's steeper than you want it to be, but that's okay. That's the only reason you change.
I feel the goosebumps. My energy is growing, the excitement is palpable. These words anchor me. I take a breath and I let my mind settle. I feel the power of showing up with a positive mindset. I know that whatever comes, I can meet it step by step.
Then the countdown begins, the horn blows, and all 300 plus of us take off. My steps are easy, soaking in the newness and the beauty of where I am.
The trail winds through lush green forest. The air crisp and clean sunlight filters through tall trees, and when the trail opens up, mountain peaks rise against a wide blue sky. I take it all in. It feels expansive. Grounding. My breath is calm. I feel alive. First, second, and third ascents, I'm feeling pretty good. Strong, focused, confident.
And then what's referred to as the messy middle steps in. Everyone warns you about the messy middle, and for me it hits around ascent four. The newness has worn off. The trail feels familiar in a way that's not comforting. It's repetitive, long. Four miles with 3,900 feet of elevation, and quiet.
Somewhere along the way, I must have done something to my knee, probably from the rugged terrain, and the climbs start to feel painful. I stop to get taped knowing it's necessary while time keeps moving whether I do or don't.
I check in with my body. Other than my knee, my legs feel strong and my breathing is steady, but it's here that my stomach starts turning. The fueling issues I'd heard about. They're real. And they arrive right on time.
I don't want to eat. I don't want another energy chew. I don't wanna think about hydration or electrolytes. But I need them. According to my Garmin, I'm burning close to 900 calories per ascent, and I'm not fueling nearly enough to match it. If I don't eat, I don't keep going, and it feels too early to feel this way.
I stop at the aid station. I need something, but what do I reach for? Pieces of banana with peanut butter, M&Ms, energy chews, energy bars, gels, cookies, potato chips, pretzels, orange slices, apple pieces. Just a few of the options on offer.
Everything is carbs and salt meant to keep me going, but when your stomach is upset, nothing seems appealing. I take small bites, chew slowly. Usually I might feel guilty indulging in these treats, but today it's about fueling not judgment.
When the body rebels and the brain gets tired, that's the part that makes the mind flare up. Everything becomes louder. I'm too slow. I should be farther along. What if this is where it falls apart? And that's when what 29029 refers to as the "quit voice" makes its first real appearance. Not because I can't do it, not because my legs are tired, but because I don't want to eat one more thing that my body doesn't want. It's amazing how something so small can break your mental rhythm.
On my fifth ascent, my night hike, my body tightens with alertness. Every step on unseen rocks, boulders, and logs is cautious. I notice my heart beating. I move slowly and deliberately attuned to my surroundings, unsure if I might encounter any wildlife.
The darkness feels bigger than I expected. Quieter. And there's something disorienting about watching only a few feet in front of you lit by your headlamp while everything around you disappears, and then it happens. I get lost and no one is in sight.
It's about 15 minutes in the grand scheme of the climb. But in that moment, panic surges. My brain goes into overdrive. I panic. My heart begins to race. I pace back and forth trying to orient myself. Where am I? How did I get off the path? I desperately scan for lights from other hikers, but there are none.
Every sense is heightened and I feel both small and exposed in the darkness. This is the moment where the mind tries to hijack the experience. Thoughts start running too fast. My breath gets tight and that familiar "what if" spiral flares up? What if I can't find my way back? What if I don't finish in time because of the 15 minutes I lost?
But then I make a conscious effort to slow down. I stop walking back and forth. I look around, I breathe, and when I finally stay present, really present, I see the correct path again. I feel the relief in my shoulders. As tension drains, my steps find traction again. The rhythm of walking stabilizes my heart rate and clear some, the panic from my mind, that's when it hits me. Presence is a tool, panic is a reaction, and I get to choose which one leads.
But ascent seven, that's the real test. This is the climb where everything, the fear, the doubt, the comparison comes crashing in at once. I'm being passed on the single track trail. People with red bibs signifying their final ascent move past me while I'm on a ascent seven. It's humbling and it's frustrating. And yes, it gets to me.
That little whisper starts up again. You're behind. You're too slow. Will you have enough time? And I feel my whole body tense, just a little. These doubting thoughts aren't new. They're old mental habits. My brain learned long before this event, and they show up the second I'm stretched. I had hoped they wouldn't appear, but they did. Because every big challenge has this moment, the one where the mind tries to get louder than the body. Where fear, comparison, and panic all rush to the front and demand attention.
But instead of letting them take over, I come back to the words I chose long before I got there. My mantra, I am strong. I'm capable. My body knows what to do. I can do this. Every time the noise starts to build, every time doubt tries to grab the wheel, I anchor myself here. These words, quiet, the chaos, they remind me who I am.
They remind my brain that I'm safe. They remind my body that it already knows the way. And laid underneath that I hear the voices of the 29029 coaches in my head. That simple phrase, they taught us, not now, not now. Fear, not now comparison, not now. Panic. Their words help me push the thoughts aside, but my mantra pulls me back into myself.
It's not about ignoring the fear, it's about not giving it the microphone. In this moment, my mantra becomes the steady rhythm that carries me forward. My coach reminds me, one post at a time, one breath at a time. You don't have to go fast, you just keep going.
I lift my foot to the next post plant it firmly breathe, and notice the subtle shifts in my muscles. Each step reinforces control. I sense my heart rate and breathing, adjusting my body and mind sink into rhythm, so I hike to the next post, then the next and the next. Every post becomes a micro goal. Every breath becomes a reset. Every step becomes proof that I'm not done yet.
But now standing at the base for my final ascent, I can't help but feel the weight of what's left. Seven climbs behind me, one to go, and the reality of the challenge hits me.
I wish I could say I'm not nervous, but I am really nervous that I might not finish. The ascents are taking longer than I expected. I have four and a quarter hours left until the cutoff, and it's taking me over three and a half hours per ascent I know it's going to be close.
It isn't until I reach the third of four aid stations on ascent eight that I start seeing myself differently and something inside me shifts. I stop seeing myself as someone just trying to finish. I start seeing myself as someone who will. I feel a surge, not a big surge, but a little surge of energy in my legs as I push forward. My body isn't perfect, but it's ready. Every step carries confidence and trust that my body knows what to do. My body and mind begin to feel aligned in a way they haven't before.
There are moments that stay with me. My coach telling me I had enough time. When I was doubting it, my coach guiding me on a sense seven, showing me the post to post method. Another coach hiking with me for a segment of ascent eight when I needed someone to steady me, my husband waiting at the base or the summit with a hug or a kiss. Small grounding gestures that reminded me I wasn't doing this alone. Participants offering encouraging words as they passed. Even the ritual of branding the board after each ascent. The announcers calling my name. All of it fed my motivation and brought me back into belief again.
When I finally finish the eighth ascent, the physical accomplishment for me is huge. Eight ascents for a total of 31,200 feet of elevation, 31.2 miles in 35 and a half hours with 30 minutes of sleep. But the mental one is even bigger when I walk that red carpet and cross the finish line to claim my red hat.
I feel it. Tears of happiness, tears of accomplishment, tears of relief, tears of something I don't even try to name. I catch my husband's eyes and I see his tears too. He's been with me through every step, the training, the uncertainty, the climbs, and now this moment.
And in that stillness, after the tears, after the noise, after the effort I can finally hear myself, not the version of me who doubts, but the version who leads. The version who climbs. The version who keeps moving forward when it's hard. The version who still wants things, big things, bold things. Things others might think are too much, too late, or too hard.
This is when I realized what I climbed wasn't Whistler, it was the belief that I can. It was a story I wanted to tell about who I am. It was the gap between who I've been and who I am becoming.
And every step I took, I trained my brain to believe a new story. I walked away knowing I can do hard things. I can stay with myself through discomfort. I can lead myself through fear, comparison, and uncertainty. And I can finish what I set my mind to.
My confidence doesn't just grow, it resets. This mountain didn't just teach me how strong my body is. It taught me how powerful my mind is when I choose to work with it, not against it.
So now I want to leave you with a question. What is your Everest? What is the next challenge you've been thinking about? The thing that scares you a little, or a lot, but still calls you. It doesn't have to be a physical feat like mine. It could be a personal goal, a career pivot, starting a new company, a bold conversation or a new adventure you've been putting off. Whatever it is, take a moment to imagine yourself stepping up, showing up and moving forward. Imagine completing it and notice what that confidence, that pride, that strength feels like.
Because here's what I know now, standing on this side of the mountain. The truth is your mind, your courage and your determination are far more powerful than you've given them credit for. And when you choose to work with them instead of against them, you can achieve incredible things no matter your age.
And yet this experience didn't just change how, I think it changed something deeper. In the next episode, I wanna share what 29029 revealed to me beyond the body and the mind, the part that surprised me the most, and the lessons that stayed with me long after the climb ended. So make sure to tune in to my next episode and remember to think about what you want your Everest to be. What is a challenge that you've been thinking about, one that's been calling you.
Thank you for joining me for this episode of RenewHer. If today's conversation sparked something in you, don't let it fade. Take even a small step toward what's next. If you've found value in what you heard, please subscribe, leave a review, or share this podcast with a woman who's ready to take her next bold step.
Together we're building a community of strong, resilient women navigating what's next with courage and purpose. Until next time, stay energized and keep embracing what's possible.