And this year, I found myself saying the same thing to the participants that my coaches had told me, "One step at a time." Don't think about the summit. Don't think about everything that's still ahead of you. Just think about your next step. One step, then another, then another." That sounds so simple, but when you're exhausted, when you're overwhelmed, when you're looking at a mountain and wondering how you're going to get all the way to the top, sometimes the only way forward is to stop thinking about the top and take the next step.
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, and welcome back. I'm Genell, the host of the RenewHer podcast. This week marks one year since I stood at the top of Blackcomb Mountain in Whistler, British Columbia, wearing a red hat and knowing I had done something I wasn't sure I could do. I had climbed the mountain eight times, 3900 feet of elevation per ascent, for a total of 31,200 feet of elevation and 31.2 miles in about thirty-five and a half hours, with only about 30 minutes of sleep.
If you've listened to my earlier episodes about the 29029 Everesting event, you know that was much more than a physical challenge for me. It challenged my mind. It challenged my confidence. It challenged some of the stories I had been carrying about myself. And somewhere along the way, I realized I wasn't just climbing a mountain, I was becoming someone different.
Someone who knew she could do hard things. Someone who could stay with herself when things got uncomfortable. Someone who could keep going even when the voice in her head was telling her she couldn't. So here we are, one year later, and I went back.
But this time, I wasn't there to climb. I was there to volunteer. And I have to tell you, it was a very different experience, but it brought back so many memories of my own journey. Before I tell you about that, let me explain something about 29029, if you're not familiar.
The goal is to reach 29,029 feet of elevation, the elevation of Mount Everest. But how you get there is different from mountain to mountain. The number of miles is different, the number of ascents is different, the elevation you gain on each ascent is different. The mountain determines the route. The goal remains the same: 29,029 feet in 36 hours.
Last year at Whistler, that meant eight full ascents. This year at Steamboat, the participants climbed 14 times, with each climb covering about two and a half miles and gaining about 2,180 feet for a total of 35 miles. They're given 36 hours to do it. And believe me, whether you're doing eight ascents or 14, it's a lot of mountain.
So this year, instead of being one of the people climbing that mountain, my husband and I volunteered at the summit aid station. We prepared and handed out food and water, energy bars, energy chews, fruit, candy, beef jerky, ramen noodles with broth, sandwiches, water, electrolytes, pickle juice, just to name a few things.
And we talked to the participants. We encouraged them. We helped them get what they needed so they could get back on that mountain. I also had the opportunity to be the cowbeller at the summit, standing there cheering as the participants made their way up.
And I have to admit, when I first arrived, I was excited. I was excited to be there. I was excited to be part of the experience again. I was excited to help. But there was also a little bit of regret because I hadn't decided to do it again this year. And standing there watching all those people prepare to climb, I had a moment of thinking, "Maybe I should have."
It felt a little strange not to have the challenge ahead of me. All of the volunteers had our own bibs and hats identifying us as volunteers, and that made it feel special, but still, I wasn't one of the climbers. I was on the other side, and that gave me a completely different perspective.
Because I remembered. I remembered what it was like to arrive at an aid station and look at all the food and not want to eat any of it. I remember looking at things I knew I needed to eat and thinking, "I don't want that. My stomach doesn't want that." But I knew I needed fuel if I was gonna keep going. And this year, I watched that same thing happen to the participants. I could see it on their faces. I knew what was going on. And I understood it in a way I probably wouldn't have if I hadn't been on that mountain myself.
I also remembered what it felt like to know you were gonna have to keep hiking through the night. Our volunteer shift was until midnight, and as I watched people heading back onto their mountains with their headlamps, I could feel some of what they were feeling. The exhaustion. The uncertainty. The determination. The knowledge that there were still hours of work ahead.
And then there was the red carpet. I remembered that, too. The emotion of walking toward that finish. The exhaustion. The exhilaration. The relief. The tears. The feeling of knowing that you had done something you weren't sure you could do. I could feel their emotion because I had felt it myself.
And I realized how much appreciation I had for the volunteers who had been there for me last year. I remember thanking them. And now I was the one being thanked. And it felt good. Really good.
Because that's one of the things I love about this event. The climbing may be individual, but the work isn't. The participants have to take their own steps. No one else can climb an ascent for them, but they don't do it alone.
The coaches can't climb it for them, but they can match their pace and walk with them for a while. They can offer encouragement. They can give advice. They can remind them to slow down, to breathe, to keep going.
And the volunteers can't climb the mountain for them either. But we can refill a water bottle. We can find them something to eat. We can give them electrolytes. We can tell them there's enough time for one more. And sometimes when someone isn't sure they can step back onto that mountain, a coach or a volunteer might be the reason they do. I experienced that last year.
And this year I found myself saying the same thing to the participants that my coaches had told me. One step at a time. Don't think about the summit. Don't think about everything that's still ahead of you. Just think about your next step. One step. Then another. Then another. That sounds so simple. But when you're exhausted, when you're overwhelmed, when you're looking at a mountain and wondering how you're going to get all the way to the top, sometimes the only way forward is to stop thinking about the top and take the next step.
29029 ask participants to consider who they become through the work it takes to get there. And I think that's such a powerful question. Because the summit is important. The red hat is important. The accomplishment is important. But who you become along the way may be even more important. And that's something I saw again this year.
Not everyone came to Steamboat with the goal of finishing. I heard one woman say she had set her sights on nine ascents. She reached nine, and she was happy because she had done more than she thought she could do. That was her summit. And I love that because sometimes we get so focused on the finish line that we miss the significance of what we've already accomplished.
What if your goal isn't someone else's goal? What if your summit doesn't look like theirs? What if you accomplish something you never thought you could do, even if it wasn't what you originally imagined? That counts. It matters. And then there was one particular moment that I will remember for a long time.
A 75-year-old man named Greg was still climbing. This was his third 29029 event, and each one had been on a different mountain. And he had completed the other two. Now, he was at Steamboat working toward that final red hat. But time was running out. In the final hours, most of the climbers knew where their weekend was likely to end.
For Greg, it was still uncertain whether he would finish. With two hours remaining, he reached the summit for his 13th ascent. And at that point, there was less than 30 minutes before the cutoff to start his final ascent. He still had to take the gondola down. He still had to brand his board. And he did it.
He went back down. He started again, and with seconds left, Greg became the final finisher at 29029 Steamboat. He reached the summit and earned his red hat. I was standing at the summit watching this happen. His wife was there cheering him on, and there were so many people around the summit cheering him up that final ascent.
I remember my eyes filling with tears because you could feel the energy. You could feel how much grit it had taken for him to get there. And you knew that everyone around him understood something about that journey. We weren't just cheering because he was 75. We were cheering because he kept going. Because he went back to the mountain when there was still work to do. And that's something I think applies far beyond 29029. When there is work left to do, you go back to it. One step at a time.
I also had the opportunity to see my coach from last year. I had texted him before the event to find out if he would be there, so it wasn't a surprise. I was really excited to see him. He was working with participants and coaching, so our interactions were brief. But seeing him brought back a very specific memory.
It was around 4:30 in the morning during my event last year. I was exhausted. I hadn't slept. I was nauseous. I was panicked. Maybe even a little delirious from lack of sleep. And I remember seeing my coach. He calmed me down. He told me to go take a shower. Sleep for 30 minutes, then come back out and finish the remaining laps. And he reassured me that I still had enough time, but I needed to be intentional. I needed to focus on what was in front of me. He was instrumental in helping me achieve that red hat and seeing him again one year later was really special.
I told him I may be considering doing 29029 again, possibly at another mountain, and he encouraged me to reach out to him and talk about it. And that conversation has stayed with me because, yes, I am seriously considering doing this again.
And it's not because there's one particular reason. It's all of it. I miss the challenge. I miss the community. I miss the energy. I miss the positive vibes. I want to experience another mountain. I want to see what I can do now, having already done it once. And yes, part of me wants to know if I can do it again.
But I think there's something else going on here too. I'm curious. I'm curious what's still possible. And maybe that's one of the most important things we can hold onto in this season of life, curiosity, the willingness to ask, "What's next? What else might be possible? What could I do if I decided to try?"
The day after the event, my husband and I hiked to the summit just once. And wow. It was tough. This was a completely different kind of experience because I hadn't trained for this climb. And the mountain got steep very quickly. I took it slowly. I just wanted to make sure I reached the summit.
And as I was climbing, I had a lot of familiar feelings. The physical struggle, the steepness, the effort. And because I was struggling on this one ascent, I found myself thinking, "Wow, I can't believe I climbed Whistler eight times." And yes, I know this wasn't the same challenge. I hadn't trained. I wasn't doing the full 29029 event, but it gave me a renewed appreciation for what I had done a year earlier.
Sometimes we need to step away from something we've accomplished before we can fully appreciate it. When you're in the middle of the challenge, you're focused on survival. You're focused on the next step. You're focused on getting through. But later, when you look back, you can see the magnitude of what you actually did.
And that's true for so many things in life. Maybe you've accomplished something that didn't feel like a big deal at the time. Maybe you were just getting through it. Taking care of someone. Building something. Changing careers. Starting over. Walking away from something that wasn't right for you. Taking a risk. You were just taking the next step. But now, when you look back, maybe you can see, wow, I did that. I really did that.
And maybe that's part of what it means to celebrate an anniversary. It's not just about looking backward. It's about recognizing who you were then. Who you are now. And who you're becoming.
A year ago, I was the participant. I needed the volunteers. I needed the coaches. I needed my husband. I needed the encouragement of people around me. This year, I came back and became part of that support system. I handed someone food. I filled a bottle. I cheered. I rang a cowbell. I said, "One step at a time."
And I realized that community isn't just something we receive. It's something we create. It's something we contribute to. It's something we give back. And maybe that's the bigger lesson I brought home from Steamboat.
We all have our own mountain. Your mountain may not be 29,029 feet. It may not involve a trail, a gondola, or a red hat. Your mountain might be starting something new. Changing something that no longer fits. Taking a risk. Going after a dream you thought you'd outgrown. Having a conversation you've been avoiding. Rebuilding after loss. Or simply asking yourself, " What do I want this next season of my life to look like?"
And maybe, just maybe, you don't need to know how you're going to get all the way to the summit. Maybe you just need to know your next step. One step at a time. Somewhere along the way, those words became more than something my coaches told me. They became something I believed. And this year, I found myself saying those same words to the hikers, "One step at a time," and that's what I'm reminding myself of now.
I'm seriously thinking about doing 29029 again, maybe on a different mountain. I don't know which mountain I would choose. And because these events sell out very quickly, I don't even know if I'll get my first choice. But I like having something out there in front of me that makes me curious, something that makes me wonder, "what if"?
What if I tried again? What if I chose a different mountain? What if I trained differently? What if I discovered something about myself I haven't discovered yet? I don't know the answers, and I don't need to know them yet. For now, I'm just taking the next step because that's what this experience has taught me.
The summit matters, but the work matters too. The people matter. The encouragement matters. The moments when we almost quit and someone helps you take one more step, those matter. The climbing may be individual, but the work isn't. Some people left Steamboat with a red hat. Some left with a different summit than they imagined when they started, and some may have discovered that they were capable of more than they thought. Maybe that's the real measure of the journey, not whether you reach someone else's definition of the summit, but what you discovered about yourself while you were climbing.
So as I look back on this one-year anniversary, I'm grateful. Grateful that I got to climb Whistler. Grateful for the people who helped me get to that red carpet. Grateful for the lessons I carried home. And grateful that one year later, I got to return and see the mountain from a different perspective. I got to cheer. I got to encourage. I got to give back. And I got to remember what it feels like to be the person who is still climbing.
So here's what I want to leave you with. What is your mountain? What is the thing in front of you that is asking you to become someone you haven't been yet? You don't have to know how you're gonna reach the summit. You don't have to have the whole plan. You don't even have to know exactly what your summit looks like.
Just take the next step. And then the next. And when you need help, let people help you. And when you're able to help someone else, do that too. Because we may each have our own mountain, but we don't have to climb it alone.
The work may be ours, but the journey is never just ours. And who knows? Maybe the next mountain you climb will change you in ways you can't possibly imagine yet. I know mine did. And a year later, I'm still becoming. Until next time, remember, you don't have to see the whole mountain. Just take the next step.
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 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