A Lesson In Humility

The quiet and humble way that the Sherpa climbed the slope was striking for a complete lack of being striking. His load was bigger and heavier than he was. He smiled and let out a quiet “Namaste” as I went past. I was hurting. Out of breath and tired out. But my pain couldn’t compare to his.



When two friends invited me to go and run in the Everest region, I jumped on it. I preach freedom to all my clients, and this was a moment to embody the ideal. I had to do it.

I wanted to see the biggest mountains in the world! And to run through the middle of them. I wanted a physical test, and just enough discomfort.

Nepal was all of that, and so much more.

The mountains were incredible. Vast, majestic, terrifying. Fully deserving of the reverence that the locals have for them.

The discomfort was real. The paths were steep and relentless. It was cold, day and night. Accommodations were charming, but meager. Showers didn’t happen. Bathrooms were a challenge.

The test was hard. We crossed three high passes, ran 120 miles, and didn’t have rest days. The fatigue and altitude added up. By the end we were exhausted.

The Sherpa does this every day. His pain is always present. He smiles at every tourist as we pass. He is tougher than I will ever be.

The Monk chants in the rocks at 18,000 feet. His joy is always present. He is holier than I will ever be.

The Yak Herder cares for his herd, with firmness and acceptance. He is more patient than I will ever be.



I went to Nepal for the mountains and for pride. What I found was people and humility instead.