[Greetings, friends, from Austin! This past weekend, I had the pleasure of sitting on an SXSW panel covering CPG (consumer-packaged goods) fundraising and alternative financing. The startup lawyer that helps companies raise capital is not a side of myself that I often reveal in this corner of the internet, but, occasionally, that identity overlaps with the Lumenorean. One such instance occurred during this weekend.
Near the end of the panel, the moderator posed a question along the lines of: “How do founders think about staying physically and mentally healthy in the ultra-stressful world of entrepreneurship?”
The Lumenorean inside me activated, and I felt called to share the story of the 20-mile march with the audience. It is a story that was shared with me the summer before I went to law school, and there wasn’t a week that went by that I didn’t think about it. I’m convinced it was the reason I finished second in my class while I watched many of my friends burn out.
It is the story that we devote the rest of today’s essay.]
Many thought the South Pole was unreachable. In 1911, two explorers—a British explorer named Robert Falcon Scott and a Norwegian explorer named Roald Amundsen—aimed to prove everyone wrong. As the two became aware of each other’s expeditions, the quest soon became a race.
Both teams set out just after the Antarctic winter—Amundsen’s team on October 18, 1911 and Scott’s team a few weeks later. Not quite two months after setting out, Amundsen’s team hoisted the flag of Norway at the South Pole and then returned to their base camp on January 25. Ninety-nine days and 1,400 nautical miles later, they completed their journey, not only having succeeded in their aim, but with their entire team still breathing.
As for those they were racing, Scott and his team left their base camp on November 1, 1911 and finally reached the South Pole on January 17, 1912. Already weak from exhaustion, hunger, and extreme cold, Scott’s team arrived only to be further dejected by the discovery that the Norwegians had beaten them. Defeated, Scott and his men scratched and clawed their way home. Many of the men were hanging on by a thread. Five of them—including Scott himself—drew their last breaths on their ship, the Terra Nova. (Scott’s last diary entry is dated March 29, 1912.)
Many have speculated about the difference between the two teams and why one was successful while the other was not. Some attribute the different outcomes to the routes and rations each took. But in my estimation, the most significant factor was their different approaches to output.
Regardless of the conditions, Amundsen’s team committed to moving one-quarter degree of latitude daily. On average, that translated to 5-6 hours and 15 miles of skiing and sledging each day—a taxing but not exhausting pace. It took discipline and determination but could be done in any conditions and was sustainable daily. Whether the weather was fair or foul, the terrain was smooth or rough, and the wind was calm or strong. Amundsen’s team got their quarter degree each day with dogged consistency. And, in doing so, they could imagine themselves inching across the map.
By contrast, Scott and his team let the daily weather conditions and their overall fluctuating feelings of motivation and energy dictate the distance and pace of each day. On a day with ideal conditions, Scott and his crew might push upwards of 9-10 hours; on days when the weather was harsh, they might not leave their tents. This meant that Scott worked his team to the bone when the days were good, pushing them so hard on the way to the South Pole that they didn’t have enough strength to make the return trip.
Why did I tell this story to a room full of founders? Because what was true for the explorers has been true in my life. Relentless (but sustainable) consistency has been behind everything worthwhile I’ve achieved: Finishing second in my law school class without ever having to pull the all-nighters that so many of my classmates insisted were necessary. Writing my first two books (and now a third) at a clip of about one book a year. Putting 100 pounds on my max deadlift over a year.
By contrast, inconsistent efforts swinging between excessive and nonexistent have always been at the root of everything that’s blown up. Three years into my law career, I experienced paralyzing panic attacks, and early attempts at writing where I worked in bursts never blossomed into anything. Burned-out founders run burned-out companies. Those drowning make terrible lifegaurds.
If I really pause to reflect, much of the fate of my life pursuits can be traced directly to how closely I’ve followed the framework of the 20-mile march. The ones that have gone well are those characterized not by short periods of intensity or raw talent but by being passionately curious and consistent.
Through the good and bad days, something about just continuing to show up makes sure the universe knows that you are serious. Perhaps this is part of the Gospel’s directive to “Knock and the door will open…” Sometimes, we must knock and keep knocking if we want to wear down the force holding the door closed.
What do I suggest practically? Once your aim is true, break the pursuit down into something you can do every day for as long as it takes—1,000 words a day, 30 minutes of exercise, and an hour of studying. Make it a meaningful amount of effort that you are pouring into progressing, but not so much that it wears you beyond the ability to repeat it for an unforeseeable number of days to come. Then, keep showing up. Every day, rain or shine, make the 20-mile march.
You must say to yourself: “I will stay with it and endure through suffering hardships; but once the heaving sea has shaken my raft to pieces, then, I will swim.”1
Every day, remember: Moderate pressure, consistently applied, will take me everywhere worth reaching.
Knock, and the door will open.
[1] Jim Collins and Morten T. Hansen, Great by Choice, Chapter 3.
[2] Homer, Odyssey, Book V, lines 360-364.
This piece came to me at a time I really needed to hear it. I resonate with swinging between extremes of white-knuckling towards a goal and burning out. The story encapsulates the beautiful simplicity of consistently applied effort. Good stuff, Noah.