Doing the "hidden hard things"

Most hard stuff is easy – the conference booth, Demo Day, the investor pitch, pushing the next release, and hiring the next three people on the sales team. You know you have to do it, and so does everyone around you. There’s the social accountability to do that hard thing, so you figure out a way to make it happen.

The hidden hard stuff is so much tougher because no one notices when you do them, or don’t do them. Coercing yourself to do the hidden hard stuff separates those that want to have a startup from the company founders that want to lead a movement. It’s the hidden hard stuff where the magic happens – where companies are built, where success lives and breeds.

But there’s no magic to motivating yourself to do the hidden hard things. It’s just desire to do more and to be better. It’s knowing that you need to do the hidden hard stuff that no one notices today, because if you don’t, you know they’ll notice tomorrow.

Yet even with strongest dedication and desire, there are the roadblocks and resistance. Every day, obstacles fall in the way that challenge the strongest resolve.  

I feel it myself everyday – as an entrepreneur, husband and dad. I want more than anything to be my best self in all of these parts of my life. I’m always looking for ideas, routines, and lessons to help me push through the hidden hard things.

On Saturday, I found a few lessons from a rainy, cold, long trail run about doing the hidden hard things. I’m sharing these lessons in hopes that they might be helpful for the next hidden hard thing that you don’t want to do, that no one expects you to do, that you know you have to do.

1 – Committing to it

I wanted to push up "Training Hill" – a 1000’ foot ascent in less that a mile – as part of my run. I wanted to do more climbing to strengthen my legs and my resolve. I wanted to get in a real "long run" between the 50k I did two weeks ago and the 50k coming up in two weeks. 

I scoped out my route a week ahead. My wife and I planned the week to account for the early morning long run on a Saturday. (I usually do my long runs on Wednesdays.) At dinner with friends on Friday night, I told my buddy, Sean, about the miles ahead the next morning. 

I set up my gear bag the night before – filling my water bottles, packing my backpack and collecting my gear so all I’d need to do is grab them and go.

Even before I took a single step, I committed to the effort and created an environment that would pull me forward to where I wanted to go.

2 – "Now that I’m awake, I’ll be glad I did..."

A 4:00AM alarm challenges the most committed person, especially when it's raining after only six hours of sleep. That warm bed is really, really tough to leave. That’s why I set a second alarm for 4:01am, just in case. 

When the alarm goes off, I tell myself – "Now that I’m awake, I’ll be glad I did…" I think to how I’ll feel once I’m on the trail in the quiet morning, surrounded by the darkness, trees, waterfalls and rivers. I remember the feeling the good tired after my last long run.

Once I make the first movement to roll out of bed and stand up, I know that the day is started, and now that I’m up, I don’t have any more excuses. I might as well go through with it. If I don’t, I’ll have to explain to Sean and Lena and myself why I got lazy. 

Even then, no one really cares if you carry through with the commitments you make to yourself except for you, so 

For me, it’s knowing that I’m doing something hard that most people won’t do, and that once I get going, I’ll be glad I did.

3 – Finding a routine and the right gear

I prepped the coffee pot the night before so that I'd only have to turn on the burner. I have podcast ready to go for when I hop in the car. By the time I drove an hour just to start the run in the dark and gearing up, it’d be downright embarrassing if I didn’t hit the trail now.

I have routine for gearing up, down to the ziplock bag for my phone and stashing my pocketknife and safety whistle that I carry in case I get stuck. There are no chances for any last excuses why I couldn’t do the run, or what to do if things go wrong. 

The routine and the right gear reduces the friction and removes reasons why I can’t at least get started.

4 – Feeling accomplished just by starting

You know it’s early when you drive for an hour to the trailhead, arrive in the dark and the entrance gate still locked. When I see that, I feel like I’ve already won because I know I’ll be starting the trek ahead. There’s no going back. Doing nothing is no longer an option.

Most of finishing anything is simply getting yourself to the starting point, so give yourself some credit for getting there.

5 – Accepting the conditions

It's been raining nearly non-stop for a month. Cold and wet isn’t my preferred physical state. The trails would be muddy and mucky – no way around that. My feet would get wet and I’d get mud between my toes. I’d probably fall on my ass a couple of times and land in a cold mud puddle

The conditions are going to suck and usually you can’t change them, so just accept them and work your plan in spite of them, or even better, because of them. Remember why it’s a hidden hard thing – because it’s hard.  

6 – Setting milestones

No Hands Bridge is 4 miles from the trailhead, then the turnoff to the Salt Creek Loop Trail is 4 miles from the bridge. The Salt Creek Loop is 5 miles, and Training Hill would be long behind me by then. There are only 7 switchbacks on the Salt Creek Loop. Back to the bridge is 4 miles, and back to the car is 4 miles.  

A bunch of small numbers are much easier to tackle than one big one.

7 – Making it even harder

On top on the miles and climbing, I did the run without taking in calories along the way – no food or nutrition and I’d drink only water . This meant burning 2000-3000 calories without any intake. It’s called a "fasted run." 

It was anything but fast, and the last four miles from No Hands Bridge back to the trailhead really sucked. Like really, really sucked. I could feel my body and brain slowing down. I missed a turn and had to double back. I had to power walk in a few spots I normally would have run. But once I saw the 1-mile marker back to the park, I knew it was just a matter of persisting.

Turn the dial just one more notch. You can handle it.

8 – Appreciating the moment

On the trail, I saw a family of deer (is that what they’re called?), a rabbit, a few squirrels and a huge Tom Turkey. No bears. I think (hope) they’re hibernating. I passed seven waterfalls, crossed the American River raging over gravel deposited 50 million years ago. 130 million years ago, all of the land I ran over sat on the ocean floor.  

When I reached a trail intersection six miles into the run atop a ridge, there was nothing but quiet and solitude and the peacefulness of the steady rain.

Most of all, the cold and wet I felt was temporary. I chose to be there. I could turn around and go home any time I wanted. I had food in my pack that I could eat anytime I wanted. I have a warm bed at home.

Even the hard stuff is all pretty easy compared to what billions of people battle every day.

9 – Celebrating success

I knew this was my last long run before my next race in two weeks and before a quick ski trip to Tahoe. Sunday was my planned "cheat day" – that meant a loaded pizza and a beer or two for dinner, with ice cream topped with chocolate pretzels and M&Ms for dessert. Yum. Yum. Yum.

If you just did something hard, take a minute to be kind to yourself.