3 days ago
When The Journey Outweighs The Record
In 1993, we went to Africa to run up and down Mount Kilimanjaro faster than anyone had before. I left with something far more valuable.
Our plan was simple: a few days in Arusha, Tanzania, watching wildlife, then a climb to acclimatize, and finally, a speed run to the summit and back. Our team included my wife, Bridget, our friends Kevin Cooney and Jenny Lamott, and Ed and Betty Pope.
But two days before our climb, everything changed. Bridget came down with malaria. In those moments, I wasn't thinking about records. I was thinking about whether she'd be okay. Thanks to quick medical care, she began to recover and, surprisingly, felt stronger the higher we climbed. By the time we reached the upper slopes, my goal had shifted. I no longer cared about my run; I wanted to see her stand on the summit.
We reached Uhuru Peak, 19,340 feet above sea level, just as the sun spilled over the African plains. Bridget's smile was different that day. It was hard-earned, radiant, defiant in the face of illness. Watching her, I realized I'd already achieved something greater than any record.
Two days later, Kevin and I were supposed to start the run. My motivation was gone, until we met Yonas Louwa.
Yonas is a slight man, five feet tall, maybe ninety pounds, and, according to local lore, 120 years old. He was part of the first team to climb Kilimanjaro in 1889, hacking through rainforest for eight days before even seeing snow. When our guide told him about our speed attempt, he laughed. For Yonas, it wasn't about the time, or even the summit, it was about the people you meet and the stories you gather along the way.
That conversation reframed everything. The run was no longer a quest for a record; it was another chapter in a shared story.
The next morning, Kevin and I set out. Through rainforests dripping with mist, across high-alpine marshes, and up into the barren moonscape near the top, I found myself noticing the smallest details—dew hanging from grass blades, the rhythm of my breathing, the play of light across distant ridges. I was running, but I was also fully present.
We did break the world record: 42 miles and over 13,000, from the park gate to the summit and back, in 12 hours and 45 minutes. The previous mark was over 18 hours. But that night, eating spaghetti that Bridget and Jenny had prepared, surrounded by friends, it was clear the real win had nothing to do with the clock.
In business, as in life, we're conditioned to chase metrics like revenue, market share, 'firsts,' and 'fastests.' But those fade. The experiences you live through, the people you share them with, and the perspective they give you, those are the true returns on investment.
Kilimanjaro reminded me: accomplishments are fleeting, but experiences, especially those with other people, are compounding. And sometimes, the most important summit isn't the one you planned to climb.
