Everest

There was a super-fit man who wanted to climb Everest. To make his dream a reality, he trained his body to perfection until he was all muscle. He thought this would be enough. It wasn't until he actually found himself on the mountain, at base camp that he realized his stamina fell short of the mark.

His training was good, meticulous even; he could run a fast marathon, lift heavy weights and captain his body and mind through the most excruciating physical workouts.

But what he hadn't prepared for (actually, you can't really prepare for) was the actuality of being on the mountain. Because on the mountain, the air is thin. The lack of air makes breathing - even for the fittest athletes - difficult.

And the higher you go (as in life) the thinner the air gets. This is why on the higher echelons of Everest (and of life) there are very few people.

Now, although this man had been told many times in his preparations that the air on Everest was thin and it would make progress slow and breathing difficult, he never really heeded the advice. Until, that is, on day one when his chest was as tight as a fat kid's school shirt and he couldn't catch his breath.

He complained to his companions, all experienced climbers, that he couldn't breathe properly and they duly advised him (and reminded him) that, when you are on the mountain, this was normal.

"No", he insisted. "You don't understand. I'm a fit man. I am conditioned. I should be able to breathe easier."

Patiently the message was reiterated. "There is very little air on the mountain. The higher you go the less there is. The inability to be able to get your lungs full is normal." Again, he complained. He was fit. Not being able to breathe was not normal to him.

As much as his companions tried to reassure him, he would have none of it. He was convinced that his breathlessness was an early sign of some mysterious mountain illness. He bitched so much that in the end one of the climbers pulled him to one said and said firmly,

"Listen! We're on Everest. It's a high mountain. There is no air. If you want more air, climb a smaller fucking mountain."

And here endeth the lesson.

Every now and then, we need to be told to "stop the bitching and get on with it." On our way to reach higher peaks, we often find ourselves ready to throw in the towel, complaining about the discomfort, the lack of help, the inadequate industry support.

Well, I don't know about you but I don't want to climb small mountains. I want to ascend into the clouds with the legends. And if that means less air, then so be it.

Adapted from "Everything that happens to me is good" by Geoff Thompson