Every Day Is the First Day and the Last Day (Lessons from the Inca Trail)
By mile 3 of the Inca Trail, I wanted to go home.
It was day one of a four-day hike to Machu Picchu. 26 miles total. 14,000 feet of altitude. Two pink crutches in my hands.
My wrists were on fire.
Every step on that trail was a push up on my crutches. Not a walk. A lift. Many of the steps were higher than the length of my legs. Some of them I crawled up on my hands and knees.
I was the slowest in the group. While the other hikers got back to camp talking about breathtaking scenery, my most vivid memory of that day was walking behind the donkeys carrying our supplies.
I sat down at the side of the trail. Wrists shaking. Already questioning every life decision that led me there.
And in that moment, I had to make a choice.
The choice on the trail
I could quit.
Sit there. Wait for someone to walk me back. Tell people I tried, but my body wasn't built for it. Go home, lick my wounds, and never speak of it again.
Or I could keep going.
Stand up. Take one more step. Then another. And see what happened.
I want to tell you I had some big inspiring thought in that moment. I didn't. I had a much smaller thought.
"Today is the only day I have to do this. So I might as well do it."
I stood up. Took a step. Then another. By the end of day one, I had finished the day's miles.
Day two, I made the same choice. Then day three. Then day four.
After 49,000 steps and four days of struggle, I finally reached the last 50 stairs to Machu Picchu. Two pink crutches in hand. Heart pounding.
As I stepped through the arch of the Sun Gate, I could hear the cheers and the claps from fellow hikers all around the world.
And the only thought running through my head was: "This has got to be the best day of my life."
Here's what the trail taught me
Every morning on the Inca Trail was a first day.
New section. New altitude. New aches I didn't have yesterday.
The trail in front of me was a trail I'd never walked. Whatever I'd done the day before didn't actually matter. Today was a brand new climb.
And every night on the Inca Trail was a last day.
It could be the last day I'd hike. The last day I'd push my body that hard. I could decide tomorrow that I'd had enough.
The choice was mine. Every night.
Living inside that contradiction (every day is brand new, every day could be the end) is what got me up the mountain.
Because if today is your first day, you stop waiting for the right time. The right time is right now, because you've never done this before.
And if today is your last day, you stop making it about you. You stop looking for perfection.
There's no time for the perfect. There's only time for the next step.
Together, those two truths put you in motion.
Why I'm telling you this
Most coaches reading this aren't sitting on the side of an actual trail with shaking wrists.
You're sitting in front of your laptop. Looking at the website you've been tweaking for six months. Looking at the offer you keep meaning to launch. Looking at the email list you keep telling yourself you'll start sending to once everything is "ready."
And you're making the same choice I made on mile 3.
Quit, or keep going.
Except you're disguising it.
You're not calling it quitting. You're calling it "I'm not ready yet." You're calling it "I just need to fix the website first." You're calling it "I'll really get going once I finish this course."
Same thing. Different costume.
Imagine tomorrow is your last day
Imagine you wake up tomorrow and it turns out to be your last day.
Not in a dramatic way. Just the simple fact of it. Tomorrow is the only day you have left.
Would you spend it tweaking your website?
Would you spend it picking out fonts?
Would you spend it polishing the logo?
Or would you spend it actually doing the thing? Talking to a real person. Making the offer. Sending the email you've been drafting in your head for six months. Putting yourself out there as the coach you actually are.
Would you hesitate the way you are right now?
Or would you be excited that today is the day you finally give it a shot?
Now imagine tomorrow is your first day
There's a moment on every coaching journey that looks like mile 3 of the Inca Trail.
Wrists on fire. Slowest in the group. Watching everyone else's progress feel like proof that you don't belong out here.
You have options.
You don't have to climb the whole mountain today.
You don't have to take one more step.
You don't have to send the email. Never make the offer. Don't ever have the conversation or post the thing you've been drafting.
You stop waiting for the trail to flatten out, because it won't.
Because tomorrow is always going to be that first day you never started. Would it make you feel safer? Would it still overwhelm you with all the business things you have to do?
The trail is uphill. And this journey isn't for the faint of heart. That's the whole point.
And tomorrow morning, do it again.
Because tomorrow is your first day.
And it might also be your last day. Either way, it's the only day you have.
What are you going to do with it?
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