How a year of endurance training prepared me for a world full of change

Life is neither static nor unchanging. With no individuality, there can be no change, no adaptation and, in an inherently changing world, any species unable to adapt is also doomed.

-Jean M. Auelce

Human physiology, mental ability, and emotional capacity are uniquely suited for adaptation; and as a species, we’re pretty damn good at adapting. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have survived as long as we have. However, as individuals, it can be a lot tougher to go against the grain of routine, comfort, and conformity—even when spirit or circumstance require a different approach. Recognizing the need to change, and providing space for it in my life has been pretty crucial for me as an athlete and as a do-er of things.

Scott and I first connected in January 2019, just as he and George were launching Summation Athletics. I had spent most of the previous year working with a different coaching company; while I recognized the associated athletic gains, the structure of my former coaching program felt too rigid for me. I do consider myself an athlete, but what I’ve come to recognize is that my arena shifts with the seasons and with the years as my interests evolve and adapt. Sure—I enjoy and desire to climb technical lines on big mountains—but there’s more to life than that for me.

What I saw (and still see) in Scott was a willingness to recognize me for me—and to work with that canvas; both of us unsure what the resulting art would be. Initially, and at the moment of our first meeting, I was inspired by ultra-endurance adventures: I was strongly considering crossing Antarctica on skis. But then I came to my senses and realized that climbing and tackling other objectives would be a lot more fun. We got to work.

After that first training block, I got on a couple of cool routes in the French Alps; and then ran 50 miles through the Icelandic highlands, unsupported and in a single push during the Summer Solstice—on a whim.

Then life got in the way; training and everything else took a backseat to simply surviving. But, just like Chumbawamba, “I get knocked down. But I get up again. You’re never gonna keep me down.” I called Scott at the end of February 2020—after eight months of stagnation—and said, “I’m ready to get back to work.” Neither of us had a clue what global catastrophes lie ahead, but the structure that Scott and Summation provided allowed me to not just survive (mentally) the first several months of the pandemic, but they allowed me to thrive.

The world was changing though; instead of frivolous athletic alpine endeavors, I decided that it was time to put my energy into something more practical: hunting. Not just any type of hunting though. Backcountry, big game hunting. In the mountains. The type that our ancestors practiced for hundreds of thousands of years. I taught myself archery. Figured out the logistics. Developed a strategy. And physically trained up to 16 hours a week for seven months. Then I location scouted in my state-of-residence, Colorado. And finally, on October 11th, 2020, went out for my first hunt.

The cow elk that I harvested was taken with a rifle and not a bow, but it doesn’t lessen my accomplishment. I figured it out all on my own, and then went out and did the damned thing. Packing 250 pounds of meat, bone, and pelt out from five miles in the wilderness, across the tundra, at more than 12,000’ was the second hardest thing I’d ever done. It probably would have been the absolute hardest, if Scott hadn’t trained me so damned well.

That meat fed me and my closest friends and family for the next six months, and literally fueled my next training block.

Not too long after my hunt, I got the perfect window for a route I’d been eyeing for a while. I didn’t have a partner to go with, so I went out alone; and solo’d the Notch Couloir on Longs Peak (Colorado, 14,249’, 2,000’, AI2, M2-3, 5.4YDS.) It was the most technical alpine route I’d ever climbed at the time; and I did it all on my own. That experience unlocked a realization which has come to redefine how I consider climbing objectives—we’ll see more of that later.

At the start of 2021, I moved to Ouray to train and climb ice. Denali’s Cassin Ridge was in my sights. Ultimately that objective would wait (as it continues to do)—but the season’s gains were not in vain. After a two year hiatus from ascending the most fickle climbing medium I was back at it; by the end of the season I was leading strong WI5—establishing a new baseline for myself; and opening up a world of opportunity in the alpine.

A slew of objectives came next: while admittedly coasting off the fitness I had developed over the past year, but with Scott providing guidance along the way. Throughout 2021, I climbed more than I ever had; and had more fun doing it than ever before. When my partner got altitude sickness, I solo’d the U-Notch Couloir on North Palisade (California, 14,242’, 1,500’, AI2, 5.6 YDS.) A month later, I led the North Ridge of Baker (Washington, 10,781’, 3,000’, WI3, steep snow) with a total stranger. Spent the spring, summer, and fall mentoring new climbers up more than a dozen west coast classic mountaineering and alpine rock routes.

Then, as luck would have it, my newly-groomed partner, Tiffany, and I managed to line up a late-season window to give the renowned Thunderbolt-to-Sill Traverse a go (five sequential Sierra 14ers, totaling a mile of climbing; up to 5.9 YDS with a f*ck-ton of 5th class in between,) in reverse. Those two and a half smoke-choked, October days were some of the best of my life. After that, Tiff and I were delighted, and the world had opened back up, so we jetted to Nepal with our sights set on climbing a technical route up a 6,000 m (20,000’ peak.) The Himalaya beckoned me after four years apart.

After getting shut down at the base of our primary objective due to safety concerns that were beyond our control, Tiff and I gruelled it two days back to the village—only to heli back to high camp two days later so that we could give it another go. The altitude didn’t pay any favors though; the climb would ultimately lead to me standing atop the summit by myself. Kyajo Ri. Southwest Ridge. (6,186 m / 20,295’, 2,000’, AI2, 5.7 YDS.) Solo.

It’d been a helluva year, but life called. Change awaited. A dream job offer led me to Bozeman; I became a full-time employee at a company that wasn’t my name for the first time in more than seven years—and then signed my first housing lease in the US since 2014.

Chris Brinlee Jr.

Chris is an Alpinist, Storyteller, and all-around endurance athlete. Follow Chris’s training and adventures on his Instagram page @chrisbrinleejr

With Hyalite Canyon in my newfound backyard, there has been plenty of ice climbing to entertain me—but I find myself leaning into change yet again. My athletic passions and interests are shifting. I’m not exactly sure where they will lead me, but the one thing I do know is this: the structure and consistency obtained from training with Summation Athletics will continue to serve me in whatever I do.

What has really stood out to me through these seasons of change has been Scott’s willingness to grow and adapt with me. Transformation is such a key part of the human experience, and to have a coach who understands and supports those course adjustments is truly special. I’m excited to see where our shared path leads—and which summits we reach, both literal and metaphorical.