Each summer, I guide student-athletes through Strive’s programs — experiences that combine service, leadership, and training in remarkable places like Peru, Kenya and Flagstaff, Arizona. Earlier this year, I had the chance to test my own limits in the Trans Alpine Run, a seven-day stage race crossing the Alps from Austria to Italy. What I discovered there mirrors what so many Strive participants find in themselves: a deeper strength, a shared purpose, and the confidence that comes from stepping into the unknown.

The starting gun sounded. We surged onto the streets of Lech am Arlberg. Our path crossed the icy blue river bisecting the valley and gave reference to the stupendous gravitational upheaval lancing skyward: the Alps. I was relieved. The anticipation was over. Six months of training had delivered me to this moment. Whispers of excitement and fear crowded the space between breaths.

Beyond the first kilometer, the initial condensation of bodies dissipated. I settled into a steady rhythm on roughly paved country roads. The houses were sparse, but the enthusiasm was outsized. Where there were homes, the inhabitants were outside, thrusting their cowbells in the air. The metal chimes rang like smoke rings drifting through the valley, signaling movement afoot to the far reaches.

The pavement ended and the course ushered us onto a stone trail. The trajectory was decidedly up; the river valley receding below. The air thinned, exposing both purity and a decided lack of oxygen. We were a sweeping caravan of humanity rising from the base of the earth — the pulse of a thousand heartbeats and snippets of myriad languages, all seeming to express the same sentiment: Let’s go.

My effort was relaxed, wanting to soak in the experience while knowing I had crossed a threshold into an unknown space.

At the crest of the mountain, the first aid station awaited us — cheering supporters, drinks, fruit, cakes, pretzels, even nuts and cheese. I quickly filled my bottles and waved in appreciation to those who had climbed to the summit simply to cheer.

Conditions changed rapidly in the alpine highlands. Snowfall from the previous night melted in the morning sun, and the earth soon turned to grasping mud. Each footfall became more intentional and cautious. It was hard to pass. I felt claustrophobic — wanting to move up but sensing the pressure of racers behind me.

“Exercise patience and pick your moments to pass,” I told myself.

The slippery muck gave way to alpine grass. All things pass. I met two German runners who would become my de facto teammates, toggling back and forth with one another for the next seven days — sharing moments of victory, deep fatigue, and a collective will to persevere.

To reference Quentin Cassidy in Once a Runner, it was essential to have confidants for “the trial of miles and the miles of trials.” I was fortunate to have many over the course of Trans Alpine — sometimes as simple as sharing a few strides or exchanging eye contact at an aid station. Poignant reminders that we were in this together.

The stage concluded with an epic descent into Bludenz. It felt absurd on my legs — dropping more than a thousand feet per mile over several steep miles. It was a relief to reach the flats of the city streets and roll through the finish chute. Stage One complete.

I dropped into a chair and peeled the muddy attire from my skin. I sank deeper into the seat, turning my face toward the sun.

I don’t know how I will complete this journey, and I’m confident I can get there.

Why It Matters

The Trans Alpine reminded me why we do what we do at Strive. Growth doesn’t happen in comfort — it happens in that delicate space between excitement and fear, surrounded by people who believe in you. That’s the foundation of our programs: shared effort, service, and discovery in some of the most inspiring places in the world.

If you’re a student-athlete — or the parent of one — who’s curious about what lies beyond the next finish line, I invite you to explore Strive’s summer program in Iten, Kenya. The journey might start with a single step, but you’ll never take it alone