Climbing Mount Fuji Was Uncomfortable—and That’s Where the Growth Happened

“The mountains are calling and I must go.”

– John Muir

Add me to the group chat!

I wasn’t thinking about resilience, or how to grow from discomfort when I got on my catch-up call with my buddy Noku in July. 

What I had on my mind was more along the lines of how I was excited to tell him my Service Industry Horror Stories after spending some time waitressing in a restaurant in town. 

They were the “my feet hurt so much” variety, and the “you won’t believe the delicious meal this one customer sent back to the kitchen” type.

What happened next catalyzed an even bigger, even crazier adventure that my feet appreciated significantly less.

I talked to him about some of my summer passion projects, and how they were progressing, as he listened patiently, asking enthusiastic questions. 

But then, with classic nonchalance, he mentioned his plans to summit Mt. Fuji, explaining how the huts were almost fully booked, who he was planning to do it with, and all the incredible details. 

I had to stop him right there, because the radar we all have inside that God gave us to detect cool opportunities was going off like a fire alarm. 

Mount Fuji. 

Yes, the Japanese mountain. The big one. That one you see on postcards and in dusty geology textbooks. 

That one. 

“Is there room for me to come too?”

“Yes,” he said. “But you have to book your overnight hut like now, because they’re almost fully booked.”

So I did. 

That was still mid-July, and there were somehow only 8 huts left for a stay at the beginning of September. 

So I got my reservation, and he added me to the group chat.

The stars had aligned. I was going to climb Mt. Fuji. 

How to start climbing. 

There is nothing like walking uphill for an hour only to pull out your crumpled trail map and see that you have several more hours (and meters of elevation) yet to go until you can stop at a hut to sleep. 

The start of the climb is like this: You don’t want to ask how far you’ve gone because you know it will not be very much. 

You want to eat another snack, but know you should save some for farther up. 

The mood is still pretty good, but you keep getting stark reminders of how little cardio you have done lately.

The question on everyone’s minds is “Are we really gonna do this?”

Well, let’s keep walking and find out. Because really, at the start of the climb, that is all that you have to concern yourself with: putting one foot in front of the other and continuing along the trail.

How to take breaks.

You pause, catch your breath with cool nonchalance. 

“Let’s wait a second for SoAndSo to catch up,” you advise the members of your group who are part mountain goat with a false sense of charity. 

In reality, your main motivation for stopping is that your lungs feel like deflating balloons and your lower back is making you wish you packed a little lighter. 

At the start of the climb, it feels lame to “need” a break. 

Eventually though, after enough communal huffing and puffing, ego is put to one side. 

Take the breaks. Eat the snacks. Stop to keep the group together. 

We came to realize it was never a race to the top. In fact, we were all the last person at one point or another, as were we all out of breath every few minutes. 

My reasons for climbing Mt. Fuji were not to break some mountaineering record. It was about creating meaningful lifelong memories with my friends; about empowerment; and about adventure.

Taking generous breaks along the way up facilitated all of these aims, and made the climb not only more fun, but more accessible. 

How to sing on the way up.

When you get close to the summit is when it gets steep, rocky, and unforgivingly cold. At that point, you’re absolutely exhausted, and the clouds are obscuring you from even being able to identify exactly how much climb you have left. 

Dreary and bleak, you say?

Well, it depends on the soundtrack. 

In addition to the faithful konbini snacks and layers of warm clothing, we were well-prepared with a fair supply of theater kids as well. 

I’m talking, say the name “Eliza”, and for the next half an hour, listen to every song in Hamilton as your nose turns into a popsicle. 

We sang and we sang, and when we weren’t singing, we listened to others in the group sing. 

It’s one of my fondest memories from the hike up, and honestly? It taught me that just about anything difficult is made that much more joyful if you just burst into song. 

How to wake up early for the sunrise.

I have always regarded those who willingly wake up at the crack of dawn with a fair dose of suspicion. 

Typically, I assume if they do it willingly, they are somewhat masochistic and potentially antisocial. Now though, I accept that there is a new possibility: early-risers are in love with the sky. 

We woke up at the crack of dawn to continue climbing, and we stopped near the 8th station to eat breakfast while watching the sunset. 

It was, in a word, sublime. 

The flaming oranges, blushing pinks and impressionist feathery clouds all came together into this one scene that all at once felt both staggering and life-affirming. 

Sometimes, I noted, waking up early is actually worth it.

How to stop to take pictures.

Much like I regard those who willingly wake up at 4am with suspicion, I also feel suspicious of people who take too many pictures of their food, vacations, or selves.

Why? 

Because moments should not be defined by how they look in your camera roll, but rather, how they make you feel, and the person they turn you into. 

So generally speaking, my stance is “put your phone away, for crying out loud”.

However, I must admit, in some select circumstances the act of taking a picture also does something else. 

Along the hike, taking photos of my journey was a way to reiterate to myself “this is a moment I want to treasure”, and then I captured it, not only with the click of my phone, but also a mental click that said “I want to hold this moment in time forever”. 

So I did.

Keep adventuring.

After climbing Mt. Fuji, my bucket list only got bigger. 

As soon as I got home, I wondered what other mountains there were to climb (besides Mt. Everest). 

I wanted to climb them all. 

It’s the strange thing about embracing adventure: no matter how much your feet hurt while you do it, you are hungry to do it even more the second it’s over. 

Thought To Action 

1. Map the Impossible: Write down three “too big” ideas you’d pursue if fear, money, or skill weren’t limits. Circle one. Start with the smallest visible step.
2. Use Tech Intentionally: Schedule a daily “digital audit”—10 minutes to check what tools you actually use to create versus to consume. (See this guide to mindful tech habits).
3. Build an Independent Study Track: Pick a theme you want to master this year (creativity, AI, storytelling) and design your own syllabus—books, podcasts, projects, mentors.
4. Pair Reading with Doing: For every chapter you read, add one experiment to test the idea in real life.
5. Reflect in Reverse: Once a week, ask: “What did I not do because I underestimated myself?”—then do one of those things, badly but bravely.

Sources

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