As I’m working on a research project right now, I’m revisiting The Leadership Challenge by Kouzes and Posner, which is considered one of the staples in leadership literature. You know the type–corporate workshop bait, stuffed with stories meant to inspire you to “ignite the leader within.” And sure, some of it hits. A few of the ideas even spark something. But I also find myself grinding my teeth through some of the examples, especially the ones that seem to equate good leadership with getting your people to work late for free.
There’s a story in the book that really stood out, though, in a good way. It’s about a guy who climbed Mount Rainier as an amputee. Someone asked how he did it, and he said, “One hop at a time.” That’s it. That’s the whole strategy. One hop, then another, until he was on top of the mountain.
Now I’ve never climbed a mountain–unless you’re talking about the kind made out of failed delivery metrics and climbs on a mountain bike trail that turn your quads into haunted meat–but the lesson rang true. Not because it was revolutionary, but because it confirmed something I already deeply knew from coaching, working and just generally trying to keep the wheels on the ground while moving forward.
There’s no magic—just movement.
Every meaningful transformation comes from a thousand micro-decisions that add up over time. Or, as James Clear puts it, it's about making tiny gains every day, compounding into something that looks impressive only once you zoom out far enough.
As a cycling coach, one of the first things I learned was quadrant analysis. You basically take a piece of paper, draw a big plus sign splitting it into four sections. In one box you write where the athlete is now–their current fitness level, often including FTP (Functional Threshold Power), endurance capacity, maybe some recent performances. In another, you define the demands of the event they want to do–how long it is, what kind of terrain it’s on, what kind of energy system it’s going to tax. The third is the timeline–how much time do we have to prepare? And the fourth is the destination. What are their goals? Finishing on the podium? A personal record? What fitness level or skillset do they need to realistically develop to do it?
That's how you build the map. You don't just hope for greatness. You break down the path between today and the event and you work backward from the finish line to structure the steps. Week by week. Ride by ride. It's not flashy. It's not magic. But it works.
And I’ve found that model applies far beyond bikes.
Let’s say you’re managing a team of forklift drivers. Or DMing a group full of creative agents of chaos. Or trying to write a book while also raising a child, working full time, and keeping your sanity wired together with cold coffee and grim determination. The principle still holds. Big goals are built out of small, repeatable actions. You just need to know what to repeat.
The amputee climber didn’t conjure his way up the mountain. He didn’t pull out a TED Talk and inspire the snow into melting. He took one step, then another. He broke down the impossibility into micro-goals. From here to there. That’s it.
Same for the leader who wants to change a toxic work culture. You don’t fix the entire system in one keynote speech. But you might start by not rewarding the people who burn themselves out and punishing the ones who set healthy boundaries. You start by showing your team what matters through what you pay attention to. Then you do it again. Then you do it when nobody’s watching. Then you keep doing it even when you’re frustrated when it’s not moving fast enough.
The alternative is paralysis.
Too many people get stuck at the base of the mountain, looking at the summit the way a cat looks at a closed door–like something must be wrong with the universe if that’s where you’re supposed to go. I get it. I’ve stood there myself more times than I’d like to admit. Whether it was trying to build a business from scratch, dealing with toxic workplace nonsense, or trying to hold a half-shattered D&D group together after an emotional meltdown, it’s easy to feel like you’re supposed to fix everything or fix nothing. That’s the trap.
So what does this mean for you as a leader, coach, or GM?
It means you need to get comfortable with slow progress. You need to train yourself–and your team, or your players–to look for the landing spot for those hops. To recognize that mastery, growth, and even healing aren’t events. They’re practices. A good leader breaks down the mountain into legible steps. They don’t throw their team at the wall and see who sticks.
Here’s a quick framework you can actually use, whether you’re writing a campaign, leading a team, or building a new training plan:
Leadership isn’t about grandeur. It’s about momentum. And momentum comes from clarity and consistency.
And if you’re thinking, “Yeah, but my situation’s different,” you’re not wrong.
Everyone thinks their mountain is the most unclimbable. Everyone thinks they’re the only one dealing with a team that’s checked out, a player who keeps trying to solo the boss fight, or a workplace that quietly celebrates burnout like it’s a personality trait. But the core strategy still applies.
You figure out what the next hop is. Then you take it. You stay honest about where you are, you respect the human limits involved, and you keep showing up.
That’s leadership. One hop at a time.