Summer 2009. I drove alone from Salt Lake City to Colorado Springs.
I was going to live at the Olympic Training Center for 5.5 months. Solo. No coach. No training partners. No one to push me or hold me accountable. I chose this.
I was twenty-seven years old. Three Olympics behind me. One more potentially ahead. And a question I couldn't answer: Do I have another run in me, or am I fooling myself?
Every day looked the same.
Brutal workouts in the morning. The Manitou Incline—2,744 steps carved into the side of a mountain, climbing over 2,000 feet in less than a mile. I'd run it until my lungs burned and my legs shook. Then hours of silence. Then brutal workouts in the afternoon.
My Saturday night ritual was this:
Drive up into the mountains after dark, when most twenty-seven-year-olds were at bars or parties. Find a spot overlooking Colorado Springs where I could see the city lights spread out below. Eat a couple pieces of dark chocolate—my only treat, my only indulgence, my only reward for an entire week of suffering. Look at the stars.
And ask myself the same questions over and over:
Do I still have it? Is this the right path? Am I wasting the best years of my life chasing something that's already behind me?
I couldn't answer those questions. That was the whole point.
This is what I call "Training Through Uncertainty"—a concept at the heart of my corporate workshops on commitment and peak performance. The questions aren't something you solve before you do the work. The questions are something you carry while you do the work. Most people want clarity before commitment. That's not how commitment works.
I've advised founders who are in their own version of this Colorado Springs moment. The ones building companies without knowing if they'll work. The ones who left stable careers for uncertain ventures. The ones asking questions they can't answer while doing the work anyway. That's what real commitment looks like.
In keynote speeches on commitment under uncertainty, I help teams understand: Most people wait for clarity before they commit. But clarity doesn't come before commitment. It comes after. Sometimes years after. The commitment is what creates the conditions for clarity to eventually emerge.
When I work with executives through uncertain periods, I share this principle: The discomfort isn't a sign that something's wrong. It's a sign that you're doing something that matters. Certainty is for people who've stopped growing.
I won more medals in Vancouver. Showed up as someone nearly unrecognizable in physical form and technique.
But I couldn't have told you that was coming when I was sitting on that mountain with my chocolate. All I knew then was this: I'm not ready to quit. And I'm not sure I'm good enough. And the only way forward is through.
Sometimes preparation doesn't feel like preparation.
Sometimes it feels like loneliness and doubt and dark chocolate under the stars.
That's still preparation. Maybe that's the only real kind.
About Apolo Ohno: Apolo Ohno is a sought-after keynote speaker and leadership advisor known for translating elite performance principles into practical leadership behaviors. His work focuses on authentic leadership, executive presence, and the Gold Medal Mindset—helping executives and teams perform with clarity under pressure, communicate with conviction, and lead with credibility when the stakes are high. In his keynotes and workshops, Apolo helps leaders identify the unseen patterns, narratives, and habits that quietly limit performance, then replace them with a repeatable system for focus, resilience, and decisive action.