In October 1911, British Navy Officer Robert Falcon Scott and Norwegian explorer Roald Amundsen set out in a race for an unprecedented feat.
Their goal: to be the first in history to reach the South Pole.
While Scott and Amundsen shared the same vision, they differed in every other way.
Backed by a powerful empire, Scott led a team of 62 people and a mix of animals. Scott was intense, proud, and ambitious. His strategy was to go as hard as possible. Since day one, he pushed his team to “keep up a steady grind hour after hour.” He believed visible distress was the only proof that a day’s work had been done.
He improvised how much to travel each day based on feel. On a warm day (as in -20°C), he pushed his team extra hard, traveling for more than ten hours. The weather initially favored him, and he expected it to persist to his benefit.
Scott was desperate to win.
On the other hand, Amundsen came from a small, humble country. His team was 19 people; they used only sled dogs for transportation.
Amundsen was methodical, reserved, and careful. He set a consistent daily goal of traveling a quarter of a degree in latitude, translating to about 15 miles. He planned to stick to the daily target at -25°C or -55°C. The only exception was severe blizzards, in which they would rest the entire day. He estimated bad weather in one out of every four days.
He set expectations with the crew up front: they were to travel around six hours a day and spend the remainder of the time resting. After sprinting, the animals were to take a break every hour to preserve their stamina.
If all went well, Amundsen thought, they could arrive by the end of the year.
Who won?
Scott had a strong start, but his team began to show concerning signs after a couple of months: frostbite, malnutrition, hypothermia, ankle sprains, and dislocated shoulders. Even his animals started to die from hunger and fatigue. The road to glory was more challenging than expected. Tension and conflicts arose among the crew, which, combined with Scott’s explosive personality, impaired his judgment. The mood turned progressively sour.
Amundsen’s team did not have smooth sailing, either. They encountered more extreme weather than Scott, though not exceeding Amundsen’s initial estimates. His crew settled down to “rhythm and unexciting regularity.” One of Amundsen’s teammates felt that resting in a sleeping bag for 16 hours was too indulgent and urged Amundsen to speed up to 25 miles a day, but he resisted.
Remember the plan, Amundsen said, 15 miles a day, no more, no less.
On December 13th, Amundsen’s team reached 89° 45’ at a 10,000-foot altitude. “Our finest day up here,” wrote Amundsen in his journal, “calm most of the day, with burning sunshine.” After months of incredible hardship, the Pole was only 15 miles away. The team debated whether they should go for it on the same day.
Amundsen responded: we will pick it up tomorrow.
The next morning, Amundsen’s team was excited but nervous. Could Scott have beaten them already? Would they see a Union Jack?
It was three o’clock in the afternoon that day when Amundsen cried, “Halt!” He verified they had arrived at 90°.
No signs of a British flag. No signs of Scott.
They had won the race.
On January 17, 1912, or 34 days later, Scott’s team, drained and dispirited, arrived to find a Norwegian flag and a letter from Amundsen waiting for them.
In the meantime, Amundsen’s team was on their way back. Their pace? You guessed it: 15 miles a day. They made it back to the base camp in late January. Amundsen had even gained weight from the expedition.
Conversely, Scott’s team was in a horrible state on the return journey. Supplies had dwindled to close to nothing. Five crew members, including Scott, died from exhaustion and extreme cold in March 1912.
How this story resonated with me
I first read this story when I had just turned 30. At that time, I was struck by how much I was like Scott in my 20s.
I would get extremely excited about a project, like writing a blog (again), exercising (again), or picking up the guitar (again). On day one, I would go from zero to full speed: write a “perfect” essay, do 50 push-ups, or play the guitar for five hours. For no logical reason, I expected myself to keep up the pace day after day.
I was impatient. I wanted to give it all. I craved results right now.
But inevitably, I was exhausted after a week or so. The immediate progress I had hoped for didn’t come. In the meantime, other work and life demands cropped up, leaving me with limited time and energy. My motivation fizzled, so I gave up. This happened dozens of times.
Einstein once said, “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.” That was me for ten years!
Amundsen’s story revealed an alternate path: slow down and play the long game. His story led me to confront an uncomfortable question: If a pursuit truly matters, is it better to set a low but consistent bar and keep at it regularly instead of bursting for a few days before quitting?
Recently, I started lowering my bar to comically low levels. My daily health goal now is to walk for five minutes outdoors. My journaling goal is to write three sentences.
I usually go for longer once I start, but I do only my minimum on rough days and rest without guilt. My bar is set to be achievable on an off day amid bad weather, illness, and moderate emergencies. The only remaining question: will I do it?
Here’s my approach now: Do less than the max. Rest often. Hit the minimum today, and keep going tomorrow.
“Amundsen had a proper humility before Nature, accepting a rough justice in her dictates. He knew that if it snows today it will be hard crust tomorrow; that after the storm skiing is good; that a blizzard is a time to rest.”
Roland Huntford, The Last Place On Earth