Often, the simplest leadership lessons endure.
“Get up. Keep walking.”
I was exhausted;, my feet blistered, and my body ached. After more than 20 hours of grueling physical and mental tests, I sat on the side of the road, ready to quit. The mission was incomplete, and I had nothing left.
In the modern cavalry, soldiers fight from tanks, helicopters, and other vehicles, not on horseback. But the essence of the historic cavalry remains — the requirement to demonstrate endurance, skill, and resilience. The modern cavalry trooper must earn his/her spurs, a rite of passage in the form of the Spur Ride : a 24- to 36-hour test of a soldier’s toughness and perseverance that dates back to the days of the horse cavalry.
I experienced my first Spur Ride as a lieutenant in 1999. The test started with an Army Physical Fitness Test, followed by equipment inspections and skill assessments — marksmanship, land navigation, and combat drills. As night fell, we navigated rough terrain with full packs, all while operating on minimal food, water, and sleep. By the time we reached the final event, a 12-mile march, we had been pushing ourselves for nearly 20 hours.
While I expected the physical strain, the true challenge of the Spur Ride was the mental exhaustion. By mile five, I doubted I could finish the march within the three-hour time limit. I collapsed at a rest halt, questioning whether continuing was worthwhile. Then, a voice in the darkness told me, “Get up. Keep walking.”
I neither saw nor identified the speaker, but the words pierced through my doubts. The test wasn’t about earning the spurs anymore; rather, it was about pushing forward, regardless of the outcome. I rose and kept moving. The pain dulled, and I experienced I had more strength than I thought. As dawn approached, my steps grew steadier, and I pushed harder, motivated by the nameless voice that pushed me beyond my quitting point.
At the march’s start, I saw my commander, Captain Thom Sutton, leading the formation, even though he wasn’t a Spur Ride candidate. He carried a full pack and held the troop guidon flag at the front to inspire us. As we neared the finish, I gave it everything I had left, encouraged by a crowd of supporters. But just before I crossed the line, Captain Sutton stopped me. With a smile, he removed my rucksack, lightening my load. “Well done,” he said, simply. His small, selfless act meant more than any medal could.
The lessons of that Spur Ride, listed below, stayed with me throughout my 26-year Army career.
1. We’re capable of more than we believe. Doubt leads to failure. Resilience is formed when quitting seems easiest. The things we desire are often on the far side of intense struggle. Get up. Keep walking.
2. Leadership is best shown through action. Captain Sutton didn’t just give orders — he led from the front, showing us the power of perseverance. Leaders should never ask another to do things they wouldn’t do themselves.
3. Small acts, with love and intention, matter. The voice that urged me to rise and Captain Sutton’s gesture of lifting my rucksack shaped my view of leadership. In future years, I made it a point remove a soldier’s rucksack at every Spur Ride I led, hoping to pass those lessons on to them.
Leadership lessons often come unexpectedly. In just 24 hours, I learned some of the most profound lessons of my career, and I hope those whom I’ve led have passed on these lessons, too.
Get up. Keep walking. was originally published in Horizon Performance on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
