Your March
Imagine for a moment you’re a Roman soldier on the march. The sun hangs low, spilling dusty gold across the column. Your shoulders ache beneath the pull of leather straps, each step driving the weight of your shield deeper into your muscles. The smell of sweat, dust, and oiled metal clings to the evening air. Ahead, the shimmer of campfires promises rest. Then, without warning, Centurion Varro raises his arm. “One more mile.” The order cuts through the ranks like a blunt blade. Around you, men groan, a few mutter curses under their breath, but the column turns. The camp will wait. The road, for now, will not end.
This wasn’t some whim born of cruelty. Roman commanders understood that the last mile, when you least want it, is worth more than the first ten. It’s in that extra push—when comfort is in sight but withheld—that discipline is forged. Each deliberate hardship was a rehearsal for the moments in battle when the body screamed for rest but the task demanded more. They knew what modern psychology now echoes: you don’t wait for adversity to train you—you go out and meet it on your own terms.
We touched on a similar idea in our earlier Spartan’s Challenge article, where Diogenes stood shivering against a cold statue, only to be reminded by a Spartan that true resilience isn’t in pretending discomfort doesn’t exist—it’s in facing it with honesty and reason. That story spoke to the value of meeting hardship without bravado. This time, we’re going further: not only accepting discomfort when it arrives, but deliberately seeking small doses of it ahead of time. That way, when life—or the cockpit—hands you the long way round, you’ve already walked it.
Choosing Your Extra Mile
One of the ways I like to challenge myself is with a 24-hour fast, once or twice a week. Yes, there are physical benefits—extended ketosis, metabolic reset, sharper mental clarity and all that—but those are secondary. The real training happens when, late in the day, the mind begins whispering: Go on, eat. You’ve done enough. That’s when I’m not just fasting from food—I’m fasting from the instinct to answer every discomfort the moment it appears. It’s a small, controlled rehearsal for the times when I don’t get to choose the hardship, whether on the ground or at 38,000 feet.
For other pilots, it might be spending a night without climate control, carrying an overloaded backpack on a long walk, cooking with whatever’s already in the pantry instead of shopping, or limiting screen time after dark (go on… try it for a few days!). These small experiments in inconvenience train the same muscle: staying steady when comfort is out of reach.
When the Route Changes
Pilots know the long way round all too well. It might be an unexpected overnight in a city you weren’t planning to visit, a cancelled training flight that throws off your PPL flight test preparation, or a lengthy holding pattern when you’re minutes from landing after a five-hour sector at the end of a long night with Captain Grumpy (I’ve had my share of those flights—if you’ve flown long enough, you know the type).
In each case, the inconvenience is real, but the bigger test is mental. Can you adapt without resentment clouding your judgment? Can you shift focus without losing momentum? The pilots who’ve practised flexibility in low-stakes, chosen discomfort—whether at home or on the road—are better prepared when operational realities hand them a detour.
Have a Story to Share?
I’ve been hearing from pilots around the world about their setbacks, turning points, and the lessons they’ve taken from them. If you’ve faced a moment that taught you something valuable, I’d love to hear it. Your experience—shared without your name—could appear in a future Perspectives article and help another pilot navigate their own journey.
Email me at perspectives@pilotlife.com.au to share your story.
Don’t Wait for the Real Thing
If the only time you test yourself is in the middle of the real thing—during an actual diversion, a weather hold, a cancelled flight test, or at home when a family member suddenly calls you away from something you were deeply focused on—your response will always be reactive.
That’s like a legionary waiting for battle to figure out how to carry the shield. In aviation, this means you’re learning under pressure, with the stakes already high, the clock ticking, and your options narrowing by the minute. Yes, we’re all capable of pulling it together when we have to, but it’s rarely our best performance when we’re improvising under stress.
That’s why the Romans trained with armour heavier than what they’d wear in battle and marched under the worst conditions they could simulate—so the real thing felt easier by comparison. The same applies to us: by deliberately putting ourselves through small, controlled hardships before they’re forced upon us, we condition our minds and bodies to remain steady when it counts. That way, when the “extra mile” shows up uninvited, it feels like familiar ground, not an ambush.
The Mind Deserves Training Too
In aviation, calm under discomfort isn’t just about personal resilience—it’s about safety, leadership, and trust. Your crew and passengers will often take their emotional cues from you. If you can absorb an unexpected delay without showing annoyance, discomfort, or frustration, you set the tone for the entire operation. If you can extend a duty, manage an aircraft issue, or handle a last-minute operational change without frustration taking the controls, you make better, safer decisions.
The long way round might cost you time, but losing your composure will cost you far more. We train our muscles and heart to be more efficient and to work better under strain—why should the mind be any different? Practising steady thinking when the stakes are low ensures that when you’re in the flight deck and the situation turns, you’re ready—not improvising under stress, but executing with control.
A Discipline Beyond Comfort
The Roman legions didn’t just train for battle—they trained for the march, the camp, the cold, and the hunger. They knew that readiness meant more than skill with a sword; it meant the ability to keep moving when every muscle wanted to stop. By deliberately creating small spaces between wanting and having, between discomfort and relief, we follow the same ethos. We’re not just building patience—we’re building the quiet confidence that comes from having already rehearsed the unexpected. It’s a discipline that serves in the cockpit, but also in the layovers, life changes, and unforeseen turns that never appear on any flight plan.
Your Challenge This Week
This week, find your extra mile. It could be as simple as parking farther away and walking in, delaying your first coffee, cooking with whatever’s already in the cupboard, or taking the slowest-moving queue without reaching for your phone. Whatever you choose, make it deliberate. The aim isn’t to punish yourself—it’s to rehearse composure when comfort is out of reach, so that when pressure comes, you’re not improvising under stress but applying something you’ve already practised.
Each time you do it, you’re not just enduring—you’re improving. That way, when the long way round arrives uninvited, you’ve already walked it.
And if all else fails? Two minutes under a cold shower. Embrace it, feel it, and remind yourself—you’re training for the long way round.
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