New Year’s resolutions are passé. This year, the buzzword is Misogi.

I’ve noticed that some of the people I follow have already announced theirs.

Ultrarunner William Goodge, for one, has declared his major project for the year: running 50 marathons in 50 US states in just 20 days.

Climber Alex Honnold has reportedly set his sights on an audacious goal of his own — free soloing one of the world’s most iconic skyscrapers, Taipei 101. Free solo, of course, means climbing without ropes, harnesses, or any form of assistance.

The concept of Misogi comes from ancient Japanese Shinto practice, referring to ritual purification through hardship. In The Comfort Crisis, Michael Easter repurposes the idea for modern life: a Misogi is a once-a-year challenge so demanding that it forces real transformation — something so difficult you are genuinely unsure you can complete it.

The Comfort Crisis was one of three books I binge-read last year, alongside Nassim Taleb’s Antifragile and Steve Magness’ Do Hard Things. Though written from different disciplines, all three share a common thesis. Modern life, they argue, has systematically stripped away the discomforts and struggles that once shaped human resilience. 

To flourish, we now have to deliberately reintroduce difficulty — so long as it is approached with intelligence, agency, and meaning. These books push back against the relentless pursuit of ease and predictability, warning that over-protection ultimately weakens us.

Misogi, in many ways, is the embodiment of that principle. I’ve since heard endurance athlete and entrepreneur Jesse Itzler — and even Andrew Huberman — use the term in conversations about growth and resilience.

Itzler, in particular, frames it well. A Misogi, he says, isn’t just another ambitious item on a to-do list. It gives your year structure. It becomes a memory anchor. It’s something you don’t just accomplish, but remember years later.

“If I asked you what you did eight days ago, you’d probably have to think about it,” he once said.

 “But when you do something that challenges you deeply — something that scares you a little — that becomes an anchor point in your life. You remember it forever.”

As someone who runs marathons regularly, settling on a personal Misogi hasn’t been easy. 

A few years ago, I ran the Polar Circle Marathon on ice and snow in Greenland at minus twelve degrees Celsius. Another year, I completed my first 102-kilometer ultramarathon — the Bataan Death March. Last year, I finished my first HYROX Singles race in Hong Kong.

That last one, more than the others, felt like a true Misogi. Right up until the final moments, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to finish.

This year, I’m hoping to set the bar even higher.

I’ve fixed my sights on the Great Wall Marathon.

By every meaningful measure — difficulty, terrain, and uncertainty of completion — it qualifies. The course features punishing cumulative elevation gain and loss: roughly 1,340 meters of ascent and an equal amount of descent over the standard marathon distance. The highest points reach close to 500 meters above sea level, while the start and finish sit far lower, creating repeated climbs of 200 meters or more.

Then there are the steps. More than 5,000 of them. Uneven. Steep. Relentless. They amplify the challenge even where net elevation doesn’t change, turning every kilometer into a test of strength, balance, and patience. The terrain alternates between undulating walls, narrow stone staircases, and rugged trail sections. To make things more sobering, the cutoff time stands at six hours and thirty minutes — hardly generous for a course of this nature.

It will almost certainly be my biggest challenge yet.

And that, precisely, is the point.