The Most Important Lessons I’ve Picked Up from 10 Years in the Outdoor Industry

By: Adam Ruggiero

The faded blue couch was deceptively cozy, though it looked right at home inside the cavern-like office I was sitting in. Ductwork and joists criss-crossed the ceiling, the floor was a single dark slab of concrete, and the walls were rough, bare rock, as if hewn from a great mountain. It was the kind of shamelessly ugly aesthetic condo owners dream of — except for the smell. Each breath provided a fresh, pungent slap in the face, sour and musty all at once. I later learned this was a reality of working next to a hot yoga studio.

Still, it wasn’t the decor that had me on edge. It was the man sitting across from me, whose X-ray gaze seemed to pass straight through my face into the wall behind me. Distantly, I heard my own voice chattering something about journalism school — had he asked me about that? I couldn’t recall. His posture was slack; I assumed he was bored, but his expression was as unreadable as a blank diary. My mouth took this as a cue to continue talking while my brain frantically flipped through the How to Make a Good Impression user manual.

Suffice it to say, the job interview was not going well.

That was 10 years ago, and it marked my first encounter with GearJunkie and its founder, Stephen Regenold. It is no small miracle that I wound up at the vaunted publication, given I did not land the news writer position I was interviewing for that day. So many things had to fall into place for me to eventually get a foot in the door, a lucky break that would blossom into a full-fledged editorial career (and if I’m being honest, an identity). While I don’t purport to have anything resembling advice, I’ve panned a few shiny nuggets from a river of ideas, experiences, and people much smarter than me.

1. Show up, qualifications be damned.

In reality, Stephen is far more Teddy bear than my first impression of him suggested. Though I did not get the job at GearJunkie that day, I showed up, shot my shot, and made a seemingly small connection that eventually led to a real opportunity. In the years since, I’ve been in Stephen’s shoes, interviewing dozens of applicants who are all trying to get their own foot in the door. The truth is, qualifications are arbitrary; who you are and what you can do is much more than what you’ve already accomplished. Apply, pitch, and be heard — and above all, don’t say no on behalf of someone else. Just showing up is an invaluable experience.

2. Industry-shmindustry.

Every week, there’s a new stat, study, or dataset attempting to pin some giant number to the economic and business impact of the “outdoor industry.” Personally, I’m not a fan of those numbers. Sure, they have their purpose, but they don’t capture who that industry is — the athletes, editors, filmmakers, managers, manufacturers, retailers, salespeople — you know, the outdoors community.

However we found our way here, the most important things we contribute to the outdoors are the ideas, relationships, and experiences we share.

3. You don’t have to be extreme to be extraordinary.

GearJunkie was once infamous for its “Adventure Runs.” These group speed trials were more than mere out-and-back jogs; they involved swimming across lakes (fully clothed), tiptoeing across ledges, climbing bridges, jumping over barbed wire, and running through swamps — always in an effort to beat the best time. They were grueling, adrenaline-filled, and I loved them… initially. But it dawned on me once, halfway into a half-mile swim — as my shoes filled with lake water and my legs became entangled in a fuzzy knot of milfoil — I also enjoy things that won’t kill me. It’s easy to overlook in a sea of polar explorers, ultra athletes, and people who seem impervious to pain and fear. Whatever lights your fire (making music, watching B-horror movies, monster trucks) is the right kind of fun. It doesn’t have to make sense to anyone but you.

4. If you love it, get it dirty.

It wasn’t until I crashed my favorite bike that I could really enjoy it. It was a gorgeous steel-frame fixie with a dazzling galvanized finish — I didn’t know whether to ride it or make out with it. If there was even a chance of rain, I left it in the garage for fear of rust. I even handwashed everything so it shined. And then one day, I got hit by a bus (yes, really). Both the bike and I survived, save for some road rash for each of us. I healed up, but there was no undoing the dents and scratches to that pristine frame —but that was the best thing that could have happened. After confirming it was all cosmetic damage, I was finally free to ride it. Rain, shine, snow, salt, grime, I rode that bike everywhere — and I still do. The same idea holds true for my writing (even my relationships): The things you hold dear get stronger when they endure the dents, dings, and invaluable damage that comes from being open to the world and not sheltered from it.

5. BONUS: The most important lesson of all.

If you take nothing else away from a career in the outdoors, just learn some knots. Knots are a practical kind of knowledge that transcends technology. Part art, engineering, and pure magic, a good knot will solve roughly 75% of all problems (the other 25%, like job interviews, are just dumb luck).

Adam Ruggiero

Adam Ruggiero has been with GearJunkie since 2016, hosted The GearJunkie podcast for five seasons, served as the site’s editor-in-chief for six years, and now pilots the brand’s new-look newsletter, The Send.

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