We had been hiking for three days in the snow with nothing to eat but a few saltine crackers; me and seven other kids from all over the country thought we were going to die.

I asked our guide when we were going to stop, but he ignored me.

Before we started, he told us he would not respond to future questions.

I started to wonder if we had been sent to some frozen penal colony where instead of cells we were imprisoned by sprawling frozen landscape.

Our parents had sent us to one of those programs most parents only threaten their kids with.

The program, set in the middle of nowhere, Utah, was designed to allow nature and skilled staff to nurture self-reliance and self-respect, opening up a “rite of passage” to responsible young adulthood.

Oh yeah, that was exactly what I thought at the time.

We all had our reasons for being there: anger, depression, low self-esteem and drug abuse, to name a few.

With all of your problems combined, I am Captain Dumb ass.

My parents came home and found the house trashed; there were so many beer cans it looked like I was running a recycling plant out of the living room.

My “friends” were long gone; so was my stepmom’s silver.

The silver had been handed down for three generations; yeah, she was pissed.

When my dad came home, he tried to beat me, but I was too intoxicated to feel anything, I just stared and laughed.

Two weeks later, I was on my way to Utah; I was 15 years old.

My parents told me I would be out there for a week or so.

It was more like 65 days or so.

I learned in those first few days that you are only as fast as your slowest man, or if you prefer, a chain is only as strong as its weakest link.

There is a lot of time to think when you are trying not to.

On the third day of hiking, we were all coming unglued.

One of the members of our group had fallen way behind and it looked liked he was about to crack; J.R. was from Louisiana, where he had threatened to kill his stepmom.

He fell down in the snow; his backpack made out of a blue tarp and an old seatbelt strap spilled its contents on the unforgiving ground.

The group leader told us that if anyone else fell down, we were going to extend the survival phase of the program to another day.

Everyone grabbed a piece of equipment to lighten J.R.’s pack.

We all took turns carrying him the rest of the way.

Throughout the 65 days or so I spent in Utah with those seven other guys, there were a lot of moments like that; each one of us discovering for ourselves what it meant to push our limits.

Challenges that seemed insurmountable gave way to our newly found confidence.

Each day we traveled farther and faster.

I learned that I can always go farther than I think I can, and that I am never farther away from something than when I am right next to it.

Ever since my experience in Utah, I have chosen my friends more wisely.

I know now that some people will slow you down and some will pick you up when you fall. Now I try to surround myself with people who are better than I, and more often than not, it rubs off.

I do not think these kinds of programs are for everyone, but for me it was the experience of a lifetime.