For people who are done negotiating with themselves.
Twenty-eight days. Ten people. Every morning you say the one thing you are working on today, out loud, to nine people who will be there tomorrow. Every night you report whether you did it.
In the August cohort, ten out of ten shipped something in week one that did not exist the Monday before.
Applications close Friday, September 4. Rooms fill in the order applications arrive.
Not by working more hours. By cutting everything that isn't the work, and installing a structure that makes progress inevitable.
Every morning you share what your one thing is to a room full of your peers. Every evening you report if that thing is done or not. There is never more than twenty-four hours between saying it and being asked.
That's the uncomfortable part. There's no missing framework, no course you haven't taken, no strategy you need explained. You could say the next right move out loud in about nine seconds.
And it's still not done.
The offer you keep almost launching. The site that's ninety percent finished and has been for five months. The ask you've been about to make since spring. Not because you're lazy. You're one of the hardest-working people you know.
It's because nobody in your life is checking in on you daily.
You set an intention and it dissolves at 4pm with no one there to notice. An intention nobody closes isn't a commitment. It's a wish with a due date, and some part of you has always known the difference.
Every morning you say what you'll do. Every night you report whether you did. The gap between those two moments, witnessed by your peers, forces you into momentum.
Members who shipped something in week one that did not exist the Monday before.
Documented times one member helped another with something valuable. An introduction, a rewrite, a framework, a resource, or a question that changed what they were building.
Share of that help nobody asked for. They got it anyway because people like helping people.
Things that exist now that did not exist on August 3. A website live and taking enrollments. Six course modules recorded. Two domains bought. A 10-page strategy document sent to a network. Twelve videos. Real artifacts live and reaching real customers.
People who disappeared. Four members missed a day. Four came back.
From a brand name suggestion in the group chat to the domain being bought. She'd been circling that decision for three months.
Figures are from the August 2026 cohort, drawn from call transcripts and members' own nightly reports. Self-reported where noted. Nothing here is rounded up.
Every night of the sprint, each member answers one question in writing: “Where did I break the standard with myself today?” These are from the first week. No names, no edits, no tidying. Every one of these people is still in the room.
“Allowed myself to evade the task, going on a set-up diversion that I didn't get a grip on until more than four hours were consumed. I watched myself spin out.”
“I'm noticing this pattern of sitting down at my desk and being like, oh, let me just do this. Oh, let me just do this. I'm going to get all these other things done before the one thing.”
“I spent this whole week prepping with testimonials and launching a date rather than enrolling anyone.”
“I realized I have all of this relationship capital, and I've never asked.”
“Still choosing to work on other things first, and leaving this until later.”
“I set a larger goal than time allowed for.” And two days later: “I'm working to retrain myself not to overbook myself on my client days, and I did it again.”
“I can't believe how long I've been hiding my gifts and not serving people.”
“My work ethic standard is vague, wobbly and mostly without clear directive.”
“I didn't do what I said I would do, even though what I did do also felt important and helpful.”
Nobody wrote these for you. They wrote them at the end of a long day, in a private group chat, to nine other people who would see them in the morning. If one of them sounded like your own handwriting, that is the whole reason this exists.
Earlier this year I moved to Buenos Aires for a month with one intention: LOCK IN.
I cut the noise. I stopped being available to everyone. I started sleeping 8–9 hours a night with 100% sleep scores, in bed by 10, up without an alarm. Every morning: sunlight outdoors, 30 minutes of movement, a standup meeting with myself, then two hours of deep work before the world could reach me.
I did the best coaching work of my career that month. I trained every day. I walked 10,000 steps a day. And today none of this feels like discipline anymore… it's just who I am.
I'm running the same structure right now from Bellingham, WA along with the first cohort of LOCK IN with ten other people.
I'm not selling you a system I used once and forgot about.
I'm inviting you into the one I live in daily that forces you to do the most important thing for yourself every day.
Borrowed from the best engineering teams in the world, pointed at the single most important project in your business.
7:00am Pacific or 9:00am Pacific, whichever starts your workday. Four questions out loud to the room: where's your energy, what's the ONE thing you're moving today, what could block it, and what's your first move. Then you go and execute.
In the private WhatsApp group when your day is done: Your One Thing, done or not done. What actually happened. Where you broke the standard with yourself. Your non-negotiables. Tomorrow's One Thing, decided tonight. Your score, and one sentence why.
Both rooms together, 9am Pacific. Wins, what's working, what broke, and live practice at the thing nearly everyone avoids: asking another human being for something specific.
Four weekly milestones, set before day one. Each Sunday you post whether you hit it. Not as a grade, as a sensor, so that if the plan is wrong you find out on day seven instead of day twenty-eight.
Two hours where every one of the ten reads out the sentence they wrote on September 6 and says done or not done, in front of the nine people who watched them do it. 10:00am Pacific, 1:00pm Eastern.
It is Wednesday the ninth, day three. You are at your desk at 9:04 with coffee you have not touched. Four people are on the screen. You say your one thing out loud and hear how weak it sounds, so you say a better one. That correction, ten seconds long, at 9:04 on a Wednesday, is a permanent upgrade into becoming the operator you were destined to be.
In August, ten people handed each other something useful 105 times. A rewrite, an introduction, a framework, a question that changed what someone was building. Every one of the ten gave at least once.
One of those handoffs went from a suggestion in the group chat to a domain bought in eighty-four minutes.
That happens because ten people see each other every morning for four weeks and stop performing for each other around day five. A course cannot do that. That's why the room is capped at ten.
“DONE! Built it at 9:15pm after an insane day when I didn't want to. (Resistance is real!), but damn it feels good to keep my commitment to myself!”
“I'm focusing on one thing and as a seemingly strange side note, I'm getting tons of other things effortlessly completed — like the TEDx application that feels like it's writing itself even though it wasn't on my radar earlier this month.”
“Proud of myself for learning how to meet my edge and then the edge past that and after that without emotional collapse.”
“I had a long-ass fucking day and I didn't let it derail me from Doing It Anyway!”
Most people spend a whole quarter avoiding one decision: what actually matters most. You'll make it in a couple of hours, before the sprint even starts, with the help of these two tools.
The Wheel of Life. A diagnostic I've used on myself and with clients for over a decade. Score the twelve areas of your life and business honestly, with questions that don't let you hide, and find the bottleneck: the one area quietly throttling the others.
The Sprint Map. One page that runs your month. Your ONE project. The sentence that says what shipped means on October 4, written so somebody else could check it. Four weekly milestones. Your daily non-negotiables. And your exact first move for 9am on Monday the 7th.
You walk into day one knowing the three things most people never get clear on: the one project September is for, what done looks like, and the first move you make the moment the standup ends.
If September is the wrong month, say so and I'll hold you a seat for the next round.
Post your standups, come to the calls, do the month. If at the end of it you feel like you didn't get what you wanted, I'll coach you one-on-one for free, until you do.
I can make that bet because the right structure inevitably creates results. I've watched it happen for fourteen years, and I'm living in it right now.
Six questions, one of them optional. About four minutes. I read every one myself and you'll hear back within twenty-four hours, either way.
You post your four lines in the group instead, and you're still in. Four people in the August cohort missed a day. Four came back. Nobody has ever been thrown out of this thing. The structure is designed to make returning easy, because the danger was never the miss. It's the story you tell yourself afterwards.
Too small almost never kills anyone in a sprint. Too vague does. If you can say what would exist on October 4 and a stranger could check it, the size takes care of itself.
You keep the Sprint Map, the operating system that forces momentum, and nine new friends who watched you build something. Whether you run another sprint is up to you. You can run the system in your own life, run it with a friend, or join us for another round.
Most of them are a Slack channel and good intentions. Two things make this different and both are structural: it's live, so you say it to faces, and it's daily, so there's never more than twenty-four hours between saying and being asked. Four people missed a day in August. Four came back the next morning, because the next morning was there.
No curriculum. You get an operating system for the month: a fifteen-minute live standup every weekday, a six-line report every night, an all-hands on Saturday, a milestone on Sunday, and nine people who notice, plus a couple of hours of pre-work before day one so you arrive knowing what you're building. The absence of a content library is deliberate. You have never once failed because you didn't have enough information.
Yes, as long as it's verifiable. "Get healthier" won't survive week one. "Recorded and published five meditations" will. The test isn't whether it makes money, it's whether a stranger could look at it on October 4 and say done.
Ten seats. We start Monday the 7th.
Apply for a seatApplications close Friday, September 4.