BOSS, the ultimate cross-training, part 4 (spiritual)

The marathon is a 26-mile journey towards rawness, as layer after quotidian layer gets peeled off.

Or, as others have expressed it, regarding marathons or ultra-marathons:

- "you're just beat up. It really strips you down to the core." - Scott Jurek, in an interview after his Appalachian Trail speed record.

- "The Marathon rattles you to the core. It deconstructs your very essence, stripping away all your protective shields and exposing your inner soul." - Dean Karnazes, in his piece, The Marathon.

- "They use their bodies to grow their souls." - Leah Jurek, the then-wife of Scott Jurek, in writing about Brian Morrison and the 2006 Western States 100-Mile Endurance Run.

Though it has been almost two years since I had completed that 7-day BOSS (Boulder Outdoor Survival School) Field Course in southern Utah, I still vividly remember the cultural shock when I returned home and then when I got back to the office. The desert still lingers. But, more, the feelings from that week, which were not specific to the geography and which have existed, for me, in one form or another going back decades; those feelings had become, as a result, perhaps more deeply internalized. Or, perhaps it's the converse. Perhaps those feelings had become more immediate, more palpable, because that week had peeled away many, many layers.

A BOSS course and a marathon are journeys, both literal and metaphorical. In the first three parts of  “BOSS, the ultimate cross-training,” I covered the physical and mental aspects of this journey (part1, part 2, part 3). In this part 4, I want to touch on the spiritual journey that is a BOSS course and a marathon.

What do I mean by “spiritual”? The Varieties of Scientific Experience: a personal view of the search for god is a posthumous collection of essays by Carl Sagan, based on his 1985 Gifford Lectures given at the University of Glasgow. The first chapter is “Nature and Wonder: A Reconnaissance of Heaven.” In it, Sagan said, “By far the best way I know to engage the religious sensibility, the sense of awe, is to look up on a clear night." (See Maria Popova’s digest of these Sagan essays.) I had noted in part 3 the awe-inspiring starry sky during that first shivering night of “Impact” of the BOSS course. I was struggling so hard with the cold that I didn’t even think to reach for my camera. But, here is a photo of the Milky Way over the Needles District of Canyonlands National Park (from the International Dark-Sky Association), which is not too far from where we had slept--or at least tried to sleep--that first night. Of course, the photo does not even come close to what I actually saw, but it does give an indication. Perhaps, it was precisely because I was shivering almost uncontrollably and, thus, was not thinking but rather just sensing that it had felt like being one with nature. Or, as William James defined religion: a “feeling of being at home in the Universe.”

That is why I so look forward to each of my Sunday morning, communing-with-nature, long runs. Unless it's actually dangerous out there (e.g., lightning), I pretty much follow that well-known though unofficial U.S. Postal Service creed, "Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night …” (well, minus the gloom of night part). That is also why running with a headset is, to me, oxymoronic.

Perhaps the second best way to Sagan’s clear night sky, to engage the sense of awe, is to look out on a clear day at the immensity of nature. On the last full day of the BOSS course, the 12 of us students group navigated to our final destination. The following photo shows one of our intermediate target locations, with the most spectacular view of the week, looking generally east into Colorado, some 200 miles away. We were all still looking at the maps and debating exactly where we were, when someone said, “Hey, guys, turn around and look!” I could have just sat there for the rest of the day and communed.

Thich Nhat Hanh, in his book, Living Buddha, Living Christ, wrote that monastic life should not be too comfortable, so as not to hinder spiritual growth. Really taking that to heart are the Tendai Buddhist monks of Mount Hiei of Japan, also known as the “marathon monks.” In their quest for enlightenment, these monks are required to complete a 1,000-day challenge (Kaihōgyō), at the end of which they “enter a darkened room where they spend nine days without food, water or sleep. The idea is to bring the body as close as possible to death.” (See Way of the Runner by Adharanand Finn.) According to one of these marathon monks, “the constant movement for 1,000 days gives you lots of time to think about this, to reflect on your life. It is a type of meditation through movement. That is why you shouldn’t go too fast. It is a time to meditate on life, on how you should live.” (See also Running with the Mind of Meditation by Sakyong Mipham.)

A bit less demanding (J) was that nine-mile "surprise" hike, at the end of our BOSS week, from where we had thought was the *end* of the course all the way back to BOSS in Boulder. Though our bodies were not quite as close to death, we were all deeply fatigued. Under a clear June starry night sky, those nine miles were borderline hallucinatory.

Emil Zátopek, a Czechoslovak long-distance runner, the only person to win the 5K, 10K, and marathon in the same Olympics (1952 Summer, Helsinki), once said, “If you want to run, run a mile. If you want to experience a different life, run a marathon.” Dean Karnazes later modified that to “If you want to run, run a mile. If you want to experience a different life, run a marathon. If you want to talk to God, run an ultra.”

I think my fellow students would agree with my modification: “If you want to hike, hike a mile. If you want to experience a different life, go on a BOSS journey.”

A BOSS course, a marathon, and life in general, they are all journeys, not destinations. Even in a relatively short 7-day Field Course, the BOSS journey that I took has been life-changing. I would love to someday go on the 28-day version of the course!

The desert still lingers. I can still hear Jessie shouting out to me, that clear southern Utah night, that I've gone past the entrance to BOSS.

No-running running

Biomechanically, there are two obvious improvements a runner could make to run faster. The first is increasing cadence or strides per minute (spm). There has been a lot of debate about cadence, about whether there is some magical number (180?) that leads to optimum performance (i.e., that of elites). Watching the 2016 U.S. Olympics Marathon Trials, I counted the cadences of both Shalane Flanagan and Amy Cragg, and both were at around 180. But, other elites run at quite different cadences. Mine is usually at around 174. To get to 180, I’d have to really focus. There are many other variables that affect cadence (e.g., breathing pattern, terrain, fatigue). The second improvement is increasing stride length, by extending the back kick. The following photo shows the beautiful back kick of some Kenyan runners (in a NY Times article on Kenya, running shoes, and bribery).

There is a third—and, arguably, more important--improvement to running faster, and it’s related to Bruce Lee. Now, I’ve seen most of his movies, like Enter the Dragon. But, I wasn’t all that familiar with a whole apparently different side of him: Bruce Lee, the philosopher. “Apparently,” because, beneath the surface, Lee’s more popularly known persona of a martial artist and that of a philosopher are clearly one and the same. See, e.g., The Tao of Gung Fu. I’ve been reading up on Lee, ever since coming across Maria Popova's Brain Picking piece on Be Like Water, in which she traced the evolution of that famous water metaphor in the book, Bruce Lee: Artist of Life. There are various statements of this metaphor by Lee. The one quoted by Popova is “Hadn’t this water just now illustrated to me the principle of gung fu? I struck it but it did not suffer hurt. Again I struck it with all of my might—yet it was not wounded! I then tried to grasp a handful of it but this proved impossible. This water, the softest substance in the world, which could be contained in the smallest jar, only seemed weak. In reality, it could penetrate the hardest substance in the world. That was it! I wanted to be like the nature of water.”

Lee’s water metaphor is based on the principles of wu hsin (no-mindedness) and wu wei (non-action). See Popova’s Trying Not to Try. Here’s Lee, in Artist of Life: “When his private ego and conscious effort yield to a power that is not his own, he then achieves the highest action in gung fu, the action of no-action—we wei.” “Wu wei is the art of artlessness, the principle of no-principle.”

As yet, I have just the barest of an inkling of what's meant by wu hsin and wu wei. An example I can think of is driving a car. After decades of driving, when I’m behind the wheel, I feel the car and I are one, going down the road; not I driving the car. But, I don't think that's quite it. Perhaps, a closer example is when, on those rare occasions, I'm running on water and it feels effortless.

This is all absolutely fascinating; but, so what? What does it have to do with running faster? Well, could this be the key to that elusive mental part of running? A central idea of Tim Noakes’ 2012 review article in Frontiers in Physiology, "Fatigue is a brain-derived emotion that regulates the exercise behavior to ensure the protection of whole body homeostasis," is that fatigue is in the mind, and optimal performance is achieved by those who best manage the progression of the sensations of fatigue. So, are elite runners elites because, when they run, they get closer to no-running running than do the non-elites? Is this the same as "in the zone"? The feedback loop of Noakes' Central Governor Model (CGM) regulates performance in order to avoid catastrophic failure of homeostasis. Is no-running running a way to get out of this feedback loop, even if just a bit, and tap into that 65% of unused potential? Often, towards the end of marathons, one gets this sense of other-worldliness. The first time I experienced that was in RNR 2013. Could one achieve that sense earlier in a race?

In that same review article, Noakes stated this intriguing hypothesis: "physiology does not determine who wins. Rather somewhere in the final section of the race, the brains of the second, and lower placed finishers accept their respective finishing positions and no longer choose to challenge for a higher finish." Lee, in one of his letters (in Letters of the Dragon), included one of his favorite poems, "Thinking," by Walter D. Wintle. The poem begins with

“If you think you are beaten, you are;”

and ends with

“But sooner or later the man who wins
is the one who thinks he can!”

Lee also wrote a lot about the concept of Yin and Yang: Not opposite but complementary; two halves of a whole. Applied to running, what does it mean?

Not fighting or struggling against Heartbreak Hill at Mile 20 of the Boston Marathon? Rather … what? Instead of "attacking" the hill, how does “being one with the hill” help a runner get to the top faster?

There are many questions and not many answers, yet. I’ve just begun to explore the way Bruce Lee lived his full, though tragically short, life. But, I think there is a lot here that relates or translates to running and could potentially lead a runner to major breakthroughs—i.e., punctuated equilibria!

Running also is a fine act of insurrection

It has been close to three months since I last posted. Partly that’s because work at the office has been even busier than usual. But, partly it’s also because of that worrisome orange horizon I see, whenever I look towards downtown DC. What have I been seeing?

Well, you know the story of the “knight in heavy armor,” right? There was this “exceptional” knight in heavy armor, the heaviest in the world. Oh, you would be amazed how heavy it was! It was heavier than those of the next 12 heaviest armored knights—combined. Of course, none of the other knights wanted to engage in direct combat with this “exceptional” knight. But, one of those 12 other knights was very wily. Instead of directly challenging the “exceptional” knight’s heavy armor, this wily knight exploited weak points in the heavy armor to penetrate. Then, after gaining entry and exerting strategic influence on the “exceptional” knight’s sources of soft—and real--power, the wily knight just stood aside, with a cunning gleam in his eyes. He did not have to do more, for he had convinced the “exceptional” knight that the main threats to him emanated from without--despite clear evidence to the contrary. The “exceptional” knight then proceeded to spend even more resources and add yet another layer to his armor; while, at the same time, ignoring or actively decimating everything inside the armor that was foundational to his power in the first place.

Hmm, this knight story would make for a really great Hollywood script. Oh, wait, …

So, that’s why, in this daily swirl of maddening events, writing about running had seemed to be relatively unimportant, perhaps somewhat selfish.

More recently, however, I’ve come to view all this somewhat differently. Of course, given that orange horizon, we have to resist. But, we resist not just by protesting. We resist not just by being against. We resist also by being for. Sure, we have to push back against, e.g., the KXL pipeline executive memos. But, we should also focus on the increasingly positive developments, e.g., the macro economics of renewable energy, the micro economics of solar roofs, as well as the ironic economics of solar panels powering the Kentucky Coal Mining Museum.

There is much we can do locally; there is much we can do individually. And, we can do all that joyfully. The social discourse shouldn’t be centered on the ranting and raving of a certain individual on Twitter. We effectively resist—and eventually prevail—when we succeed in shifting the light of social discourse. We don’t just react. We also act. In fact, we’re not really opposing. We’re complementing. We can control the currency of social discourse.

Rebecca Solnit, in her book, Hope in the Dark: The Untold History of People Power, wrote, “Joy doesn't betray but sustains activism. And when you face a politics that aspires to make you fearful, alienated and isolated, joy is a fine initial act of insurrection."

Running also is a fine initial act of insurrection.

Largely addressing similar themes, Otto Scharmer (@ottoscharmer1) of u.lab and MIT recently wrote a wonderfully insightful article, Trump, Dark Money, and Shifting Consciousness, analyzing current events. One key point he made is summarized in the following figure and, in his article, by a quote from Goethe’s Faust, of Mephistopheles, “I am part of that power which constantly wants to do evil and constantly generates good.”

Also from Hope in the Dark: “Resistance is first of all a matter of principle and a way to live, to make yourself one small republic of unconquered spirit. You hope for results, but you don't depend on them.” Go solar. Become a vegetarian. Show up. Start running. Running is democratic, as well as insurrectional. There’s a lot life can learn from running.

Running is my means to reset, recharge, and reconnect. Christopher McDougall's book, Natural Born Heroes (See BOSS part 2), is a story of the Cretan resistance during WWII and the important role parkour or natural movement played in that successful resistance. “We should be fit to be useful.”