I recently read that our left brain interprets our feelings as ‘the way things are’. But they are not. They are merely a ‘readout’ of how we feel in our bodies at any given time when we decide to take stock.
And just like a run on a treadmill will alter your EKG. So will a treadmill run do to how you feel.
Doing hard things resets the baseline.
Last weekend, I found that out for myself.
The Hard Thing
I had signed up for a 60K mountain race with 5500 meters of elevation and a 20 hour cut-off time. Something I’d never been close to doing before, and something, I quickly realized, I hadn’t sufficiently prepared for.
What started with high hopes ended with a DNF, finishing 49 out of the 60 kilometres before the 20 hour cut-off time.
Twenty hours of moving from sea level in tropical heat through the night, through volcanic ash and unrelenting mountainous terrain in the scorching heat during the day. Through never ending rolling hills on weakened knees through the afternoon, until light dimmed and pace slowed down to a halt, until time was up at 8pm in the evening.
Sweet sunrise after 6 hours of moving through the night.
It was the hardest physical thing I’ve done by far. And by the time the cut-off time came around, it was a relief.
The Machine I Didn't Know About
But what I discovered was that my body could keep going. It was my mind that wanted to stop.
I discovered I was in control of a survival machine. And as long as I kept fueling, I could go on. And although my knees asked me ‘Why are we still moving?”, my body, my being, could keep going and going and going.
I was the captain of a vessel I’d been lucky enough never to have had to use before, and now the captain wanted to abandon ship.
The Mountain Was Never the Mountain
As night and the 20 hour cut off time was approaching, I thought I couldn’t go on for much longer. But so it had felt so many earlier times during the race.
The mountain peak 10 hours in looked insurmountable. But once I got the foothills, the mountain wasn’t a mountain, it was a next step, and a next step. And that I could do.
View from 3,726 meters above sea level.
As 8pm hit and the cut-off time was up, I shuffled back to the runners hotel and finish line. Greeted by friends, and fellow runners. Hugs all around.
Relief and triumph.
I was drained, tired, but still smiling.
The Essentials
All the small things had lost their importance.
I wanted to talk to my family. (16 hours in my mom had already started fantasizing about me falling off a cliff and being airlifted out according to my brother)
And I wanted to fuel the machine. (Pasta and coca-cola, specifically.)
Everything else. Did. Not. Matter.
And after I’d talked to my family and inhaled the spaghetti. I didn’t have a need or care in the world.
Life was stripped down to the bare essentials.
View from the last descent.
The feeling of being content with the simplest things. But the most important things.
Oh how much time and thought I’d usually give those small things on any given day! How little they mattered now!
After dinner, we went back to our rooms and I passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow. Falling into a dreamless sleep, my survival machine finally got the rest it needed.
The next morning, I took stock:
The readout from the machine came back: ‘content’, ‘content’, ‘content’.
The feeling lingered for days.. until the small things started to make their way back, spiking the readout.
But not as much as before. The baseline had been reset.
I guess it’s time to find a new race.
- Siggy
Thank you to the runners alongside me on the struggle bus, the volunteers making every aid station feel like an oasis, and the team at Fonesport for putting on an unforgettable race.
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