Resuscitation

I am at that point in the summer where I confront images of the new school year. Some of these images come in anxiety dreams; others I conjure deliberately. Either way, I am reflecting on how I will approach writing this year. I typically drive my students to write a lot and to explore new approaches to their writing. I encourage them to step out of the staid forms they have used before. In this reflection I can't help but make some observations on my own approaches to writing.

I have engaged in writing sporadically and with little self-examination in recent years. I started this blog to create a forum where I could write prolifically and with attention to the craft. I did not succeed in this effort. I narrowed the topic too stringently and managed my daily life in a way not conducive to writing. Working through the declining years of a troubled marriage, I stretched myself across too many interests and activities to maintain a writer's life. Now that a year has passed since my marriage ended, it is time to resuscitate this blog.

I will implement the very approaches that I teach in the classroom: write copiously and attend to the craft. Like running, I must write regularly and abundantly to improve. Writing to just write isn't enough either. I need to use writing as a vehicle to explore questions and express ideas that I am passionate about. Each week or so, I will turn out some sort of writing whether an essay, a review, or even a narrative. The level of polish will vary as will the success of each work. But, the writing will be done.

In the title Cursor Invictus I have attempted to take the activity of running as a metaphor or a value upon which I can engage life. While I still think there is value in this approach, it is too narrow of a topic and, at best, operates as one virtue on a field of contending values. As an atheist, I take on the task of exploring the rich values available to us as human beings on this pale blue dot. In subsequent posts I will embark on an exploration of the virtues I find most meaningful and intriguing. I will interrogate their limitations and contradictions. I will mine out their beauty and usefulness from lived experience. I will attempt to give form to my own ineffable encounters with the lived world. To engage in value creation.

I had the privilege of having lunch with a visiting friend the other day. Our conversation circled around writing and the obstacles that get in the way: time, perfectionism, anxieties about audience, or even wondering about how our writing might be received. By the time we finished we both agreed that in the end you just have to say, "fuck it" and write!

Random Acts of Kindness in Competition

I have received many random acts of kindness in my life, but none have been more significant than when running. Distance running is a brutal sport that pushes the athlete to his very limits. Whenever I race a distance of twenty-six miles, I exhaust every ounce of energy I have. Yet, athletes face more challenges than just the extremes of a given race. To train at the level necessary to excel in this sport injures many athletes. Running mile after mile, day after day, punishes the legs and body with multiplied effects.

For years, I had attempted to train so that I could complete a marathon, but I always ended up injured. Attempt after attempt, strained hip, knee pain, tendonitis, or simple over-training would sideline me. At last, frustrated and despairing, I joined a running club and met Austin. Austin was a veteran runner who had completed numerous marathons. When I started through the club training program, just as in my attempts before, I injured myself again. This time it was a case of tendonitis in my lower legs. During one of our club training runs, Austin noticed that I was favoring the injured leg. Pulling me aside, he asked me what was wrong. After I described the injury for him, he smiled.

“A simple fix.” His easy instructions worked like a magic wand and I completed my first marathon a few weeks later.

Over a year later, I received yet another random act of kindness while competing in my third marathon. Even though I had undergone surgery just six months earlier, I wanted to run fast enough to qualify for the Boston Marathon. The oldest and most prestigious of distance races in the world, the Boston Marathon only allows runners who have run qualifying times to participate. For me, the time to beat was 3:15. Seventeen miles into the race I felt great and thought I could easily reach my goal time. Then it happened as in nearly every marathon. I felt fatigue and doubt assail me like a wall of bricks blocking my path. My legs all of a sudden felt like lead. I couldn’t imagine running further. I turned a corner and was then running up a slight hill and into the wind. Eight more miles to go! My mind and body screamed, “No more!” I wanted to rest; lie down on the street and sleep. Then another runner came along beside me. He wasn’t alone. Though I was somewhat delirious with fatigue I could see that this group of three or four runners were in a makeshift “V” formation, breaking through the wind.

“Tuck in behind me,” he said.

“Huh?” I wasn’t sure what he meant.

“Tuck in. We will take you in,” he instructed again. I moved over within this group and the struggle disappeared. The wind no longer bothered me in the pocket they created and the fatigue and doubt went away as quickly as it had come. I now knew I just needed to stay with them. They carried me in this fashion until mile twenty-four when I could no longer stay with them. Their gift had been sufficient though. I ended up finishing with a time of 3:00:14; I had smashed the qualifying time standard by almost fifteen minutes. I never saw those guys again but I will never forget their kind act.

Far from unusual, random acts of kindness such as these take place all the time in the sport of long distance running. The most commonly heard phrases in a road race are “Good job!” or “You are doing great!”

In fact, when struggling the last couple of miles in my most recent marathon, a fellow runner next to me said, “I will struggle with you! We can do this!” These random acts of kindness from other runners make each finish and each victory possible.

The Dark, Cold Run

Running in the sun, with your friends by your side, a slight breeze at your back, beauty all around you, and a feeling of being unstoppable are all moments sweet and pleasurable. Every runner who has ever laced up a pair of running shoes has experienced such breathtaking occasions. Yet, there are other periods in a runner's training.

This time of year in the Intermountain West a runner's more common experience is running alone in the cold and dark. Shorter daylight hours, long work days, and subzero temperatures limit options to run in more hospitable conditions. If the unconquerable runner wants to achieve his goals, he must go out alone into the cold and dark, make friends with his solitude, and embrace the quiet sound of his labored breath.

Like a winter season in the runner's training regimen, we live through times of isolation, with limited options. Like the unconquerable runner, we too must push through the dark and cold if we are to realize the beauty and fullness of being that can only come through consistent and steady effort. Ultimately, the key may be in embracing struggle as it comes and welcoming the embryo of strength such exertions create. After all, it is in the dark, cold run that we discover ourselves and make running in the sun even more brilliant.

Limits

Most runners in general and the unconquerable runner in particular face the limits of possibility in a very real and embodied way from time to time. Each race run takes everything. It is at the extreme of what the human body can accomplish over a given distance where we discover the best of ourselves. This revelation has proved to be the most rewarding and pleasurable part running. So much so, that even when I have races planned where I do not have any particular stake in my performance, I will still put everything out on the course.

Coming this week is a Thanksgiving Turkey Trot in Hailey, Idaho. I will be running this race. I was thinking during my run this morning how it would be nice to just run the 5k with a relaxed training pace. I chuckled a little at the thought. I knew then as I know now that I will run that race as hard and as fast as my body and mind are capable of. Of course, I am not training or making any special preparations. I am, as they say, running right through the race (meaning I am not altering my training plan...I have an 11 mile run the day before the scheduled race). Still, the pain and fear that comes from being at the edge of existence will be there.

It goes without saying, but the act of confronting our limitations and potential does not take place exclusively in running or racing. A good friend of mine has recently had to undergo surgery and have a pace maker placed in his chest. While this is a source of significant discomfort, as soon as he was able (and got his doctor's approval) he started to run again. Just running a couple of miles at a given time brings him right up to his limits. It is inspiring to see his courage and diligence manifest in such efforts.

Bottom line is that if we never reach our limits we never really live and never truly know the extent of who we are and what we are capable of in the face of such challenges. So it goes for the unconquerable runner to periodically push right up against these limits, to bleed a little.