The idea behind a solo fast – truly, sitting alone in a
remote area of the wilderness, no work, no communication, no technology, no
food, and – if you’re die-hard – no fire – is equal parts mediation and
strength through deprivation. I like
both those things about running, so why not try it? Moreover, unlike running, you can’t out-run
your “issues”: if there’s something going on in your life, chances are good you’ll
be mulling it over, given 40+ hours.
There’s nowhere to hide from yourself.
Long story short: LB, Dan-O and I drove from Eugene to the
Diamond Peak Wilderness. We hiked in a
bit, found a trail junction, and we each took a compass vector and started
walking. “Have a good weekend!”
I hiked alone up the steepening grade, past two rocky
outcroppings til I found one of my suiting.
I carried with only a tent, sleeping bag, pad, a few layers of clothes,
and water. OK, so I also had a couple
luxury items: toothbrush and paste, lighter and handwarmers, and a pad and
pen.
I set up camp and had a nice view of the western ridges and
the setting sun, the false peak of Diamond to my rear.
I set up camp, and sat there. And slept.
Walked around a bit. Sat
there. Slept. Laid there, not sleeping. From 6PM on Friday night, until 9AM Sunday.
That’s all. Just me,
and my thoughts.
Here’s what came from it.
First the fun-facts:
-The 43.5 hours – from 3PM Friday until 1130AM Sunday – was the
longest ever I’ve ever gone without food.
It was interesting…I never craved, but I felt depleted. Like an ultra.
-The 38.5 hours that I was alone was, I believe, the longest time I’ve ever gone without even
seeing another human being.
-I did as close to nothing as possible: no running, no yoga,
no core work, no stretching. I
ocassionally wrote in my journal, and when the constant cold finally wore me
down, I caved and built a small fire. I went on two walks, totaling about 300m.
-I drank maybe a liter of water the entire time. With no food, and no exercise, I wasn’t
thirsty.
-I went the entire day of Saturday without a single “deuce”! Has such a thing ever happened? Not sure.
:p
Wanna know what running the last few miles of a 100-mile
trail ultra feels like? Don’t eat for 42
hours, then run a half hour at altitude.
Reflections from the Solo
Craig said a couple things about what might happen during a
Solo:
1.)
If you’re running from something, you won’t be
able to hide from it out there.
2.)
Whatever you “crave” when you’re out there is
what you’re looking for in normal life.
3.)
Every time he’s done a long solo, something big
has happened in his life.
Here’s what my experiences were:
“Alone and bored? This
is way too comfortable.” It
didn’t take long for me to realize that what I was doing – alone in the woods,
bored – is all too familiar to me. And I
didn’t like it. It sucked. What I “craved” the most were
relationships. And people. I thought about a lot of different
relationships – the “big ones”, family, and even the every day “little ones”. Top to bottom, big and small, they all offer
tremendous wealth to our lives. I really
do value them, and I need to put a lot more effort into cultivating those ties –
however weighty or seemingly insignificant.
And it can be as easy as picking up a phone, stepping out the door, simply opening my mouth.
"Patience. Not
everything has to change now. Or ever." So I spent a lot of time with my back against
“The Sittin’ Rock”, as I coined it, looking westward over the ridge and valleys
of the Willamette Valley. I bet I could
see fifty miles. But right in front of
me was a small confiner tree. Hardly a
tree. Simply a bush with two branches:
one that grew straight up; and the other, which grew a few inches upward,
before abruptly veering left…then, down…then back up again and farther
left. Unconsciously I stared at that bush. I imagined having a handsaw and cutting off
that offensive, absurb branch. Over and
over. Hack-hack-hack. Symmetrical perfection.
But when I finally looked closer, I saw that the straight
branch – the perfect one – was half-stripped of bark. Broken. While the
circuitous branch was robust.
I’ve always been stubborn. I think I know how everything
should be. I also work in profession
where it’s my job to change things to my liking. The right way.
But not everything -
or everyone – needs to change. Everyone
and thing has its own journey and lessons to learn. Constantly trying to change
things to suit my worldview is exhausting for me and robs that entity the
lesson they need to learn, that will ultimately allow them to grow. Ultimate patience, then, is the ability to
sit back as they experience that lesson, for them to live out that journey, and
see how much better off they are.
Perhaps that two-headed conifer would be dead if it weren’t
for its bigger, stronger, circuitous half.
Perhaps he grew that way to avoid an otherwise deadly obstacle; a fate
that it’s straighter brother seemingly did not avoid.
"Everything, good or
bad, ends." Friday night was OK.
Saturday was OK. Saturday night
SUCKED. It was so cold, that I slept
from 7PM to 11AM, Friday to Saturday – it was too cold, sans fire, to want to
get out of the tent. Then, once out of
the tent, there wasn’t much to do. So I
took a “cat-nap” from 4-6. I watched the
sunset before breaking down and building a small fire to lengthen my evening
before the cold again forced me into the tent.
I was able to “sleep” until 1AM.
From then, it was fits of semi-consciousness – rolling around on my inch
of air separating my hips and shoulders from lava rock, a nose that wouldn’t
stay thawed, and absolutely no fatigue.
I did the bulk of my real “thinking” during that time: when
I could no longer escape…anything, even with sleep. Maybe by sleeping all day, I was running from
those thoughts. Either way, I had plenty
of time to mull them over in those sleepless, pre-dawn hours.
I really feel like things
– experiences, or relationships – are presented into our lives for us to learn
lessons. And when we’ve learned those lessons, those things end, and it’s time
to move on to the next experience.
People who fail to learn from mistakes aren’t doomed to repeat them –
instead, they repeat the lesson until it’s learned.
Perhaps 2.5 days was just long enough for me to learn from
that weekend. Whatever it was, I was
quite miserable on Saturday night into Sunday morning, but if it weren’t for
that time period, I’m not sure I would’ve fully grasped this lesson: all
relationships end. Sometimes, but very infrequently, it’s from death. But most
of them are not. They might be amazing,
or God-awful, but they exist for us to learn important lessons, and move
forward.
I used to believe that when a relationship ended, that I had
failed. I no longer believe that (though I think I’ll continue to struggle with
that belief). I’ve learned an
extraordinary amount about myself in the past two-plus years, and I’m a much
better person for those lessons. So how
can I be bitter, or guilty, or regretful?
I grieve the loss of that thing – good or bad – and I embrace the new. And
the new after that, and after that.
Sunday morning was good: I woke up early, took the sleeping
bag outside and watched those same stars I’d seen appear twelve hours earlier,
fade into the light. Then I packed up my
stuff and hiked down the hill.
It’s remarkable to think about all the cool things I’ve
learned from Craig Thornley. This was
yet another experience that I am thankful to him for introducing to me. But at
least I’ve been able teach him one thing: how amazing a good beer is, be it
after a run or at 1130AM on a Sunday morning!
Cheers! |
| By virtue of his 50-plus hours of fasting, Lord Balls takes the cerimonial first pull off the mountain air-chilled Oakshire Espresso Stout, breaking the fast. |
