The decision is to run. Instantly, the race begins. Without leaving my chair
I begin to train. All my actions are now evaluated according to how they
will affect the race.
This kind of preparation is part of the race. These preparations are nice.
They are so nice that I ought to live that way all the time.
Race performance is the culmination of training. The race is a sounding board
that echoes the effectiveness of preparation. One who has not properly prepared
cannot fake his or her way through a marathon. Non-runners and inadequately
prepared runners can fake their way through short races, but the distance
of the marathon weeds them out. The challenge is real.
If there is a flaw in your training technique, the marathon will find it.
If you have an injury of any kind, the marathon will aggravate it. If there
is self-doubt in your mind, the marathon will accelerate it.
I am left with the task of arranging my mind and body into a viable form.
I must create a program for the next few days that will maximize my potential.
I need a mind set that will expunge blockades to efficiency.
I am warned by experienced runners that my training is deficient. "If you
want to run a marathon you need to run 25-60 miles per week for at least
three months to build a solid foundation, I am told.
"My training will be sufficient," I tell them. I will learn and adopt the
Psyche of the race. My mind calls upon spirit. I accept the race. I love
the race; I will defend the Psyche of the race against any evil influences
-- influences that portend to hinder my performance. The Psyche comes from
within me and describes the race.
So I resign from the world and all the responsibilities asked of me; I consider
only the one race that I am about to run. I consider every bend in the road
and imagine all the problems I will encounter so that I will be as prepared
as I can be.
That is the busywork. That is the necessary bullshit that must be done:
foundation work.
There is nothing gentle or delicate about pouring a concrete foundation.
The foundation must be firm and solid, not beautiful.
From here it would be easy to undermine idea of spiritual training based
on the aforementioned metaphor of foundations. Any structure (spirit) built
on poor or no foundation is vulnerable to breakdown -- Unless that structure
is so geometrically perfect that it is well supported without a foundation:
the geodesic dome: mind set.
"Hey mom! Look over there! There's a geodesic dome running the Boston
Marathon!"
Don't let anyone kid you, those geodesic domes are heavy. I prefer to shape
my dome down into the size of a small, portable sphere. Doing this reduces
weight and windage. I ran the first four miles of the race with a sphere
in my hand and, when the sphere became more of a burden than an aid, I passed
it off to someone who could appreciate it: a small child: a spectator.
Small children are lucky. For them, a small ball is socially acceptable.
I live in shame. Children have rights to educational tools such as sphere
contemplation and sand castle development.
Anyway, that will be an event that will occur during the race and we are
not there yet. Our story line is still back here in training, so let's get
to it: Spiritual Training.
Realize that spiritual training has nothing to do with religion. The spirit
is the spirit of running. You may call it the god of running if that makes
it easier to understand.
Pray to the god of running. Meditate on the race and the way it moves. Meditate
to weaken the slow creeping enemy who will gain strength as you lose yours:
Yin-Yang transition.
Properly orient the enemy within: the enemy will run the entire race by your
side and wait patiently for an opportunity.
I could stop and give in to the enemy, but I prefer to keep running. Stopping
is easy and sometimes necessary, but the longer the stop, the more strength
the enemy develops.
Negative can neutralize only if joined with positive. -1 + 1 = 0. Negative
energy can only be reduced at the expense of positive energy. Hence, equal
quantities of free floating negative and positive forces must exist in the
system and the runner must learn to deal with the two forces and master their
concentrations.
If the negative is suppressed (oppressed) it will fight its way out somehow,
probably in some meaningless argument or mood. All forces must maintain power
and respect.
Positive-negative power should be equally dispersed. A challenge develops
in the maintenance of the balance of power. If positive dominates the runner
is likely to become phlegmatic because the evil, which keeps good in check
is losing. A phlegmatic positive aspect will soften and become useless in
the battle. Left to their own devices, negative will conquer and positive
will soften, therefore constructive interaction must be ongoing.
Because the system is put under tremendous stress when forced to do so much
work, sensitivity to minor problems is crucial. Like a weak spot on an inflating
balloon, a problem that is not tended to in early stages will expand and
render the whole system vulnerable.
While running I felt and increasing need for water. The feeling was slight
at first, but was building. I took water at the risk of contracting stomach
cramps. To drink was the correct choice. I later learned that many people
fell to the course because of dehydration. Water-drenched, I pressed on.
The system check and sensitivity to needs paid off.
The start of the race: balance, relaxation, agility: Life is the race.
Sphere in hand the first four miles drop quickly. I am running ahead of my
self imposed pace schedule and feeling good. I am aware that I am running
towards an encounter with the unknown, in unknown territory, as I have never
run a race of more than 13.1 miles, and on that occasion I experienced grave
difficulty at mile eleven. This race is 26.2, twice the previous maximum.
I run secure and confident. My mind frame is sensitive and responsive. I
tend to my internal environment and external environment. The changes become
harsh. The day is hot and humid.
I would love to sprint. My mind and body confines so much energy that I am
near crazy with adrenaline. Meteorite prevention: adjust pace to comfortable
stride near the predetermined rate.
I run on and on. Predictably the pressure builds. The balance of power teeters
and wobbles like a winding down top. Welcome to unknown territory: Mile 14.
The real work begins. The ongoing challenge: preserve the mind set. The mind
will keep running after the legs quit.
Fear of failure: I slow down. I want to fall into my lover's arms and cry.
I foresee my demise: the fear of failure becomes seeded in my brain, takes
root, and grows large by feeding on despair and irresolution.
The fear is a cancer that can not be stopped. It can disease and destroy
self- confidence. I must continue. The only way to suppress the fear is to
keep the top spinning: keep running. This is not fun anymore.
Mile 17: My mind is a blank. There is no pain, no pleasure, only forward
motion. It is possible that I can run this thing.
Mile 21: The line between despair and ecstasy. My tired, watery eyes cannot
focus. I cross over the line and back. My mind slips from the ecstasy groove
into the skipping chaos of despair and back again. My legs continue mechanically.
I am painfully aware of the chaos and my mind rises above the race to evaluate:
I can see myself. My body has changed since the start. I am a race-geared
machine. The logic has set in well.
The sensation is dreamlike. My body and mind no longer know each other. Internal
separation: terror. The sound of the cheering crowd blurs. The stimulation
has faded and lost its masturbatory effect. I am numb to the environment.
I am losing my erection and my motivation. The crowd surveys me curiously
and probably cannot understand what kind of feeling goes with the desperate
expression cut into my face.
Mile 23: Muscles scream and tear. Spirit cowers for an instant before the
awesome force of the race course. Muscles beg to be released from the self
inflicted torture. My legs are expended. The mind endures. The onward drive
is relentless. Will power drags the impotent appendages along a brisk three
mile walk to the finish.
The last quarter mile sparks a final burst of adrenaline. I sprint to the
finish line.
So it's over, eh? Good. I hate the damn race. I hate it because it moves
too slowly. I have no desire to run at that pace. The pace is grueling. I
want to sprint, but I must save my energy for some anti-climactic finish
at which I am so badly injured that even though I am passing people, I am
moving far too slowly.
The slow pace is a good warm up and this marathon has been a good warm up
for me, but the real pleasure comes at high velocity. The real pleasure is
reaching for the sky, riding the crest of a wave. If I can not run the course
at top speed, I will run some shorter race where I can. Running at a speed
less than maximum is a compromise of ability. I prefer to be a burn out meteor
than some enduring turtle.
1985, Harvard Extension