Wednesday and Thursday I put in my final long runs for the Bighorn 100 at the Hill Country State Natural Area, in what I hope will be a breakthrough session.
My goal was as much to prepare my mind as my body for the race. I've long been interested in stoic and Buddhist philosophy, and I recently read The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle. Tolle writes that most of life's pain comes from too much past or too much future. We obsess about past pain, long for what was, or yearn for some future we imagine to be better than the present. Peace is found in presence in the now, embracing and being fully aware of each moment.
Tolle isn't saying anything that Marcus Aurelius or Buddha hadn't said before, but his book is a wonderful restatement of the power of focusing the mind on the moment. I thought about how many times that I counted down the days until an ultra like a kid before Christmas, then spent hours in mental agony wanting to end it because of something as simple as a blister or sleepiness. A lack of presence makes pain and the miles to go overwhelming. I should ask myself, what is so unbearable in the present moment? Often when I focus on how I actually feel this second instead of the idea that I'm hurting, I'm surprised how manageable it is. Yes, my legs are sore. They've hurt far worse before. As for the miles ahead, an ultramarathon, like life, is made up of a series of moments. The only time that ever exists is the present, and agony comes from wishing for the future, the finish line.
With that in mind, I made a conscious effort to focus my mind on the now when I arrived at the HCSNA for my last long runs. After driving from The Woodlands and setting up my tent it was 2:30 and hot, the sun baking the hills. I jogged out to Sky Island with a gallon water jug in one hand and my bottle in the other for hill repeats. Instead of thinking of the heat as an adversary, I embraced it. I knew it would be hot in the Bighorn canyons and this would be good heat training. Instead of checking my watch every few minutes and calculating how much longer was left, I tried to let go of time. I focused on each step, each rock, each flower, each cactus. I didn't reach nirvana or anything, but there were brief moments where I did become much more aware, perhaps towards some kind of enlightenment. I went up and down Sky Island for over fours hours with little agony and considerable joy. I constantly had to refocus my mind on the now when it drifted, but trying to truly experience and embrace each moment prevented the anguish that had accompanied my on so many long runs before.
I woke up before dawn Thursday morning and it was relatively cool with cloud cover. I parked at Equestrian, then jogged down the park road to the lodge, headed for Cairn's Climb and Boyle's Bump. As I'd be running Cactus Rose and Bandera once again in the fall and winter, I wanted to memorize the hills in a non-race mindset. From the lodge, the first climb up Cairn's is short, straight, and steep, about six minutes up and down for me at a slow pace. I did ten repeats before going over the top and down the other side. This climb is longer and more technical. I did five repeats before heading to Boyle's. The first climb is at a relatively easy grade and smooth by Bandera standards. I did three repeats before jogging over the plateau. The final climb is long, windy, and technical. I did two repeats before heading back to my car.
Throughout this run I focused on an easy, slow pace, imagining the effort I wanted for the first twenty miles of Bighorn. I kept my mind on each moment and the savage beauty of HCSNA and five hours and twenty minutes flew by.
So now I'm in my taper. I don't know if I'll be able to stay in the now during Bighorn, but I am only able to be in the mountains once a year. Focusing the mind is a constant effort, but I hope to be present in the moment and truly experience each step.
