Off the grid
My run yesterday (Thurs. July 22) was a relatively uneventful, quiet, comfortable 47 minutes. I was one of many, many people all over the world out for a run. In itself, that fact is pretty unremarkable (although I certainly enjoyed myself) when compared with the feats of Ted Keizer, aka Cave Dog, featured in John Rothchild's article "Gonzo" in the August 2004 Runner's World.Keizer has gone beyond marathoning, beyond even ultra-marathoning. He runs what he describes as "megamarathons" (p. 84). These include a 141-mile trip up and down all the 4000+ footers in the Adirondacks, a 10-day running tour of all the 14-ers (14,000-ft. peaks) in Colorado, a romp across the 48 highest peaks in NH's White Mountains (the Mount Washington Road Race, my one running foray in the Whites, was a stroll in the park by comparison). This Brown University graduate has lived in a cave (hence the nickname), subsisted on odd jobs since he left what seemed to be a promising career in politics to learn "about the people" he hoped to represent (p. 86).
In the same issue of RW in which the article on Keizer appears, there is another by Amby Burfoot, "Should You Be Running Barefoot?" proclaiming the benefits of running shoeless (pp. 61-63). "When you run barefoot, your body precisely engages your vision, your brain, the soles of your feet, and all the muscles, bones, tendons, and supporting structures of your feet and legs," reports Burfoot. The result, according to Michael Warburton, a physical therapist whom Burfoot cites, is greater running efficiency. Yet there is a less quantifiable, more emotionally engaging result, if Burfoot's opening paragraphs are any guide. Reminiscing about running barefoot with his college cross-country team, he writes, "The kinesthetic memories are full-blown, from the slight chill of the grass on my feet to the heaving chest and the lightheaded dizziness of the effort. Was it the barefoot running that made the memory so vivid?"
In both of these articles, we are taken into unfamiliar territory, taken to the edge, it seems. How many of us would be prepared to follow Keizer into a nomadic life on the run up mountains and across ridges or to live in a cave on odd jobs. And isn't running barefoot something we associate with children or with runners from countries where the budget for outfitting athletes is low to non-existent? Even when the notable Abibe Bikila, winner of the 1960 Olympic Marathon entered the stadium barefoot after his 26.2 mile journey that included the cobblestones of Appian Way, that torchlit run became the stuff of myth, even if later followers of his unshod footsteps discovered the scientific benefits of barefoot running, and even if Nike has fashioned a $90 shoe (ironically called the Nike "Free") designed to simulate barefoot running without the bare feet.
The stuff of myth--this might perhaps be the unifying thread in the two articles, as well as that which unites so many of us who are drawn to running. Most of us are not likely to attempt megamarathons, and while we may appreciate the value of barefoot running, even try it (hesitantly at first perhaps), our usual urban running surfaces contain enough hazards, both hidden and visible, to make the practice riskier than we'd like. Still, there is something about running away, running barefoot, or simply the very act of running itself, that partakes of childhood and, when we tune ourselves in to the moment, has a heady, larger-than-life, mythical quality to it. In street clothes, we may be, like Clark Kent, normal working people, paying bills, making appointments, filing tax returns, and attending to all the details of contemporary life. Yet when we set out to run, there's another side of us, one perhaps we might not feel on every run (when we feel more like melting in the heat of summer), but one we aspire to: a mix of animal, superhero and wild child, flying unfettered through the countryside, defying civilized norms, out to play, out to "hunt and gather," living the lives of ancestors.
This other self, our alter-ego, sometimes makes people nervous. They sometimes try to reduce our activity in their minds by referring to it as "jogging." They assume that it's a necessary chore to perform so we can lose weight. (Someone once said to me, "why are you doing that? You're thin enough.") They tell us, "you'll wreck your knees!" I will even admit feeling, beneath my respect for Ted (Cave Dog) Keizer, that same nervousness, the sense that he'd taken a step to the dark side. In a mini-book of quotes titled The Goddess Within ( ed. River Huston, illus. Patricia Languedoc [Running Press, 1999]) appears one by Erica Jong: "Everyone has talent. What is rare is the courage to follow that talent to the dark place it leads" (p. 121). When we commit to something that has previously felt beyond our grasp, whether a 5k race or a marathon, there is also a fear--of failure, perhaps, but also of the transformation that such a commitment brings about in our lives. The "dark place" is an unknown quantity, a new and unexplored territory. Moses, approaching the burning bush, was told to remove his shoes because he was on holy ground. Perhaps as we come closer to our outer limits, the edge of what we know about the world and about ourselves, we too, literally or symbolically, must remove our shoes as we find ourselves on holy ground--the ground where we are tested and discover what is possible.
posted by DPMcManus @ 8:19 AM
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