I’ve been rehabbing an injured knee for the last six months, running “uphill” on a treadmill at the gym.
I wear a heart monitor, which is fun, because it helps me fine-tune my form. I’ll check the monitor as I make a small change in my arm position, adjust my stride, or relax the tension in my shoulders. My heart rate is always lower when I’m running efficiently.
I was running with the treadmill set to a steep slope, 13.5%, plowing “uphill” slowly while I listened to a tape of Ladysmith Black Mambazo, the South African singing group. I love their harmonic style, which is called mbube. It’s perfect music for running. As I listened, I imagined running down a dusty road between tall grassy fields in Africa.
I was jogging along, enjoying the music, when the tape came to a song with a line that was repeated over and over: “I love you baby, baby I loooove you.” My face split in a happy smile and I was inwardly carried away, lost in feelings of joy and running much lighter on my feet.
After a minute or so, I glanced at the monitor and saw that my heart rate had fallen five beats. I pressed the button to raise the treadmill to 14%, 14.5%, and 15% – the maximum slope, very steep. And while listening to that laughter-inducing, joyful music, I found it easy to hold my heart rate under 80% of maximum. But when the song ended and the feelings of joy began to fade, my heart climbed five beats again, and I had to tilt the treadmill back down.
I’ve had other experiences where feelings of joy made exercise effortless. I’ve described how the sight of soccer players engaged in a ball-control drill transported me into a state of pure joy at the end of a 10-mile run. (See Chapter 2, “The Simple Joy of Sports.”)
Joy is intoxicating. The spiritual teachings tell us it’s the goal of all human striving.
In the mid-1980s, I attended a talk by a ninety-year-old man whose name was Sunyabhai. He told us how he had traveled from his native Denmark to India as a teenager to study with the great master of yoga, Sri Ramana Maharshi. Sunyabhai’s joy permeated the room – it was an energy that radiated from him with such saturating power that it filled me with a yearning to know God. I thought, “Iwould do anything to get what this man has. I would happily spend whole lifetimes in pursuit of that fulfillment.” There was something in the chemistry of my being, in the very design of my heart and cells, that recognized that joy as my own.
“Sunyabhai” was the name that Ramana Maharshi had given him. In Sanskrit, it means “Brother Zero,” reflecting his detachment from personal cravings. He had emptied himself, and God had filled him with His primal bliss.
I believe that bliss is what I’m looking for as a runner. At my present level, I want more of it. I find it in various ways, in diverse places.
Years ago, I ran a tiny rural marathon that was sponsored by a fundamentalist Christian group. Before the race, a preacher asked the runners – there were just 13 of us – to join hands and pray that Christ protect us during the race. As he prayed, I felt a tangible blessing, and throughout the race there was a subtle sense of protection. “Then Peter opened his mouth, and said, Of a truth I perceive that God is no respecter of persons: But in every nation he that feareth him, and worketh righteousness, is accepted with him.” (Acts 10)
After the experience on the treadmill, I noticed that my heart rate always dropped whenever I felt inspired. It didn’t matter what the cause was: if I was thinking positive thoughts, singing silently, talking to God, remembering a loved one, or absorbed in a beautiful scene. It was sufficient proof to me that positive feelings and thoughts synchronize my being and make me a better runner.
When I dropped out of the 1997 Western States 100-Mile Endurance Run with rhabdomyolysis (muscle damage that causes myoglobin to leak into the blood, a potentially fatal condition), ultrarunner Dana Roueche sent me this consoling e-mail:
It is unfortunate it wasn’t a good day for your kidneys at WS. There is nothing like the experience of the last 30 or 40 miles. The first half of the run is a lot of fun, you feel good, the sun is out, etc. In the second half it becomes dark, you get tired from no sleep, fatigued from many miles, depleted and achy. It seems that during that time when your body, feeling, will, and mind are down, it is time for your spirit to soar if you let it. For me, that happens at about mile 70.
With each 100-miler, I am able to let my spirit soar higher and higher. The result is, my performance keeps improving and the quality of the experience becomes even more incredible. None of this happens in the shorter runs because they are too short and too intense. A nine- or ten-hour 50-miler just isn’t enough. Even better than the traditional 100-milers is Hardrock. [Hardrock is the most difficult 100-mile trail race. Winding through the Colorado Rockies, the entire course is above 7700’ altitude, with 33,000’ of climbing.] After the first day, you have the night which is similar to other 100s, then you have another full day and another night. The second day and night are incredible. It is like you are living in a dream, yet everything is crystal clear.
I read your web page on running your first 50 and enjoyed it quite a bit. There was a reference in there to the inner quality of your race. That aspect is what is most important to me regarding running. I sincerely doubt I would have been able to stick with running for 26 years now without an appreciation and acknowledgment of inner quality. It is also the aspect that I remember most when thinking back on a run.
