Mindful Marathon

It's very hard in the beginning to understand that the whole idea is not to beat the other runners. Eventually you learn that the competition is against the little voice inside you that wants you to quit.

George A. Sheehan.

I decided to do something a little different this week. A couple of months ago, I learned that a yoga instructor (Lucas Rockwood) living in Barcelona, Spain, was hosting an unusual “race” that he was calling the Mindful Marathon. I have run a few regular marathons, and pretty much decided I never wanted to run another, but this was going to be different. Over the span of twelve hours, the runners would run 26.2 miles for the full marathon or 13.1 for the half, but instead of just running them flat out, they would be running 1-2 mile loops at the top of every hour. The first loop was the longest, either 4.2 or 2.1 miles depending on whether you were doing the full or half; and then every hour after that you would run either a 2 or 1 mile loop. I decided to try it. After each loop, there was a journaling assignment, in a small book, the MIndful Marathon Journal. Some people would run in person in Barcelona, but others, like me, would map out a loop to run at home, and keep in touch with other runners via a private chat group.

I decided to give myself the extra challenge of taking a picture during each loop. Here is the result, all taken with my iPhone, over the course of twelve hours (7am - 7pm) on September 24, 2023.

No doubt a brain and some shoes are essential for marathon success, although if it comes down to a choice, pick the shoes. More people finish marathons with no brains than with no shoes.

Don Kardong

The Long Day of Running

Loop 1: 7:00 am

I started without thinking,

as I do when I know

the thing is hard.

Just start.

Lace the shoes.

Put on the layers.

Go outside.

Start running.

Don’t think about the long run.

By mile three, the sky was blue.

I was home at 4.2

Loop 2: 8:00 am

A few minutes to rest

between the first

and second hour,

second loop.

I didn’t change,

kept on my shoes -

just went out

again and ran.

I saw a hawk

above me in a tree

get chased away

by a bunch of crows -

then I was home.

Loop 3: 9:00 am

These little segments

of running and rest

go by so fast-

I drink water,

eat a little,

write a little

and then I’m back out

on the road

stopping only to see

the dew drip

from a pink

hydrangea.

Loop 4: 10:00 am

After the third loop -

I take off my shoes,

wash my feet,

change my socks,

and splash water on my face.

This is the heaven

of clean dry feet.

I write about seasons passing

before I go back out

on the road,

where

a single red leaf

falls

Loop 5: 11:00 am

The miles are stacking up,

the temperature is rising.

I am hungry -

and there’s a ripe

tomato in my garden. (12.8 miles)

Loop 6: 12:00 pm

Oh I must be getting tired -

I stopped

to get a picture of the bee

resting on the guardrail

only to see

it was a hornet

and I was way too close.

Luckily, it flew away

without a sting. (14.97 miles)

Loop 7: 1:00 pm

I am a new person.

I took a cool shower

after lap six -

changed my clothes,

changed my shoes-

went out to find

blue water, blue sky

and a white sailboat

drifting by. (17.13 miles)

Loop 8: 2:00 pm

Fierce little squirrel

with a nut your mouth

bigger than your head,

and another nut safely

wedged below you

in a cracked limb -

I’m working pretty hard

for my next meal too,

but not nearly as hard

as you.

(19.29 miles)

Loop 9: 3:00 pm

An audience of deer

greeted me

at the beginning

of loop nine - staring.

I felt a little like

Snow White -

until I realized

they were just waiting

for me to pass by

so they could

finish their game.

(21.47 miles)

---

Anyone can run 20 miles. It's the next six that count.

Barry Magee

Loop 10: 4:00 pm

I’m feeling the miles.

Rubbed some oil on my feet

Changed my socks.

Bravely went back out -

saw a doe standing

by the edge of the woods

eyeing me,

unimpressed.

(23.64 miles)

Loop 11: 5:00 pm

How happy i am

to see the black crow

in the green grass.

Knowing this is my last

full loop; I will only

have a half mile left to run

on the last one -

then I can really get clean

and eat and be done.

(25.79 miles)

Loop 12: 6:00 pm

The marathon can humble you.

Bill Rodgers

I finished. Along the way I picked up acorns and acorn caps, and tucked them into my mailbox at the end of every loop so I could make the sign for my last picture. What can I say. I love to run. I loved this day. It is so different than a timed, flat-out race. It still tests you. It’s still 26.2 miles, but you can take care of yourself along the way. I am taking it easy running this week, but I feel better than I ever did after a traditional marathon. It was hard and I was tired, but I already want to do it again. I am so grateful for Lucas Rockwood and this brilliant idea!

Thank you so much for being here!

P.S. Also Thank you Tom and Lisa for your support all the way through!

Being a Wild Thing

Inside all of us is... hope. Inside all of us is... fear. Inside all of us is... adventure. Inside all of us is a wild thing.

Maurice Sendak

Being wild

Overhead

a hawk screams

Fierce and free,

and I think how strong,

how like him

I would like to be –

Untethered by gravity,

flying into the wind -

Fearless-

until one morning

I see the young one

Just leaving the nest,

Eating scraps of meat

On the ground

while owls watch him

from the trees.

A young hawk eating some scraps of meat on the edge of the woods.

My neighbors called me when he came, so I could practice with my new lens

If he lives to be a year, his tail will turn brick red, and then he could live as long as 20 years, sometimes more.

Later that week - A mother deer and her fawn are in my yard almost every day - it breaks my heart when I see them. The mother has a broken leg (hidden behind her head in the picture), and it makes her and the fawn so impossibly vulnerable. She can’t run, and the fawn doesn’t stray far from her.

(The photos have a weird, dreamy quality because I took them through a screened window).

The fawn eating my un-mowed grass.

In the morning, before anyone else comes, it’s just me and the rabbit. While it’s still pretty dark, he eats seeds from under the bird feeder and I drink coffee. I doubt he feels the same sense of camaraderie, but I’m always glad to see him there. As soon as the first squirrels come - he’s gone.

I have need of the sky,

I have business with the grass;

I will up and get me away where the hawk is wheeling

Lone and high,

And the slow clouds go by.

Richard Hovey

In a lifetime where I have never even seen a single hawk on the ground in the wild - within one week - I saw two - in two different towns. Maybe there is a message there. Maybe the message is that I haven’t been paying attention and hawks are everywhere. The two in my pictures are red-tailed hawks, the first one, at the beginning, was a young fledgling who just left its nest and was hanging around in a neighbor’s yard. The second one (at the end) I saw while walking back to my car from the farm market in Saugatuck. (If you’re interested in knowing more about red-tailed hawks, click here.)

The other theme flitting around in my head this week is the vulnerability of life in the wild. All animals, but particularly the ones pictured in this post, are so close to the edge of survival. An inexperienced young hawk in an open area beneath the trees where owls live, a mother deer with a broken leg, and the fawn who needs her protection, a little rabbit who is preyed on by so many animals. I feel for them all, even as I realize that it’s just the way the natural world is. Dangerous and messy, and poignantly beautiful.

Thank you for letting me muse. See you next week.

Finding My Way in Granite Creek and the Grand Tetons

…Let us risk the wildest places, Lest we go down in comfort, and despair.

Mary Oliver (excerpt from the poem, Magellan)

Return

Walking

this wooded path

under the shade of pines

beside the cool river

I know

this is where I’ll return

when I return

to dust.

The Ranger at the Bridger-Teton National Forest told me - “we’re really happy about the wildflowers this year. - you came at a good time.”

A magpie, tussled in the wind, perched on the roof of a shelter where I stopped to eat breakfast and plan the day.

Granite Creek Campground - Bridger-Teton National Forest. The Fortress.

The Falls at Granite Creek.

First view of the Tetons in the Grand Teton National Park.

The smell of pine was everywhere.

A little girl said there were moose at the moose pond, so I went, and there they were, huge, beautiful beasts.

Hidden Falls. Cooling relief after a hot climb.

Gros Ventre Campground. Storms threatened the first night, but passed around the park.

The beginning of a hike to Cascade Canyon.

Hawk protecting his family nest.

On my hike through the canyon, I met a family who generously let me tag along with them so I wouldn’t get eaten by bears - and one of them took this photo of me to send to my family.

Cascade Canyon Trail - Weather started to turn while I hiked back to the trailhead.

A chipmunk at Inspiration Point - a stop back along the trail

Groundhog near the Moose Pond. Think he was startled to see a human in the rain.

What a difference a few hours can make in the weather. Arriving back where I started, the Tetons enveloped in clouds and rain.

Sunset from my campsite.

My last night at the park, another storm rolled through. I woke up in the middle of the night, praying a tree wouldn’t fall on my van. In the morning, although limbs and trees had fallen and the power was out at the park office, all my fellow campers and I were ok.

And that’s how it ends. My last morning in the Grand Tetons.

When I was here, I felt my mortality for so many reasons. Bears, remote and unnavigable roads, lack of cell service, storms. I think that’s why I began to think about where I would want my ashes to be spread after I die. If I could choose anywhere, it would be in the woods somewhere…

The thing is, if I were to die out here - in some beautiful remote place, doing something I love to do, it wouldn’t be the worst thing. Life itself is risky. I would rather take some risk than never dare. What do you think?