Greater Lengths

This spring, I set three training goals for myself. This past Wednesday, 8.19.20, I achieved the the final goal, which was cycling from my apartment in Brooklyn to a small movie theater that my family used to partially own and operate in Greenport, Long Island. The trek totaled approximately 108 miles (the numerical significance of which was not lost on me, but more on that in just a moment). As a kid I remember seeing movies like A League of Their Own and Forest Gump in this theater. It was and still is a magical place in my life, and it has been a catalyst for the renewal of downtown Greenport. Given what it means to me and what it means to the community, it was a perfect finish line for this phase of my journey.

The Vedic tradition believes that the number 108 symbolizes the wholeness of existence and that the number is a reminder of our place in the universe. Well, nothing will remind you of just where you are in universe like the fatigue you start to feel 75 miles into your first 108-mile cycling journey set to the back drop of hours upon hours of cold rain and thunderstorms that move east with you (this past Wednesday’s lovely weather pattern). That shit will let you know real quick just exactly where you are. And while I initially wanted to play the role of a victim of a weather forecast that had originally called for clear skies, a victim whose beautiful scenic Long Island cycling trip was ‘ruined’ by inclement weather after such careful planning, I chose to learn a lesson and embrace the moment, instead. I learned that the gears of my bike don’t cease up when they get wet. I learned that moving forward in cold weather is necessary if you want to stay warm. And I learned that despite the bad weather, there was still no place I would have rather been than on that bike doing what I was doing. This was a high point of a consciousness I’ve been cultivating through continued sobriety, a plant-based diet, a daily meditation practice, and consistent physical endurance training through which I have tested the limits of my body over the past year or so.

In re-approaching fitness as I approach middle age, I’ve become more aware of the fact that both external and internal systems don’t always work in your favor. Rainy days happen and gym facilities close during pandemics. It becomes easier to injure oneself at 38 if one doesn’t train properly. This has taught me both to troubleshoot (e.g., find new and interesting places to exercise outdoors) and also to abandon the “No pain, no gain” philosophy of exercise, as it is almost a sure way to sideline oneself at this age. Instead, I now look at exercise like a moving mediation. So many of the days in which I’ve embarked on long bike rides or runs, I’ve been in touch with an internal vibration that has gently shaken loose so much that I’ve kept pent up for so long. Exercising has been like tapping into a slow release valve. What has begun to discharge is the desire to do things ‘perfectly’, the inclination to be excessively critical, and almost any other tendencies to humor the ego. I’m only in the initial phases of this new approach, and I have much work to do, but, already, I have returned to a former, almost childlike clarity.

I’m learning to substitute compassion for criticism, I’m learning to build before tearing down, and I’m learning to take steps instead of falling into the paralysis of analysis (as some wise person once so aptly put it). Less thinking; more feeling. Less rationalization; more intuition. This is the way.

During this process, the college at which I teach brought me on as a full-time lecturer, and, just this past semester, I won the award for ‘teaching excellence’ amongst the full-time teachers in the college’s writing department. I share neither of these things to brag, as neither the full-time lecturer title nor the award were conferred upon me for some groundbreaking curriculum that I’d developed, but instead for being empathetic toward my students. I attribute this refined capacity for empathy to my starting to consistently exercise again starting as of May of last year. When I began this journey, the person with whom I needed to be empathetic toward was myself.

At the beginning of last summer, I was so physically and mentally out of shape that couldn’t jog up a particular hill in Prospect Park without panicking and resorting to walking. I would only run on a treadmill because it gave me a greater feeling of control over my environment. Just running outdoors often felt overwhelming to me. As a former competitive long-distance runner, a compulsive thinker, and a type A personality (in recovery), I had to learn patience and to be gentle with myself in the process of getting back into shape. It has taken me well over a year to really start to embrace this concept of being patient and gentle, and while running a half marathon (my first fitness goal for the summer) alone (because the half marathon I’d signed up for this summer was cancelled) a few weeks ago, I was able to run up that same hill four times in one session. It took many, many steps to become less and less afraid of this obstacle.

And therein lies the greatest lesson(s) I’ve learned in this process. Sustainable change does not happen overnight. It happens when we decide that the goals we set are important enough to us to compel us to not give up and to troubleshoot when obstacles present themselves. It happens when we choose patience and empathy as the foundation of our approach as opposed to anxious freak outs. The levy that holds our trauma, the various antiquated stories we tell ourselves about ourselves, and the pain that we hold onto as part of our psychic identity breaks as we tap into the present moment — the moment when we decide to continue to put one foot in front of the other or simply to be internally still and to feel and accept whatever it is that we are feeling — even if that is the sensation of cold rain on the day that you planned for all summer to be sunny.

And with that, I’ll cut this sermon short and get off my pedestal. I share it, though, because it does not take a rocket scientist to see that the world is demanding a lot from us — some much more than others — right now. If we are truly going to embrace the idea that Black Lives Matter, and if we are to cope with the challenges of a pandemic, climate change, and the whole host of other issues that we are currently facing, then the first changes we need to make are internal. We are going to have to cultivate love, patience, and empathy, and we are going to have to look at the world through a more nuanced lens — a lens that does not default to all cops being bastards or to people — whether black, white, brown, yellow, etc. — being judged on their outward appearance. In short, we are being tested; we are being asked to go to greater lengths, as many of the old approaches are not working anymore. So take a moment, take a breath, look up at a hill you’ve been scared to climb, and then take a step you’ve been scared to take. There is freedom on the other side of that fear, and summoning the courage to put what might seem like an illogical idea into motion might just bear fruits you never expected it to bear.

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Thank you to my workout partners — James Power, Vinny Panza, Mike Fallarino, Andy Marino, Chris Lovrich, Karen Duffy, and Jackson — this summer. Double thanks to Chris and Karen for listening to my reporting on whatever workout I just did whenever I came home from one. Thanks again to John Joseph for posting the cover of Finding Ultra on his Instagram account about a year and a half ago. I thanked you a while back on Twitter, but, again, when I saw the cover that book and read the part of the subtitle that read “Rejecting Middle Age,” I knew I had to read it, and, when I did, it helped me to change my own life. And on that note, thank you again to Rich Roll. You’ve inspired me not only to get back into endurance training, but to improve myself on various fronts, which, in turn, has helped me to have a more positive effect on my environment. You’ve also encouraged me to articulate my narrative more clearly. And, lastly, in listening to your podcast and applying so much of what I have learned from it, I’ve begun to break down the walls in my mind that separate myself from the guests on your podcast, or even yourself. And speaking of the guests on your podcast, thank you to David Goggins for being such a profound example of what change looks like. Lastly, thank you all of of my family and friends for your support. I wouldn’t be halfway as far along in this journey without you. Much love.