Have A Little Faith

“No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path.” Buddha

I wrote earlier about what we can understand about ourselves when we examine the traits of our role models, of those that inspire us, and what specifically it is about them that captures our imagination. The same is true for the friends and loved ones that we surround ourselves with.

On reflection, I’ve learned that one of my most desirable traits in both a friend and a partner is an innate sense of self-reliance; a preparedness to believe in one’s own capacities, a willingness to try and to suffer for their goals, and a quiet-confidence and humility in their ability. We often see in others that which we hope for ourselves.

I deeply believe that we are collectively capable of so much more than we ever really ask of ourselves. Similarly, I deeply believe that we unnecessarily over-complicate our training lives most of the time, and lack the intrinsic self-assurance to just take the plunge and try. We fear failure, or just simple discomfort, way too much, failing to see such instances as welcome teachable moments rather than problems to desperately avoid. We think that challenges are too grand in scale for us, achievable only for a select breed of ‘elite’, who are seemingly blessed from birth with merits greater than our own.

We lack the capacity to “jump off the cliff, and build our wings on the way down“, when such an attitude is sometimes an entirely viable option. Adopting a mindset of deep and real self-reliance moves us away from this fear and closer to reaching our goals; its price, however, is accepting this risk of failure.

The sea’s only gifts are harsh blows, and, occasionally, the chance to feel strong … I also know how important it is in life not necessarily to be strong, but to feel strong – to measure yourself at least once, to find yourself at least once, in the most ancient of human conditions; facing blind, deaf stone alone, with nothing to help you but your own hands and your own head.”
Primo Levi, Bear Meat

I want this sense of individualism to further grow within my own self, and so it is perhaps no surprise that two of those closest to me in my day to day life reflect that which I seek. For me, there is something undeniably inspiring and assuring about a person who is prepared to just try – to ‘have their own back’, and trust in the own ability to put their head down and work, with or without the guarantee of success.

I am reminded of this every time I train with Jack.

Sweat-soaked (and occasionally blood-splattered) workouts with him are just one constant and powerful lesson in the enduring capacity of the human spirit – each time, an unwavering testament to the fact that we all have huge reserves of strength and stamina, if we are only willing to push ourselves that little bit more than normal. His abnormal levels of determination, humility and resilience are all praise-worthy, but most admirable is his unrivalled ability for self-reliance. He trusts in himself, and his own capabilities, to the point that seemingly nothing will stop him from trying. He’ll go down swinging – sometimes very literally.

He doesn’t over-complicate his training, or his preparation, or let himself be intimidated by looming obstacles or seemingly immovable tasks.

Jack takes the plunge. He jumps, and builds his wings on the way down. It’s impossible to not find myself moved and inspired by such a rare team-mate. That’s why, with a little over a weeks notice, I found myself next to Jack, covered to my neck in ice in an emptied compost bin, in the heart of a frosty South Australian Winter.

The morning’s workout was especially brutal. We spent an hour in full-contact with the ice, closely monitoring each other for the early signs of hypothermia. We ran ten miles, and we fought each with shaking muscles and shivering skin for another hour. With the mid-set additions of push-ups and pull-ups, the entire ordeal ended up a bone-crunching and freezing five hours.

Purely in terms of elapsed time, this would be a physical output nearly five-times as long as anything Jack had attempted before. I was at least blessed (?) with a lifetime of endurance sports, and although the ice and the fighting were both entirely new to me, the sheer work-load was not. Despite his unconventional childhood, Jack did not have years of dedicated endurance-sport training to fall back on – and he had not prepared.

How would one prepare, really, for climbing out of ice and trying to choke your closest friend unconscious?

What Jack does have, that prepares him far better for such ridiculous feats as five and eight-hour workouts than any impressive resume of endurance races, is an unprecedented ability to put his head down and work through discomfort, and to have faith in his capacity to succeed. He walks the path.

I am similarly blessed to spend my life with a partner who, on an almost daily basis, reminds me both of the simple beauty of exploring our limits in the natural world, and the utmost importance of faith in one’s self.

I turned twenty-four last year, during the halfway point of my first attempt at running one hundred miles. Kilometres sixty through to eighty were, for the most part, something of a shit-show. I struggled on, and Julie met me, as my pacer and a valuable half of my support team, setting out with the intention of cruising through ten kilometres or so at my now-faltering pace.

The trails we covered are notoriously unpredictable and unrelenting – steep ocean cliffs, treacherous rocky outcrops, and sheer miles of soft sand – and markedly different from the one urban half-marathon that Julie had run before this, some years earlier.

Due to a sense of empathy for my carbohydrate-depleted plight, and deep motivation to push herself further than before, Julie ended up running with me the remaining fifty kilometres to the finish line – surpassing in one long, hot day her previous half-marathon record distance, passing the marathon point, and continuing on into the ultra-marathon distance realm.

IMG20181210131422.jpg

She was poorly-rested, dehydrated, fighting illness and menstrual-pain, and yet, in setting out without expectation and with quiet-confidence, she ran over twice as far as she had ever covered, on some of the most infamously technical trails in South Australia.

Even now, over six months later, Julie can still hardly believe the outcome of the day. Most interestingly, had you asked her the day before her unexpected foray in ultra-distance events how much time she would need from then to prepare for a road marathon, she would have said at least six months. She had been conditioned, as we all are, to believe that such achievements sit so far from our grasps, and that it is only with carefully structured, long-term dedicated training that we may be hope to attain them.

That’s not to discount the hugely important role that training has (I hope that this is clear, given all of my writing on the subject thus far, and the decade of my life spent carefully training my mind and body). Simply, we sometimes overstate and over-complicate it. We sell ourselves short.

Here, with far from ideal preparation and absolutely no advanced notice, Julie ran for eight-hours on demanding trails. She didn’t drop dead. The sun came up the next day.

This day, as are many with Julie, was rich in life lessons.

This capacity was always in Julie – she was always capable of this distance, and undoubtedly greater accomplishments. These ‘superhuman’ abilities just came out that day, entirely unplanned, because she was willing.

I am convinced that it is this willingness is the key for all of us – who could really say what we are capable of, if we didn’t fear obstacles, or the opinions or others, or self-imposed limitations, or failure? Julie walked that path, and reaped the rewards. Her unassuming confidence in herself increased, as one would expect, and new challenges suddenly appeared equally achievable.

I would put forward, contrary to popular belief, that neither Jack, nor Julie, nor Ross Edgley, nor myself were born with said willingness – it is absolutely something you can teach, and something we can all learn.

It can be downright painful at times, difficult at almost all times, but putting ourselves in situations that demand more of ourselves – be it more repetitions in the gym, wilder water than we are used to swimming, steeper trails or longer hours – is the way to develop this elastic skill of self-reliance. We can develop our ability to function efficiently and safely when the cavalry is not coming, and build an internal confidence that we have reserves of strength and endurance yet untapped.

Not a single person it merely born with it, and we all may learn to do it better.

3 thoughts on “Have A Little Faith

  1. Pingback: The World’s Slowest 5k | Misogi Team

Leave a Reply to pathtofinishline.com Cancel reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s