Transcendence

Transcendence. Once I felt it without recognising it. Later I knew it, fleetingly, for what it was. Can I regain it in new ways?

For Claire, who, whether she knew it or not, opened a door for me. And for Lois and Jago, in case one day you would like to remember what made your Dad tick.

Euphoria Dawn

Sunday, 9th April 2017. I’m 40 years old. It is about 5 AM. I am approaching St. Aldhelm’s Head, climbing steps that seem endless.

I have been running continuously since noon the previous day, in beautiful sunshine and unseasonal warmth then through the night under a bright full moon. There has been camaraderie, struggle, solitude and magic. Alone on the coast path in the dark… yet not alone, the friendly moon reflecting on the sea and a delicate flickering chain of tiny lights ahead and behind, the other runners letting me know they are there where I was or will soon be, often far above me and my only clue to upcoming hills that seem impossibly steep.

Right now though, I am low. Tired, legs stiff, fed up with forcing myself to eat, wondering if I really have it in me to keep going. The word is… trudging. Trying not to listen to the whiny commentary going on inside my head.

I come up on the headland and a familiar voice calls out. Unexpected. It is Laura, my wife, come to meet me with a cup of tea and a hug. She can tell I’m struggling. She points out I am right on schedule, which I am pleasantly surprised by. The tea and the hug feel wonderful but I am still gloomy as I pick up the trail again. My legs are really very stiff now, I’m walking not running and I stumble over a bramble and swear.

Dawn. The light spreads across the sky and spills onto the land, first highlighting fringes of gorse then winning over the gloom in sudden leaps, rich new colours emerge, all golden tinted. Inside me a flower blooms. I am inspired. My stiff legs will move again. I coax them into longer and longer steps, faster until I am running freely again. I laugh with no one to hear. The sun begins to feel warm and I am full of light. I feel unstoppable. The folds of coastline unravel for me, time has no meaning, there is only movement and joy and beauty.

Reflecting afterwards I realise the word for this is, “transcendence”.

The Oner, 82 mile foot race on the Jurassic Coast

Jägersteig

Wednesday, 5th September 2018. I’m about halfway through the Transalpine Run. The day begins in Mandarfen (1673m elevation), at the head of an alpine valley. A few hundred runners with me somewhere in the middle set off to climb up from the village to the lake above, a serious effort in itself, but having reached the lake we descend again and come to the beginning of the real challenge. A sign warns that the route ahead is for the experienced (Alpinists) only and proclaims it “Jägersteig,” hunters’ climb.

And so we start climbing. This path does not relent. Upwards only! After an hour or so, I see I am level with the lake and the hotel I slept in is far far below. I think about the toughest climb I was able to train on, laughably small compared to this. I wonder how it is possible to just keep climbing. Maybe I’m near the top?

Next thing I know, a small orange sign announces “Dangerous section.” The path becomes literally a climb, with a rope to hold onto and a very long sheer drop below. That focuses the attention somewhat! This is not something I am prepared for but hand over hand, foot over foot I get through and pause with a race photographer to look back down at the valley floor.

From here I turn a corner and leave the valley behind; the bottom of the glacier swings into view. Ahead the path just continues to climb, with further heights hidden behind outcrops. I realise that focusing my attention on reaching the top is missing the point. My legs are going to get me there. I grin at my own fallibility. Time to go with the flow. I forget about how long it is taking or how far away the end might be. I settle into a simple pattern, taking in the stunning view and putting one foot in front of the other.

All in all the climb takes nearly 3 hours and brings me to just over 3100m elevation. Towards the end I pass a runner in tears, her friend trying to console her, struggling with having believed she had reached the top only to turn another corner and face yet another long, steep slope. On this final ascent I reach a guy listening to loud heavy metal in headphones; I can’t help but be cheerful, he really isn’t in the mood though.

This whole day has been a revelation, taking me way beyond what I thought were my limits and at the same time showing me that physical limits aren’t really what we are working with in these situations.

Day 4, Mandarfen to Sölden, Transalpine Run 2018, 7 day foot race across the Alps

Whiteout

One vivid moment: I am snowboarding. With a few friends; we are right at the top of the resort. Snow is falling and the wind is up a little. My friends listen to adrenaline-pumping rock music on headphones but I choose the sounds of the elements around me. The air is opaque white, the snow soft powder as the board glides smoothly through, all other sound flattened, my path finding itself. No thought is needed, only being.

Making My Own Wave

Another: I am 17 or 18. I am out windsurfing. The wind is strong and cross-shore so that I am sailing nearly directly out from the shore. It takes all my strength and weight, using a harness and foot-straps, to hold the sail down. The board is flying over each wave, fortunately they are not too big. Even though I am on the edge of control, I feel like I am in control, attuned, channelling the wind and sea. Flow state. It’s so nuts though, I can’t help but laugh out loud. The sunshine is bright and the spray from my board hitting the waves stings my eyes.

How to Flow When I Can’t Move

This weekend Claire attempted to run The Two’r (twice The Oner) to raise funds for my family and I. A few days beforehand, I was reflecting with my counsellor on the emotions this brought up: gratitude, connection, a sense of belonging and also my recollections about running The Oner. My wonder at the depth of the experience and the loss I felt at now being cut off from further experiences like that.

She pointed out some commonality between these moments achieved while running and some recent, rich but fleeting experiences in the context of therapy and bodywork. A lightbulb moment! Recently I had been reaching for, and occasionally glimpsing, transcendence. Because I knew what it was. And it did not require feats of physical endurance any more for me. That was only one path of many.

Into the Anger

Early April 2021. I have habitually prevented myself from expressing difficult emotions. I am trying to practice, with help.

On this occasion I sense there is anger in me. At first I can barely feel it but there are signs of it in how my body is: tension in my thighs, across my stomach. I start to connect to the emotion and for once I can vocalise it. Anger. I’m angry at myself for living in a way that made me vulnerable to this disease. Angry at my ancestors for giving me these genes that didn’t rescue me from this. I’m angry that civilisation is so slow to develop and medicine so limited in its understanding of my body’s dysfunction. So much anger held inside. I’m shaking and shouting as I let it out.

But my awareness has extended; the anger is still flowing and it is mine but I am not the anger. There is something else beneath the anger. A great, natural calm. Confidence, timelessness, trust. Strength. I am prompted to visualise and what I see is a forest. A blue-grey mist. A feeling of belonging to the earth. And that same sense that all is well and nothing is needed. No thought, only presence.

Transcendence, maybe? I will keep reaching. Wish me luck.