Fallowing (Western States part 2)
Ritual humility, pragmatic utility
Fallowing. The first phase of my preparation for the Western States Endurance Run — 7 weeks of “restful regeneration” and intentional restraint, in deference to the power of processes I don’t fully understand, but choose to trust anyway. And trusting them enough to resist the reflexive urge to work harder, the deep temptation to push. Seven weeks of patience.
That phase is long since over, and I’m deep into my train-up now. As I sit here in the midst of April showers, nesting birds, and blooming plum trees, those cold weeks of gentle, dark, fallow plodding feel like another life in a different world. But before those memories fade, I want to look back and capture some impressions from that period of ritual humility and pragmatic utility.
Deep winter is a fallow time by its nature — most of the action is happening beneath the frozen surface. And as with the natural world, so it was with my mentality. With the clarity of a simple weekly allowance of distance and elevation, the freedom of having no time goals, and with no pressure to escalate anything, I was able to relax into the spirit of the fallow.
And since I do most of my winter running in darkness, that fallow spirit helped me tune in to that darkness (which is seldom truly dark) and feel the flow of the night.
It’s a good, peaceful and powerful, restorative flow.
Ritual humility
At core, fallowing is an act of humility.
We are rational and scientific and we seek to control the variables and work the levers and guide the processes that effect our lives. But (if we are wise) we recognize the element of hubris in this, and we can choose, for a period of time, to cede a portion of our control. We can step away from the controls and let natural processes that we don’t fully understand do their work.
In doing that, we acknowledge that there are things our body can do for itself better than we can do with our deliberate actions.
This is an important and potentially beautiful understanding. It’s a conscious act of humility that signals our trust in natural processes, and it implies a native optimism and a broader trust in the universe.
Pragmatic utility
It is not magic, though, and beyond that ritual acknowledgement of powers and processes we don’t understand, there is a basic and practical truth: I don’t know precisely how this works, but I don’t need to — I know that it works, and I can use it as a tool.
It is complex, and the action is below the surface. In a fallowed field it’s nutrient cycles and microbial actors and an immense cast of living and non-living agents, all working in the undisturbed soil, repairing the damage that’s been done by our extractive interventions.
In our bodies, it’s much the same, as the various competing forces of building and breaking down do their work within our physiology, renewing muscles, joints, connective tissue, restoring us.
Hopefully something similar happens with our psychology.
So, how did it go?
My base standard for the several weeks of this phase was moderate, a steady diet of 50-mile, 5,000-foot weeks. I wanted my body to adapt to that level of effort and accept it as a starting point, a zero-level. Mission accomplished — I hit those marks, and my body felt healthy, mechanically sound, ready for training.
I also wanted to bore myself, induce a hunger for more challenging workouts, more aggressive and focused running. My results on that are not as clear. It turns out I like the low pressure and unstructured nature of the fallow. It suits me, and I could imagine eventually giving myself over completely to it.
At the same time, there is something more, a spark of ambition and expectation, an excitement for what’s next. I will nurture that spark, and as I apply pressure, as I begin to run harder and longer, I predict it will flare to life (as it has done so many times before).
Next up? Train-up (Phase II — “14 weeks of serious training”). Please stay tuned…
For context, read about my upcoming hundred-mile Western States adventure and my framework for it here:
Jubilee! (Western States part 1)
Twenty-five years ago today, Renee and I made a pivotal life decision. On that day, January 18th, 1998, we decided that we were (or would become) long-distance runners. My only record of it is this little note in my datebook from that year: Berlin: visited w/ Larry, Sandy, Mom, Dad, Bryan, Brad, Angie & kids, Grandma Shober, Bertha, Susan, Stacey — at Sh…
Nice Jeff. Getting close to the goal and then a shot at the final goal. Best wishes.