True Endurance
The lessons we learn in quagmires of muddy trails.
Oh friends, we are deep, deep into January now, aren’t we. I’ve resisted properly writing about it, because everyone writes about it, we’re all “Wintering” in the Northern Hemisphere, and hey, I love reading about it, it makes me feel less alone, I take it all on board, yes listening to birds and learning more and seeing more and yes, I saw snowdrops just yesterday and yes, the shoots of early daffodils are higher than they were before, and my own ones seem to have survived any frost, maybe by virtue of being sheltered underneath my fuschia. Yes.
I know all of these things. I follow my own advice and when going outside seems impossible, I simply take an item out to the recycling bin. I don’t thinks it’s ever felt as rough beyond the front door as it seemed from behind the kitchen window, and I’ve always managed to roll that task into more, to get outside again, to end up putting together something resembling a Complete Day. But nothing besides the weather changing will take away that baseline January feeling.
Running helps, of course it does. Even in yet another influx of rain, mist or drizzle, slipping and sludging and trudging in the mud, yelling out loud, “This is exhausting!” I always feel better. I’m not even just better for getting back home to a cup of tea, no, I’m better for being out there, there’s nowhere I’d rather be at that moment.
…Well hang on. Okay. Somewhere with clear skies and warmer temperatures wouldn’t go amiss.
But I mean it. Those exhausting swampy trails that suck the daylight out of me actually make me stronger. I’m tired because it’s hard work. I’m stressed because my brain is trying to see a path through, over and over again, a skill I desperately need to work on for running in the mountains. My calves, my quads, and all the muscles in between are taking a hammering, but by spring, when I hope to be lining up for the second time to run Ultra Trail Snowdonia 50k, won’t all that hard work come in useful? All that capacity for endurance.
I also mean this more broadly. I really thought this year that I could pretty my way through my least favourite season by having the heating on more regularly, making candles and meditating. But ultimately, by this point in the season, I’m still ground down. So maybe we just have to give into it: resisting winter won’t save us. Hibernating certainly won’t - I tried it and my mental health plummeted even further. Very few positive thoughts come from giving up on oneself. (‘My Year of Rest and Relaxation’ by Ottessa Moshfegh is one of my favourite books in the world, but it is a warning, not an example to live by.)
So, we have to embrace enduring. Yes it takes effort, yes it’s hard, but is there a way to make it Type 2 fun? The sort that’s awful at the time but ultimately feels great? This does mean going outside in the freezing rain. This does mean crawling awake even though it’s still pitch black outside. This does mean all the pretty things too, the birds, the snowdrops, the crafting, the soft blankets, but this was my mistake: they are a reward, not a saviour. I’ve been seeking ways to get out of January, to pretend the full scope of all it entails isn’t really happening, but this pursuit is pointless. It’s ultimately probably worse.
Take it mile by mile. Just get to the next aid station. Keep eating, stay hydrated, keep moving. Remember to look up and around, remember to take it in. Remember a sense of humour and of humility. You chose to do this.
Nothing saves us from the seasons, from the passage of time. You can chase it around the globe, but it’s still happening. It is a rhythm. We can change the narrative, though: this, all of this, is where we learn to be strong. And come spring, when the trails have finally dried up, I’ll be flying down them, allowing my limbs to turn soft again around all that they have endured, my mind to turn soft around all that it’s endured. This is the virtue of the seasons: no season lasts so long that it makes us weak. We harden, we mellow, we strengthen, we thrive. Nothing and no one else will save us. We can only save ourselves. There lies resilience, there lies the true essence of endurance, there is the lesson that nature teaches us, and that it had been yelling at me all along.
Here is a list of my biggest recommended reading for this time of year. None of these are an escape from what’s happening. They are friends through it all:
A Woman in the Polar Night by Christiane Ritter
A Cabin in the Mountains by Robert Ferguson
Consolations of the Forest by Sylvain Tesson
Drive Your Plough Over the Bones of The Dead by Olga Tokarczuk
My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh (the audiobook is insanely good, it’s like listening to Julia Whelan perform a one-woman show, rather than an audiobook.)
Wintering by Katherine May
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