Efficiency Rules All

Early in my college career, I made several attempts to run the medium-steepness route up the "M", the great symbol of Montana State which is plastered to the mountainside just outside of Bozeman.  Attempt one was met with 3/4 mile of running, followed by my legs going numb, my lungs searing, and my brain shutting off from lack of oxygen.  I had to stop and hike just over halfway up.  On my next attempt, I attempted to conserve as much energy as possible by milking the flats for all they were worth, and not picking up my feet any more than necessary.  Again, I was met with numb legs, searing lungs, and a cloudy head.  That time, however, I was actually able to run the entire way.

As my years as a student at MSU went by, I kept going back to the "M" a few times per year.  It hurt like a bugger every time.  But ever so slowly, it got a bit easier.  I learned to relax every unneeded muscle in my body and to shorten and quicken my stride.  I learned that on really steep sections it is helpful to turn sideways to not burn-out my calves.  I learned to engage my inner abs to allow my hips to move more freely.  I learned that it is helpful to imagine myself floating up the hill.  

Coming down off the Bridger Ridge between the "M" and Baldy Mountain.  Beating an old time record from college by 7 minutes!  

Now don't get me wrong, running the "M" is not easy, and at it's best it does hurt a bit, but what once used to be a monumental accomplishment for me to run has now become a rather short and simple workout.  It's not that I'm necessarily in twice as good of shape, it's just that over the years I've learned how to run trails.  I've learned something that in the world of outdoor sports should never be underestimated- EFFICIENCY.

Now out of college and having spent the better part of the last nine years obsessing over various mountain sports, the reach of my goals has extended well beyond running the "M".  In the sport of trail running, I'm now putting my thoughts toward running ultramarathons and peaks.  This summer, assuming I survive my June ultramarathon without injury, I plan to begin running the highest points in Montana.    

Unlike my understanding of the term back in college, "trail running" encompasses much more than simply "running" up and down trails.  Rather, it refers to moving over mountain terrain with high speed and efficiency.  Even when the best runners in the world "run mountains", they often spend time power-hiking large sections of steep trail.  "Running" is not always the fastest way to cover terrain... especially the really steep stuff.  

My exploration for maximum efficiency and speed has become an incredibly engaging endeavor.  The tactics of a mountain run are far beyond those of attempting to "run" the "M" in terms of its considerations regarding efficiency.  On a mountain run, not only are you focusing on efficiency in stride, you are also constantly assessing which sections of trail you should be running and which sections you should be power-hiking.  Much like riding a bike, you also have to learn to let go on downhills and carry your momentum into uphills.  

I've run Baldy Mountain in the Bridger Mountains many times, and it seems that every time I do it I use a different combination of hiking and running, and I improve in my ability to brake less on downhills and carry my momentum into uphills.  I've watched my round-trip times on Baldy Mountain fall from just under three hours down to about exactly 2 hours.  I can assure you that fitness improvement can only account for a small percentage of my time improvement.  Mostly, my improvement is a consequence of better efficiency.

Much like trail running, efficiency is also paramount in rock climbing.  I remember working my first 5.12-graded route at the natural bridge by Big Timber.  It was slightly overhanging, and it was one tiny edge after another.  I fell off five or six times on my first go, and my forearms were rock hard from desperately trying to hang on.  By my fourth try, I was able to climb to the top of the route without falling.  Obviously, my success had nothing to do with getting stronger.  I had simply learned the movement on the route, relaxed my fear (and along with it my grip), and I was able to focus on using my feet to their maximum potential.  Most people who start climbing feel their arms burning and think they are just out of shape.  In reality, they are just moving inefficiently and using their arms too much.

On a route such as this one near Dayton, WY, your only prayer in making the top is to be efficient and use your feet and relax your grip.  Only pull hard when you absolutely must!  

I can't help but think about how many other things in my life could do well to be treated with the care toward efficiency that I demonstrate in my running and climbing.  Perhaps at work meetings I could do my part toward keeping them unemotional and focused on the goal of the meeting.  Perhaps I could find other ways to grade student homework so more of my time could be spent on lesson-planning, an often more efficient application of time when it comes to student learning.  Perhaps I could get rid of some possessions so I don't spend so dang much time looking through and sorting so much junk.  Perhaps I should realize that sometimes being the most efficient comes down to being okay with taking a day off from working, or running, or climbing, and just lying on the couch watching movies instead.  

Dear Mr. Skunk... Thank You for the Excitement.

Its brilliant white tail was rigidly extended, glowing in the light of the moon.  I slowed my run as I squinted and focused my eyes to make-out the tail's owner.  "Ah hah!" I thought to myself.

"Ah hah!" was the last conscious thought that needed to go through my mind.  From there, it was all primal flight instinct... beautiful, primal flight instinct.  My body new exactly what to do when it spotted the skunk setting up to spray, and my conscious mind was nothing more than a passenger and an observer as the magic unfolded.

In no more than two steps, I had executed a complete 180-degree rotation and was liberated from the odoriferous keester cannon of the skunk in question.  I felt an icy chill trickle down my spine, alerting me to the fact that my sympathetic nervous system was fired up and ready for action.

And action it got.  I had the privilege of repeating this similar encounter several other times... all within the next ten minutes.  There were a lot of skunks out there that fine Wednesday night.

When I walked into school the next morning, I stepped in front of my classes with a renewed confidence.  I guess there's just something about taking a close look at an armed skunk nozzle that brings new clarity to one's life.  Expensive car problems, mean students, too much "extra-curricular stress"... their hold on my psyche wains.  It's kind of inexplicable really: I can sit and try to counsel myself, watch a movie, eat copious amounts of cereal, and my everyday problems still leave just as big of a knot in my stomach.  But then I nearly get sprayed by a few skunks while out running, and I'm suddenly excited about life and exploration and I release the worries that the world tends to guilt me into carrying.  I find I like myself a lot more.  

I feel that in our culture we've taken to carrying large loads of mental engagement and responsibility while our physical bodies are left to coast alongside.  Think about how much of your day is an almost entirely mental activity, and how much of your day is a physical activity!  Alarming, isn't it?

We have the ability to move, to react without thought to a skunk, to change direction in an instant when we nearly step on a rattlesnake (another story for later).  We can run for an entire day, climb cliffs, boulders, and trees.  We can achieve amazing physical feats that are right up there with all of the other wild animals in the world.  Yet we sit at desks and get stressed.

I believe that those good feelings I get from being physically active... the "runners high" as they call it in running, are very important indicators that we are made with a need to move.  By paying attention to my reactions to my days spent running and climbing, even the ones that don't involve nearly getting sprayed or bitten, I've noticed that my life feels so much more balanced when I am allowed to move.  Just as our physical bodies are forced to sit idly by as we work or watch TV, it's important to give our minds a rest and allow physical motion to take control.

The Great Work-Play Balance

I was at about 9,000 feet in elevation, around switchback #15 en route to the Froze-to-Death Plateau in the Beartooth Mountains.  This trail, which begins in the West Rosebud Canyon at about 6500 feet is one of the most popular approaches to Granite Peak.  I personally had traveled the trail many times, but this time was different; this time I was running.  I passed two climbers, each loaded with 40 lb packs as they slogged their way to Montana's highest peak.  Under the misery of their large loads, they silently stared as I ran past, bearing looks that suggested that they had just seen an alien.

Though my time as a mountain-lover has been life-long, my career as a trail runner has truly only been a few years.   Every year, my love and understanding of the sport increases.  One of the most interesting, and at times embarrassing, components of trail running is my encounters with others.  Like the two climbers that day near the Froze-to-Death Plateau, some people just stare... at times with pained looks on their faces.  Others simply think something is psychologically wrong with me:  On a separate run in the Beartooth Mountains, a middle-aged man once asked me if I was on amphetamines.  How does one respond to a question like that?

Thankfully, aside from the awkward stares and remarks of a few, most people cordially say hi and look at me with a sparkle in their eyes, as if my choice to run mountain trails is something of note, perhaps even a bit inspiring.

You feel a bit bizarre as a Montana trail runner, especially one who goes deep into the mountains.  Aside from the ultramarathon I ran last summer, I'm the only trail runner I've ever personally seen more than 5 miles into the mountains; and when it comes to ultramarathons, it's been estimated that probably less than 0.1% of Americans have completed one.

More than any other activity in which I have been involved, trail running clearly demonstrates to me just how different we all are.  Running in the mountains is becoming a part of who I am, a necessary component of "me."  Though it is often painful, it has a way of inspiring me with the simplicity of its motion and the speed of its exploration.  It's a place of restoration and happiness for me.  Though the masses may look to those who enjoy hours of running up mountains as pillars of discipline and fitness, most non-runners lack an understanding of just how simple it is; In my life, staying fit just happens... it's just what I do.

To no surprise, there is always a trade off.  Though I'm gifted with a love of movement and exploration, I'm not gifted with a tolerance for long work days and massive "to do" lists.  Not unlike those climbers who stared at me as if they'd seen an alien, I find myself doing the same with some of the teachers with whom I work.  Somehow, they are able to teach all day, organize region-wide competitions, serve on committees, contact piles of parents a week, and then coach a club or sport for good measure.  And they keep at it week after week!  I try to pretend to keep up with them once or twice a year, but then I usually experience something resembling a nervous breakdown.

During one of my little breakdowns in the month of December, I had some discussions with myself that involved some heavy consideration on whether or not I would be able to continue as a teacher.  I simply couldn't keep up with everything that I "should" be doing.  I racked my brain for a couple of months, and right about the time I was signing-up for my next 50 miler, I had a little reality check.

I really enjoy quite a lot about teaching.  I love entertaining the students, I love writing interesting and applicable activities, I love thinking about how to outsmart misconceptions, and I enjoy working in an environment with intelligent coworkers who care about what they do.  To top it all off, I've had quite a lot of success.  Why on earth would I not be teaching?  Like mountain running, it's part of me as well!

It is so easy to fall into ruts of guilt and inadequacy as we struggle to keep up with all of the tasks and the other people around us.  The teachers that can juggle all that stuff are beasts to me, plain and simple.  However, just as a 5K runner shouldn't feel guilty for not having the necessary desire to train for a 50-mile run, I realize that I shouldn't feel guilty for being unable to juggle the tasks of a "super-teacher."  I have a strong desire to teach math well, to help out a little extra in the school, and to run a climbing club.  For some reason, I am also drawn to climb and to run in the mountains, and I can't allow myself to become so over-stressed from too much work that the mountains lose their meaning.  All of it, from the teaching to the running, comprises "me".  It's a shame for any of us to lose a meaningful part of ourselves to the overabundance of tasks which are constantly vying for our attention.