Wholistic Fitness

For yesterday�s flight from LA to New Mexico (where i�ll be until mid month

working on my book), i scheduled an early morning flight. I always do this

to take advantage of a most amazing perk of modern technology; air travel. I

totally love soaring miles above the ground through blue sky and dancing

clouds. I�ve parapetted, hang glided, parachuted, and bungee jumped. But

planes…wow. So much land passes beneath so fast. Particularly to those of

us who practice bicycle commuting, air travel has lost none of her

astonishing charm. Wholistic Fitness students don�t complain about airline

travel. That is so predictably ungrateful. Instead, we choose to reflect

upon whose shoulders we stand upon. Any complainer of air travel would do

well to remember the dehydrated pioneers aboard their jolting Covered

Wagons. And the horses that pulled them. Why do we get so ungrateful so

fast?

Following a tender and touching goodbye to Kathy, i boarded my plane. Soon,

like magic, i once again soared through lenticulated clouds as Grandfather

Sun warmed Mother Earth, dawning another miracle day. Looking out the tiny

window, i gazed with wonder at the unfolding ripples of desert ravines mixed

with wavy pine colored mountains. From my high perch i can easily spot many

of my beloved sacred southwest spots. The roughly textured canvas of the

Grand Canyon yawned at me as she began her day. Her vastness made me smile

and i lingered, caught in a distant memory of a trail running race i once

did there.

The race started at the lip of the monstrous canyon and dropped us right

down some hoary burro trail for a dozen downhill miles onto the disheveled

banks of the Colorado. There, we made a U-turn around a dancing Havasupai

native and started all the way back up!

Back then, i was a hot shot course record holder in high altitude trail runs.

Few could outrun me over long, high, and treacherous terrain. I had

distinct advantage however, because i grew up with a wolf, Apache, who taught

me very well how to endlessly and skillfully run up and down mountains.

So, with conditioned bravado and sense of reputation, i charged off the start

line and blitzed the descent like a frightened deer. Even a few of the

local Havasupai racers – members of the Native American tribe whom lived in

the Grand Canyon – couldn�t match my downhill speed. Part of my swiftness

was accounted by my Nike sponsorship; those Nike �Daybreak’s� were damn

good trail running shoes…

Running down the heavily switch backed descent into the sandstone abyss was

for me, heaven. I loved running fast downhills…something about it. Unique

also to my running style was that i did not drink much during races. The

logistics of carrying water were too bothersome to me. I just liked to run.

Instead i practiced yogic techniques during both running and climbing to

need less water than others. Has to do with learning the reversal of apana,

one of the vital vayu�s or winds of the energetic body.

Anyway I was having a ton of fun on the spectacular descent into the bowels

of the Grand Canyon. At the turnaround point at the Colorado River, I waved

and smiled at the dancing indian and received the applause of a few gathered

there. Shortly after that moment, however, the hero that i was busy being

quickly shrunk in size. My heaven soon turned into hell as i began running

up; scores of other racers were thumping their way downhill, kicking up a

dense vapor of 110 degree heated dust. I could barely see three feet in

front of me and breathing that much dust was suffocating me. Maybe that

dancing Indian had cast a shamanic spell on me…

Reality bit into me at that moment like a pissed off rattlesnake; i was faced

with a lung searing, throat choking nine mile, two thousand foot climb back

to the upper rim through sauna like dustdevil with only a half drained,

single water bottle. Real brilliant hydration philosophy, ilg. Worse, for

all my finesse and wolfish flair at downhill running, i had gained only a few

minutes ahead of the group of Havasupai who had easily taken command of the

chase and now had me staggering in front of them like a gut-stuck pig.

Funny how i didn�t notice that war paint on their faces before.

I continued my determined ascent and did my best to be a brave and noble

warrior in the fight to ward off my capture, or worse my total meltdown.

The racers that were still running downhill began thinning out, which was

good. The trail was far too skinny and rocky for two-way running traffic.

That�s right about when one of those racers coming downhill took me out like

a cheese omelette.

He was big too. Enormous, actually, for a race like this…he looked like a

genetic experiment gone awry from the DNA of Rambo and Edward Abbey. He was

wearing combat issue boots and had all of his joints taped up. A blood red

bandana contained long, matted hair accented by chopper pilot sunglasses. As

he literally fell into me, his hairy, broad shoulders bulldozed my 138 lb

frame off the trail and into a thicket of omnipresent cholla cactus. Hate it

when that happens. The up side was the cactus acted like a spikey guardrail,

saving me from a several hundred foot precipice. Now, you�d think even a

militant naturalist would stop if he accidentally took out the race leader!

Not this dude.

Oh, i made it. Didn�t win though. My race leadership skills that day

weren�t the best. The Havasupai caught and dropped my dehydrated, cacti p ricked ass about three miles from the finish line. �Nice shoes,� they

laughed as they overtook me in the way cliff swallows overtake cows.

Bastards. See, the way it works is first your race leadership skills

dwindle, then out goes the whole yogic kindness and cheerfulness thing.

Hell, i bet even Ramana Maharshi woulda let out a few good cuss words if he

was in the same situation! Left alone to swallow my ego with my swollen,

dust caked tongue, i thought maybe i would ask that Rambo guy to monkeywren ch the adobe bread ovens in the Havasupai village. That�ll teach �em.

I can only guess what the other airplane passengers thought about me

yesterday as I stared out the window watching the world unravel beneath the

jet engines like a little kid. What the hell could be so fascinating down

there? It�s just a bunch of dirt and rocks!

Then again, they probably have never tried to outrun Havasupai in their own

backyard…

Be Brave in your efforts today and keep your Practice strong…

coach ilg