The Art of Doing Hard Things

I’m an avid runner and outdoor enthusiast, but until today, I’d never run a trail race. I initially got the itch to do a race again a month or so ago, so I decided to sign up for a local trail race, 5 miles at the park. However, there was a significant amount of elevation gain, which for a road runner like myself is absolutely horrifying. This reminded me of an article I came across a while ago that discussed the idea of misogi. Misogi, according to Shinto practices, involves purification with cold water, such as rivers and oceans, in order to cleanse the mind and body. This article put a more modern twist on it, and proposed misogi as an intense physical challenge completed once a year for the same effects. Thus I hit the sign up button and waited (not so patiently I may add) for race day to arrive. In the meantime, my feet hit the hard pavement, through hills and flat roads, trees and mud in the hopes of preparing myself as best I could. Before I knew it, it was time to embark on my misogi, the unknown, never tried before thing that gave me butterflies deep in my stomach. 

My alarm clock gently buzzed as my feet hit the cold floor even though it’s spring, and I opened my shades to greet the sunlight that dappled into my bedroom. I packed my race gear, which I must say is meager at best, and found myself in the parking lot for the race, posters taped to trees while music blared through small(ish speakers). The bullhorn blasted us off to the start, and I was engulfed by the canopy of trees within minutes, the only sounds that of crunching dirt beneath my feet. The narrow trail was winding through incredibly steep hills and through water, and it’s safe to say that mud absolutely caked the backs of my ankles. Chipmunks and snakes hopped and slithered (respectfully of course) along the trail as I huffed and puffed happily past them. Then, after what felt like a near eternity, I heard the sound of clapping and cheers as I crossed the finish line, feet thundering towards the parking lot where I began, though it felt entirely different. Perhaps there really is an art to doing hard things.