The Outer Limits

I've reached my limit. For now.

I'm not running today because Monday's traipse through the rain worsened my cold. Since it's a rest week, I'm going to give it a few days off and get better, so that I can thoroughly kick it and run my remaining workouts for this training cycle with some quality. Most importantly, if I keep running through it, the cold is likely to linger on until race day, which will make the race pretty much miserable.

This is the second time an illness has taken me down at the peak of a marathon training cycle. Clearly, my body is trying to tell me it has limits.

I'm often in awe of people who push their limits to incredible extremes. This past weekend was the annual running of the Western States 100, one of the ultimate tests of human limits. Runners careen over terrain that forced the Donner Party to resort to cannibalism. They run for up to 30 hours straight, through snow fields and desert canyons, through hallucinations, vertigo, trenchfoot. They are allowed to lose up to 7% of their body weight (that's over 10 pounds for a 150 pound runner) during the race before automatic removal. Both hypothermia and heat stroke are listed among the risk factors of the run. Don't forget muscle necrosis.

On the Runner's World online trail running forum, I read the stories of some who finished the run, as well as some who started but were forced out. In awe of their accomplishments, I told them what an inspiration they were. To even stand on the starting line of a race that can push you beyond the outer limits of yourself is a lofty goal few can dare to commit to. A few responded that there's not really any difference between running 100 miles and taking a 3 mile walk in the woods. Every run is special.

I thought about this. I agree in theory. Each run does present its own challenges. But what I really think is an important distinction is that each runner must test his or her own limits. If that means running 100 miles or 3 miles, that is the goal of running. Of living. If you go out and run the same 3 mile route every day, and never look beyond that experience, are you really living? If you stick to the same routine every day of your life and never try (and fail) at anything new, is that living?

Certainly there are other reasons to run. The child-like joy of splashing through the rain. The meditative effects of breathing in and out. The opportunity to get together with friends. These are all reasons I have run. But for me, testing my limits is the driving force behind my running. It's what keeps me running, when yoga would serve the same purpose as communing with friends, nature, and meditating. Perhaps it's a flaw in my outlook on life. Perhaps I should learn to be more content. That's what the Survival Shuffle is all about, right? Slowing down to catch your breath, smell the roses?

But if you never learn where your limits are, can you say you've lived fully? The survival shuffle is what lets me test my limits. Instead of quitting after 10 miles, I can make it through 20. I can find where that upper limit lays. It lets me see outside the lines, and determine if I can go there. The Survival Shuffle is about pushing boundaries outward, not bringing them inward. I'll do whatever I can to reach beyond the new line I drew on my last run. Whatever I can to get through a tough new experience in life. When I've shuffled through, I have a new limit. I've reached the new world outside the old lines, and it is beautiful.

My favorite poem, The Land of Beyond, by Robert Service, is the best way to explain the beauty of that new world to someone who has never been there:

Have ever you heard of the Land of Beyond,
That dreams at the gates of the day?
Alluring it lies at the skirts of the skies,
And ever so far away;
Alluring it calls: O ye the yoke galls,
And ye of the trail overfond,
With saddle and pack, by paddle and track,
Let's go to the Land of Beyond!

Have ever you stood where the silences brood,
And vast the horizons begin,
At the dawn of the day to behold far away
The goal you would strive for and win?
Yet ah! in the night when you gain to the height,
With the vast pool of heaven star-spawned,
Afar and agleam, like a valley of dream,
Still mocks you a Land of Beyond.

Thank God! there is always a Land of Beyond
For us who are true to the trail;
A vision to seek, a beckoning peak,
A farness that never will fail;
A pride in our soul that mocks at a goal,
A manhood that irks at a bond,
And try how we will, unattainable still,
Behold it, our Land of Beyond!


I used to be afraid to take personal risks. I worked a steady job. I came home to a nice apartment and a cat every night. I was alone, because I pushed people away trying to avoid the hurt that comes with rejection.

Then I got married, and my husband was sent to Iraq. As I was forced to test my personal limits, I began testing my physical limits as well. I wanted to see what I was made of. I ran a marathon. I started my own business. I committed to my marriage.

I have failed at times. My body has let me down. I've made mistakes in business. But through that failure, I'm standing in a new world, and I can see a new horizon beckoning.

Testing your limits doesn't have to mean running 100 miles or running a marathon. If your limit is a 5K or a mile, so be it. But find that limit. Find the point where you can't put one foot in front of the other. Find the point where you fail. And look outward from that point and let the new horizon invite you to strive toward it. Do what you must to get there.

Start your own business. Raise a child. Jump out of a plane. Travel to Antarctica. Climb a mountain. Taste new foods. Love someone. Find your Land of Beyond.

Fail. Live.