As I approach my 10th (and final) Hyner 50k, I'm thinking about margins and frontiers, and conscious decisions about deliberate transitions...

Transitions

I’m interested in margins and frontiers, in boundaries, borders, transition zones and phases; the interface between here and there, before and after, old and new; the indistinct liminal spaces around edges and borders, and the gradual subtle changes that roll across the land and through our lives.

Those changes come in different flavors. Some are dramatic or even traumatic, they’re “the nexus of the crisis, and the origin of storms” (extra credit if you recognize that phrase from Astronomy by B.O.C.). Others are subtle, non-storm and without drama, just a slow drifting-away (that’s matched in the best case by a reciprocal drifting-towards).

They all draw my attention, at least partly because I want to understand my own liminal spaces, my own passages and margins, the ebb and flow of my interests, abilities, options, and obligations.

Because while some transitions are thrust upon you abruptly, often the signs of a coming change are there far ahead of time. And if you’re watching, you can recognize them and get ahead of them, so you can make conscious decisions around them, devise a strategy for them, make the transition on your own terms, so that what you are leaving behind and what you are moving towards can all be a coherent part of the body of work that is your life.

I’m thinking and writing about this now because I’m approaching a milestone and a transition in my running life. In 2011 I ran my first trail race, the Hyner Trail Challenge 25k. A year later, I ran my first ultra at the inaugural Hyner 50k. I’ve run it every year since, and it’s been a touchstone for my life through this period. So my decision that my tenth repetition (next month) will be my final Hyner, and probably my last short race of any sort, feels personally momentous.

I like the symbolism of ten, the feeling of it. But it’s a marker for a transition that has been happening for years. It’s a drifting-away, and I welcome it.

I’ve not lost my love of trailrunning — if anything, that feeling is deeper and more nuanced with each outing.

And I’m not finished with the long races. At some point I’ll probably move on from them in the same way, but for now they still intrigue me and challenge me in ways that I’m not done exploring.

It’s not about age, either. At not quite 57, I’m still on the upside of that curve in many ways, still in an “older, faster, stronger” phase, and my last two races (a 100k and a 100-miler) were both personal bests.

It’s more about having done this thing (the short races) long enough to be sated, about having nothing left to prove on this front. The image that comes to me as I write this is that misty scene from late in “The Return of the King” (from The Lord of the Rings) when the elves are leaving Middle Earth — their time (my time) was passing, and to stay longer would be to fade away.

Anyway, I’m working on a ten-year retrospective “adventure report” about my Hyner years that will have some details and remembrances (and maybe some lessons) from the race — you’ll be able to read that sometime next month on my website.

Boundaries

The other project I’m working on now is an article that’s closely related to that idea of transitions. I’m looking at the magazine’s theme of “Access” from the standpoint of boundaries, and the selective filters we use at the various physical and topical and temporal boundaries in our lives and our world.

I haven’t fully worked this out yet, but I’m intrigued by three aspects of it.

First, the concept of boundaries. An edge may look clear and sharply defined, a linear transition that happens precisely here. But move in for a closer look and you might see that what looked precise is actually hazy, that there is an emerging smudge of pixellated darkness that is faint at first but that gains density as you move towards the line, and perhaps lingers a bit on the other side of the line. We’re back into margins and liminality again.

Second, our boundary filters. How do we decide what (and who) to let through, and what (and who) to keep out?

We filter objects and physical passage (like: you aren’t allowed to run here, or you physically can’t run here, or you aren’t allowed to cross this border… access to a trail, access to a country, citizenship, ownership, rights of access and rights of exclusion)…

…and we filter activities and interests and desires and ambitions (like: the old plan you had for your life, and your new plan, the adjustments you’ve made on your trajectory, the phases of your life and the transitions from one to the next)…

And third, the contrasts. For there to be a boundary or a transition there must be a “this side” and a “that side.” The difference might be physical, like at this point the trail is too steep to go on, or there might be some cultural contrivance like a legal boundary or a convention that says that people like you just don’t (or can’t, or aren’t allowed to) go to a place like this.

But whether the difference is natural or invented, it’s the difference, the contrast, that draws our interest and attention — that’s where the story is, where the challenges occur and where the growth (or decline) happens.

That’s as far as I’ve gotten on that, but I’m still working, and I’ll share more of it when I’ve figured it out.

In the meantime, thanks for reading (and please stay tuned).

Jeff

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