402: Day 03 - It’s a Magic Number
December 3, 2009
by Jeffrey Pierce
My cold weather running wear has remained pretty consistent through my adult life: baggy gym shorts that come down to just above my knee; a couple of low-friction running shirts, one short sleeved and one long sleeved; an extremely light weight wind-breaker; a warm hat; running shoes and ankle socks. When it gets extra chilly, I may add a pair of stretchy, one-size fits all gloves that you can buy for $1USD a pair at Wal-Mart.
And that’s dressing warm – at least where I’m concerned.
In both high school and the in the military, I’d run in shorts and a t-shirt in weather so cold that when I finally pulled to a stop, my sweat had frozen into streaks of ice in my hair.
People used to think I was crazy.
This morning… well, let’s just say that I understand their perspective.
The cold has set in – at least as we understand the word here in the very temperate Pacific Northwest. Typically speaking, we have a nice blanket of clouds overhead, keeping the broad valley we call home above freezing even in the depths of winter. It’s not unusual for neighbors to run around all winter long in sweatshirts, rather than in coats or jackets. In Oregon’s Willamette Valley, the winter holidays are typically greeted with rain, not snow and an umbrella will do you a lot more good than a thick scarf ever will.
But when I stepped out of the warmth of our home this morning, I was greeted with a dark sky filled with stars. The warm blanket of clouds was nowhere to be seen.
And it was cold.
Numbers don’t do it justice when you’re running through the middle of it, but it was a balmy 29° F (-2° C) when I hit the pavement, a day closer to my forty mile run.
You know how, when you’re outside how your eyes get cold? Did you know that if you generate enough of a headwind, that not only do your eyes get cold enough that tears stream down your face, but that as your eyeballs chill, you can actually feel the complete round globe of their shape where they sit in their eye sockets? My hands painfully hurt from the cold; the old fracture lines in my right ankle ached, even as I found myself leaping over frozen puddles of rain that had fallen earlier in the week. I realized that I was more acutely aware of how freakin’ cold I was in my shorts and light running gear than I was of either the music from my MP3 player or the pounding of my feet on the pavement beneath me. Usually I’m warm and breaking a sweat by the time I reach the half mile mark. This morning, I had already ran a mile before my body began to feel warm.
But as I neared the half-mile mark on my morning route, I realize that as acutely aware as I was of the cold, I was allowing it to blind me to everything else around me.
We, as human beings, seem to do that a lot in our lives. We experience something intensely uncomfortable and we allow it to define our reality. It might be the break-up of a relationship into which we had poured our heart and soul. It could be a bad day on the job. It could be a mischievous child or a driver that cuts us off in traffic. When that moment arrives, the pain and discomfort is all we experience. We allow it to monopolize our senses and blind us to the beauty around us.
And as that thought drifted casually into my mind, as I contemplated the process and forced myself to center and open up to the world around, I turned a corner and found the full moon hanging ripe in front of my eyes, near enough to pluck from the sky.
Beautiful.
That was Lesson #1 from my morning.
The second was a lesson on perspective.
With the moon as a touchstone, as a place to begin, I began to pull back from the discomfort of the morning. I actually felt pretty good. The lower part of my quadriceps, where the muscles connect to the knee, were legitimately sore as they grow accustomed to running, but the rest of my body was pain free and some of the spring was already beginning to return to my stride. While it was cold, the air was still – there was no wind except that which I created to add additional chill to my morning. With the moon overhead and the dark night embracing me, it was peaceful and pleasant, if not entirely comfortable.
Yes, I was cold. Was I as cold as I was during my submersion ritual, where I plunged myself naked beneath the waters of a snow-melt flooded stream in the midst of a snowy mountain range? Expletive, no! The instant I hit that water, I was so cold I immediately lost all feeling except an all-pervasive pain that I could sense more than feel. When we have perspective, it gives us a tool to measure the challenge before us. “Oh my god, that’s a big spider! Oh, wait… I’m looking at it through binoculars… Hey, it’s teeny! That’s not so bad…” It was cold, uncomfortably cold, but I’d been through worse.
And since I would be starting the forty mile run at 6 AM in order to climb a mountain range that still threatened snow, it probably wasn’t any colder than the big event in March or April would be.
It’s one thing when, in the middle of a challenge, we call out to the Universe, “Why? Why is this happening to me? Don’t I deserve better? Don’t I deserve pleasantness, laughter, joy, and love?”
It’s something else altogether when we call out in voices so loud that we miss the Universe replying, “Yes, you do deserve all of that. But you’re giving yourself the gift of strength, of perseverance, of perspective – and when you reach those heights, you’ll truly understand their value when you can measure them against the trials you overcame to get there.”
Every situation can be looked at in three ways. We typically are only capable of viewing them from two perspectives – the “good” and the “bad.” The third perspective is that of a broader theme. Where is it taking us? How is this benefiting us? How is this changing us? Transforming us? How am I growing so that I’ll be capable of embracing the gifts I don’t even realize that I’m reaching for?” We usually only see the third reason in the rearview mirror, if we see it at all. But the good? The bad? Those are choices we can make. Typically, when we’re in the midst of an intense challenge, we can only experience one perspective at a time. The first lesson is to remember that we can choose which way to perceive and experience those moments. The second lesson is to remember that we only perceive two perspectives, but there are three actually present in any experience.
See, things come in threes. As Schoolhouse Rock so kindly illuminated to my generation, “Three is a magic number.” To those who embrace a mystical view of reality, three is also a MAGICK number.
The reason is very, very simple.
One is an anomaly. Two is a coincidence. Three is a pattern.
It holds true in math. One point is just a point. With two points you can draw a line. Three points allow you to draw a shape.
In many approaches to traditional folk magick, a wish or desire is spoken three times. Certain Wiccan Traditions cast their ritual circles three times, not just once.
And that was the third lesson from my morning, one that I was aware of before I even began.
The third day of a new endeavor is always the hardest. Once you’ve established that third day, once you’ve created the pattern, you’ve given birth to a new bit of reality.
I did not want to get out of bed this morning. I did not want to give birth to the reality of me being an early morning runner. It’s not that I didn’t want to embrace the benefits of that life, I simply didn’t want to experience the pain and discomfort of bringing it to life. The warmth of my bed was much more inviting, at least from my initial “good/bad” limited perspective.
Sometimes I wonder how many of our own challenges we turn away from, simply because the moment of deciding to give birth to it is something we choose not to face.
So that was my morning. Well, most of it. There were six lessons, not just three, that came into my morning.
The fourth was embracing the mystical and learning to follow visions to manifest them into reality. (I saw myself running two miles this morning, so I ran two miles, knowing that I would accomplish it simply because I saw it happen on a subtle level of reality, even though it was farther than I’d planned on running).
The fifth was empowering our own “reality bubble” (the space around us where we literally manifest reality) to ward off the cold (I was drenched with sweat by the time I returned home) and manifest myself as a runner (two miles on the third day ain’t doin’ too bad).
The sixth was remembering that we are beings of Spirit, simply choosing to experience reality from a physical perspective. What’s more, is that we’re surrounded by Spirit, like a fish in the sea is surrounded by water. It permeates us. It fills us. It’s everywhere we look.
What’s more is that Spirit is Love. We’re never alone. And whenever we stop to listen, something is always being said.
At my coldest this morning, before I began to center and allow myself to be aware, before I turned the corner and came face-to-face with the moon, a single snippet of lyrics reached my ears from Seal’s song, “Crazy.”
While those around him criticize and sleep
And through a fracture on that breaking wall
I see you my friend and touch your face again
Miracles will happen as we trip
But we’re never gonna survive unless
We get a little crazy
Running in the cold?
Knocking out forty miles in a little over three months? (Or, as I like to think of it, “running back-to-back marathons while crossing a mountain range).
Working magick?
We’re tearing down walls and opening ourselves to the fullness of what it means to be a human being.
Or as the lyrics say, “Crazy.”
But why would I ever want to be normal?