another fix of total absorption

Better known for his environmental writing, author Bill McKibben (End of Nature, Deep Economy) wrote a short memoir in 2000 about a year he spent training as a competitive cross country skier called Long Distance, Testing the Limits of Body and Spirit in a Year of Living Strenuously. Skinny-writer turns into enduro-athlete in the memoir. McKibben becomes ensconced in his daily workouts, discovers the thrill of competition and learns a lot about himself along the way. While I'm not a huge reader of the sports memoir genre (other than the occasional cycling book), I enjoyed this quick read in that it explored the loneliness of the long distance skier from someone who wasn't a jock per se. Writer first, hobbyist second, his discovery of his body and his soul are well documented throughout a difficult year of his life, only partially thanks to his strict training regime.



McKibben is a good writer and captures the essence of his sport and endurance sports in general.

Describing how he felt after his first cross country race, he comes to a realization:

Even stronger, though, was the feeling of total clarity that had come over me in that small drama. For once in my life I was absolutely present, right there the whole time. For one hour, 56 minutes, 37 and 3/10ths seconds, almost every thought that flashed in my brain concerned that race, that moment. As I drove myself harder, my field of thought shrunk down to a a narrow focused tunnel. I was monitoring my body - legs, lungs, arms - trying to make sure I stayed close to the edge, going as fast as I could without draining my tanks too quickly. I counted the kilometer markers, I watched the tracks for every rise and corner that might give me some advantage, and that was that. None of the endless internal CNN. The stopless chatter that usually fills my brainpan, broadcasting my moods, fantasies, plans, regrets, and glories, ceased and only the moment existed. It wasn't entirely unfamiliar; sometimes when I'm writing that sense of flow kicks in, and sometimes in sex. Occasionally I've taken solo backpacking trips long enough that my mind has run short of junk food and quieted down. But the almost-desperate clarity of this race attracted me enormously. I stood up and cheered at the awards ceremony that night when John Broadhead collected his silver medal, but the clear fact that I was never going to win any hardware suddenly mattered very little. I'd like another fix of that total absorption, please.