Seeking New Heights

I'm not calling it a New Year's resolution

I used to be motivated by physical challenges, or adventure goals. Early on it was running a marathon, then came mountain bike races, a triathlon, then I dabbled in climbing mountains, and swimming from Alcatraz. Diving took over my life about 15 years ago, and it consumed me. I went through several certifications in just a few years—Rescue, Ice, then Tech—and was always seeking out the next exotic place on the map where I could pin a dive flag. Then, maybe due to age, maybe due to new, more cerebral challenges—writing a couple of novels—my physical training and motivation were reduced to more of a maintenance level. But lately I’ve felt the stirrings of restless ambition to seek out something big again, a goal that will push me a little, drive me to focus my training, plan towards a specific date. I’m not usually one to make New Year’s resolutions, but here we are, nearing the big countdown and the dropping of the ball. I might as well lean into it.

It’s not like I’ve been doing nothing since I hung up my ice axe and sold my carbon fiber bike. I still get out and exercise five or six days a week: running, cycling, skiing (if conditions allow), swimming, and rowing. But it’s usually limited to an hour or two at a time, a workout I can fit in during a workday, and still shower and be back at my desk feeling reasonably fresh. At my age—53—with various forms of exercise come a catalog of aches and ailments: tennis elbow, runner’s knee, a clicking shoulder, a stiff back. But I’ve made peace with them, a small price to pay for feeling fit. If I want to lead an active life, then I have to expect a little wear and tear. The worst thing I could do is simply stop. I believe that continued activity is the key to a healthy longevity. 

A previous challenge.

If you have read about, or watched, Dan Buettner’s “Blue Zones,” you’ll know that some of the longest-lived people in the world are those who’ve maintained a lifetime of low level but consistent activity. Not “exercise” per se, but activity, things like gardening, walking for errands, and so on. It’s all about movement, but nothing too vigorous or stressful on joints or the heart. These people, whether in Okinawa, Sardinia, or Nicoya, aren’t bashing out marathons or laboring up high peaks. But they’re living to 100, a formidable goal in itself. That’s all well and good, but I miss the buzz and motivation that comes with big physical goals. 

Last month, my wife, a friend, and I started a “plank challenge.” It started innocently enough, dropping to the carpet to see how long we could hold a plank—resting on forearms and toes, suspending the torso like a rigid board for as long as possible, until the core abdominal and lower back muscles scream for mercy. I managed two minutes. Then we kept it up, more or less daily. I’m now up to over three minutes. This small daily ritual has lit something of a fire in me. I want to find other challenges now.

2013, a full decade ago, was my “mountain year.” Early in that year, I signed up to climb Mount Rainier in the summer. It was a big challenge for someone living at less than 1,000 feet of altitude with few significant hills on which to train. But I got out there, doing repeats up and down grassy ski slopes and running stairs with a backpack on. I did manage to summit Rainier, but that wasn’t the only mountain that year. On an assignment for Gear Patrol, I went on a heli-hiking trip to British Columbia, hiked the mountainous Milford Track in New Zealand, hiked in the Swiss Alps, and backpacked hut to hut in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. I was probably the fittest I’ve ever been that year. “Mountain fitness” is an enviable state of being. The combination of vertical ascent with less oxygen makes for a strong heart, bellows-like lungs, and calves of steel. But my feet paid the price and they spent months trussed up in athletic tape due to raging plantar fasciitis. 

Mountain fit in the Bernese Oberland.

My cardiac health scare a couple years ago was a blessing in disguise. I gave up butter, cheese, fried foods, desserts, and most meat. I’ve not had pizza since before the pandemic. But don’t feel sorry for me. I had 50 years of eating how I wanted, and I don’t miss any of it. And I feel great. I’m lighter and faster, my cholesterol is almost too low, and my resting heart rate barely exceeds my age. Sure, my connective tissues aren’t quite as supple as they used to be, but that comes with the territory. I’m inspired by adventurers and athletes older than me who’ve done, or are doing, far more strenuous things—Ranulph Fiennes, Conrad Anker, Mike Horn, Will Steger. Do you think they’re bemoaning a stiff elbow or a little arthritis? Nope, they’re out there living. And I want to do the same.

While my little plank challenge is fun, it’s not exactly scaling a Himalayan peak, or dragging a sled across the Arctic Ocean. I need a bigger goal. But what to do? I think my long distance swimming days are over (I prefer being underwater to being on the surface). I find long runs a bit boring. A few days ago, I was scheming with a couple friends to paddle the length of the Mississippi River. But I’m not sure I can take two months off to do it. Bagging a significant peak is not out of the question. There was a time Denali was in my sights, or Aconcagua. Or maybe go revisit Longs Peak in Colorado, my first 14,000-foot peak that I climbed over 20 years ago. But one challenge looms out there that ticks a few boxes for me: the Fan Dance. And no, I’m not talking about an erotic performance involving feathers and little else. 

The “Fan Dance” is the nickname given to a challenging “yomp” (covering ground carrying a weighted pack) in the Brecon Beacon mountain range of south Wales. It’s 24 kilometers, up, over, then back again, across the peak of Pen y Fan. The British military uses this route as a qualification for inclusion in its Special Forces, specifically a march carrying 35 pounds of weight plus food and water, under a strict set time limit. Every year, civilians take part in a version of the Fan Dance, emulating the route as part of a fun challenge overseen by former Special Forces operators. There are various categories, ranging from the actual timed march with weight, to a “Clean Fatigue” (no weight requirement) segment, all utilizing the same route that the aspiring SAS soldiers traverse. Gishani and I hiked up Pen y Fan a few years ago on a sunny but raw and windy day and I’ve not been able to shake the idea of going back and doing the full event.

Atop Pen y Fan, 2019.

The Fan Dance is appealing to me on a few levels. It is obviously a challenge that would require a fair bit of training; i.e., a lot of hikes and runs carrying a heavy backpack, combined with all the stuff I’m already doing. But it’s not merely pounding out miles. There’s a gear element I like. Which backpack? What to carry? What to wear if the weather turns foul? Which footwear is ideal? Even a watch angle—go predictable with a CWC Royal Navy watch? A Bremont perhaps? Or go light and tough with my Pelagos? A Garmin on my other wrist to capture bragging rights and proof, naturally. My Anglophilia, combined with more than a passing interest in British military history, raises it a notch. And then that X on the calendar, sometime in June or July, and a plane ticket to the UK, seems like a “no going back” carrot too tantalizing to resist. 

It’s easy to sit on the couch in late December and dream big. And there’s a long way to go from a three-minute plank to a 24km mountainous march in six months. The rubber meets the road in February, when the buzz and excitement has worn off and it’s grey and icy outside and I have to get in my miles. But that’s kind of what I crave. Cerebral challenges like learning the guitar or writing another book are well and good, but this old carcass feels left out these days. Strong mind, strong body. Bring it on. For now, time for another plank. Gotta start somewhere.

I’m going to take next week off from Swimpruf. I wish you all peaceful and happy holidays, and a healthy, strong New Year!