Carrying 55

Walking Towards My Future Self

Reading Time: 15 minutes, 1,935 words. Ideas inspired by the [good]men initiative. Read backstory here. Check out the [good]men website here. Or, Subscribe for free:

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It’s your road and yours alone. Others may walk it with you, but no one can walk it for you.

Rumi

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A Year of Adventure and Reflection

Today I turned 55.

Not sure what turning 55 typically suggests. Or makes possible.

But since I only get one shot at this one, I’m seeking a year-long micro adventure that challenges me with a bit of hard, forces me to show up in the quiet moments when nobody is paying attention (and my mental health and the weather isn’t kind), keeps me exploring and moving and leaning into nature, and inspires me to be purposefully reflective with every step (and write far more often).

Tonight I begin.

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Framing the Challenge

A recent invite I sent to an my next [good]men half-day hike began:

I turn 55 on 4/25.

…

I've made myself a promise to hike 3 miles (minimum) every day of my 55th year while carrying a 55lb ruck pack.

A minimum of 1,095 miles. Giddy-up!

If I plotted such a route from where I live in central Ohio, that would place me and my 55lb ruck pack in eastern Colorado, down near the southern tip of Florida, or all the way thru Maine into Nova Scotia.

But the mileage doesn’t interest me. Nor is the weight really the focus.

What really matters to me is getting up and out the door each day of my 55th year.

No matter what’s happening.

And seeing where that 365-day path takes me.

Takes my body. Takes my mind. Takes my heart.

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Over the last few years, I’ve found increasing solace and joy (and lots of humility) through rucking (aka “carrying a weighted pack”).

Still recall the day Brett B. invited me to ruck:

Why don’t we throw some weight in a pack and go for a hike?

Ex-Marine, hunter and outdoor enthusiast, he smiled as he spoke.

Smirked, maybe.

I, on the other hand, just stared at him.

With confusion.

Go for a hike, that I grasped.

I wasn’t in great shape. But I could walk in the forest.

Throw some weight in a bag just to throw some weight in a bag?

To make the hike harder?

For zero reason — aka to carry gear to camp, to hunt, to dig out of an avalanche — other than it was just harder when you carried weight?

I said yes, maybe out of pride. Trying to save face. Fake it.

But I didn’t understand why it mattered.

Not then.

But after several years and countless days of rucking since, I’m starting to.

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The impediment to action advances action, what stands in the way becomes the way.

Marcus Aurelius

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Things that Weigh 55lbs

An average full-sized mattress.

A large microwave.

5 gallons of house paint.

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Backyard Adventures

A few years ago I stumbled upon Beau Miles, a most amazing Australian videographer, ultra-athlete, YouTube videographer, outdoor education college instructor, and author of one of my now favorite books, Backyard Adventurer.

In the book, “a conscious experimentation with adventure, making meaning and inspiration out of tins of beans, bits of rubbish and elbow grease,” he shares the most remarkably playful, quirky, and utilitarian challenge I can’t unthink:

The “Mile an Hour” backyard marathon where you run 1 mile every hour for 24 hours, **while** completing a series of tasks and projects within all the remaining time you’re not actually running.

Aka: to be as productive as possible completing a series of odds and ends around his property over 24 hours while still completing a marathon.

Imagine a to-do list and a marathon having a baby.

As Beau says,

The rest of the time I do as much as possible; making things, odd jobs, fixing stuff. It’s about running, doing, and thinking.

Some of his tasks between 24 mile+ laps:

• chopping woods

• tending to a fire

• fixing a table

• making an incredible stew over a fire in his barn

• shaving (his long beard)

• picking up trash

For the last year I’ve daydreamed about organizing my own version of Beau’s “One Mile an Hour” challenge, with quirky odds and ends projects, but one that also invites [good]men to engage in a combination of purposeful conversations and service throughout their 24 hour marathon experience, too.

Stay tuned.

The [good]men half-marathon ‘work out’ is coming.

Meanwhile, check out Beau’s book, watch all of his videos, and listen to his interview on the amazing “Art of Manliness” podcast. The dude is just remarkable.

Also, I’m gonna ‘prep’ by re-reading Beau’s book and by “hik[ing] 3 miles (minimum) every day of my 55th year while carrying a 55lb ruck pack.”

Figure the first will be creative kindling.

And the second will give me time (and 55lb rucking miles) to mentally sketch out my [good]men half-marathon ‘work out’ while I’m getting trail time, rain or shine or sideways snow or whatnot, anxiety or heavy thoughts or deep second guessing.

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You, sent out beyond your recall, /
go to the limits of your longing.

Rainer Maria Rilke

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Why I Ruck

On that first ruck with Brett B., I rucked because a buddy challenged me.

On the many solo rucks that followed, I was off-setting a ridiculous self-imposed running schedule where I was running solo in the dark, 5-8 miles every night around midnight, thru the winter, my beard and eyebrows freezing over, just to ‘feel pain’.

I told people I was training for a half-marathon. I was.

I told people I was losing weight. I did.

But what I didn’t often say is I ran long distances (for me) alone at midnight in the cold to ‘feel pain’.

I was hurting inside. And I wanted to hurt outside as well.

Along the way, I starting going on more solo rucks in the woods, a self-imposed ‘hurt more’ choice, to build strength, lose weight, and 'feel pain’.

Until I realized the forest rucks were actually doing something else.

Healing me. Somewhere deep inside.

Keeping me in the forest. Wrapped in nature. Feeling alive.

As that winter ended and I finished my half-marathon (and subsequently injured myself badly enough to stop running), I leaned into rucking.

One weighted backpack. More steps. More days. More miles.

And somehow, less pain.

Calmer. Quieter. Healthier.

Getting further afield.

Finding myself.

And a community of [good]men to surround myself with.

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More Things that Weigh 55lbs

A full-grown dalmatian or husky or a Thompson’s gazelle.

A medium-sized, 5000-BTU window air conditioning unit.

A typical 8yo child.

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I Could tell you about Misogi, but I Can’t Tell You About Misogi

In pure terms, Misogi (禊) is a Japanese Shinto practice of ritual purification by washing the entire body. Better: it’s spiritual and physical cleanse. A profound journey towards self-discovery and personal growth

Sounds lovely. And pretty useful even in non-ritualistic just-wash-the-body terms.

But it is the ritual that opens a door to something deeper, a journey to self, that intrigues.

The concept of Misogi first caught my attention was while reading Michael Easter’s fantastic The Comfort Crisis: Embrace Discomfort to Reclaim Your Wild, Happy, Healthy Self.

In his book, he describes a Misogi as “the act of taking on a challenge that you have a 50/50 shot of accomplishing to expand your capabilities.” You can read a bit more for free in his “What's Your Misogi?” article, but reading the book is well worth it.

He writes:

Once a year, go out into nature and do something really hard. The point is to mimic the ancient challenges that humans used to face.

Misogi. Bam. As I was prepping to turn 55, that concept really grabbed me.

Wouldn’t let go.

A splinter under my skin.

A beckoning I couldn’t turn my imagination from.

So I turned to rucking.

Naming a non-negotiable 365 path.

Carrying my age in weight.

Weather or schedule or daylight or whatnot.

And adding a layer of conscious reflection and writing to broaden the experience.

Easter offers 2 rules:

Rule 1: Make it really hard. You should have a 50/50 shot at finishing whatever task you take on. A true 50/50 shot.

Rule 2: Don't die.

Pretty sure I won’t die. So that feels legit.

Also, it’s really hard. Or somewhat hard. Or hard enough.

The miles? 3 miles (minimum) a day? Not that hard.

The weight? 55lbs on my back? Hard. Kinda hard. Somewhat hard.

OK, maybe this isn’t a Misogi.

But showing up. Day in and night out. Regardless of my anxiety or depression or overthinking or fluxuating energy levels or the weather or life schedules.

OK, maybe that’s Misogi-lite. I’ll take it.

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Easter further shares 2 guidelines for a proper Misogi:

Guideline 1: The Misogi should be quirky, creative, and far out. Something uncommon.

Guideline 2: Don’t advertise your Misogi. It’s okay to talk about Misogi with friends and family. But you don’t Tweet, Instagram, Facebook, or boast about your Misogi. “Misogis are inward facing,” Elliott told me. “A big part of the value proposition is that I’m going to do something really uncomfortable. I’m going to want to quit. And it’s going to be hard not to quit because no one is watching. But I’m not going to quit because I’m watching. And then I can reflect on how I still rose to the occasion in a big way. There’s some deep satisfaction in that.

Shit.

Guideline 1: check. My 365-days of rucking and carrying my age in weight is a bit “quirky, creative, and far out.” OR at least a decent start.

But Guideline 2: not so check.

So much for being silent about my plan. Kinda blew that.

But his “inward facing” mention gives me a liminal space to lean into.

Other than the ephemeral nature of mentioning it in recent [good]men email or this Substack article, I doubt anyone will be tracking it along the way.

So perhaps it’ll fade into a purely “inward facing” and quietly “uncomfortable” experience that only I’ll be aware of. Or paying attention to, anyway.

Oh, and the 50/50 chance of failure bit of Easter’s Misogi concept?

Well, I’m not sure carrying my age in weight for 365 days is a cliff’s edge level of risk that I am only 50/50 able to complete.

The distance and the weight aren’t the risk.

But the showing up every day, regardless of mental health or weather or schedule, that’s the paper cut space that threatens to derail me along the way.

So maybe its Misogi, after all?

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When we change the way we look at things, the things we’re looking at change.

Max Planck, Nobel Prize Physicist, 1918

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A Few Final Things that Weigh 55lbs

One GoRuck 30lb weight plate, plus two circular 10lb weight plates (wrapped in an old towel to minimize clanging arond), plus anything I can find around the house or yard that weighs 5lbs that I can throw in my pack to round it up to 55. A small brick, perhaps? A couple hard back books? Perhaps a large bag of rice?

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55 to 85: Where Am I Going?

A few months back I began thinking about turning 55.

Around the same time, I was reflecting on the launch and (unexpected) growth of [good]men, something that began as a quirky, one-off hike almost a year ago that has since grown into a significant part of my professional and personal identity.

Heck: [good]men even has it’s own website now.

Someone asked me what the long-term plan was. It was a question of ‘scaling’ and a question about ‘business strategy.’

Both decent enough concepts. But I didn’t feel smart in that way.

Instead, I said:

I’m still figuring that out.

Hike by hike.

Experience by experience by experience.

Conversation by conversation.

But what I know is that I’m simply better because [good]men show up. I’m better in every part of my life and psyche when they do. So I continue creating experiences to help [good]men have conversations that matter.

We’ll just have to see where that leads professionally and personally.

To what end?

Some know that I have a picture in my head of me as an 85yo.

I’m splitting wood into kindling by a massive fireplace. In a barn. In Maine.

I’m surrounded by people laughing, sharing stories, eating, playing music, solving amazing challenges, gearing up for adventures and projects, refueling.

It’s my fireplace. My barn. My property. But the people, maybe they’re in the midst of a [good]men experience, or perhaps they’re part of something I have no role in other than to ‘host’ them on my property, in my barn, near my fireplace.

But I can see me.

30 years from now. 85yo. Splitting wood into kindling. Holding space for others.

So, sitting here as a freshly minted 55yo, I’m also realize that I’m at the very beginning of a 30 year walk.

To meet myself.

Collecting miles.

Carrying weight.

Reflecting and sense-making.

Gathering experiences.

Trying on some “backyard adventures” (and even some “misogi”).

Preparing to meet my 85yo self one day.

It starts tonight.

55lbs in my pack.

3 miles (minimum) of trail.

Day 1 of 365 of being 55.

And something far beyond.

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Not all those who wander are lost; / The old that is strong does not wither, / Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

J.R.R. Tolkein

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Thank You

Appreciate you reading, subscribing to, and sharing this journal.

And please reach out to me at christian [@] bonfire-workshop [.] com to:

• join [good]men on trail, in a retreat, etc.;

• sign up for executive coaching sessions; or

• collaborate to co-create experiences for others.

Cheers, Christian

P.S. “[good]men. | works.in.progress.” backstory can be read here.

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