Project Mayhem

The first rule in Project Mayhem is you do not ask questions.

Questions require thought. Thought implies you’re doing your own thinking, and in Project Mayhem that is unacceptable, because the fifth rule of Project Mayhem says you have to trust Tyler Durdan. 

Now, I’m no Tyler Durdan, nor am I an schizophrenic who has created alter egos so I can fully express my self. These words - and these thoughts - are my own. 

However, if you continue to question these words or my thoughts, the Space Monkeys of Project Mayhem will have to slice some fat off your thighs and turn you into soap. In a town like Boulder, soap may be hard to come by, given the leanness of it’s residents. Fitness freaks and health-nuts. Maybe this explains why people walk around Pearl Street in dirty clothing. I would assume they’re homeless, but in Boulder appearing homeless is actually a style. So you never know, you can never fully make a distinction between those hitting bottom, and those attempting to appear to hit bottom. We used to wash our hands after touching dollar bills, now we bathe in the traces of cocaine, or at least want to look as though we do. You’ll place a touch of sugar just above your upper lip. 

What? There’s a white residue in my nostrils?

The urge to indulge in self-destruction and the actual act of self-destruction are two entirely different things. It’s the difference between wearing non-prescription glasses for “style”-sake while you read your ethically challenging book in the corner of a Starbucks (Oh, you’re so intelligent), and actually having to wear prescription glasses because the lens in your eyes have stressed enough to the point of no longer flexing properly, thus leaving you helpless to evade the four-eye references for the remainder of your days. Unless you get surgery. 

Self Improvement is Self Destruction. Yes, I’ve cleaned that line up a bit from it’s original delivery, though I feel it holds a bit of weight, particularly within the realm of running circles. The irony is in flipping “Improvement” and “Destruction”, the gravity of the line still doesn’t shift. It’ll still just see-saw back and forth over the “Is”. Children at play. I bet right about now you’re wondering where I’m going with this. You’re beginning to question how sane this writer really is, (uh oh, you’re breaking the first Rule of Project Mayhem...). You’re wondering why I’m taking you so far down the rabbit hole, away from your latte, away from the white noise in the background of your important life, and away from the present reality of your physical being. Welcome to my world. Now sit cozy in my words, and hold on tight. Please keep all hands and feet inside the moving vehicle at all times.

_______________

Green Mountain stands 8,100 feet tall. Its’ shadow stretches over my home in Boulder, Colorado each evening as the sun sets to the west. Trails liter the east side, and in the Summer, runners and hikers alike crawl along the Flatirons like moving ants. But in the Winter, the mountain is cold and lonely. This is why I chose to summit the mountain deep in the Colorado chill. I had slight chances of crossing paths with bears, mountains lions, and ultra-runners (oh my!). The Boulder bubble doesn’t reach into the open space during the winter months, or above 6,000 feet, so I knew I would be safe. I went into the mountains to get away from the noise, the chitter-chatter on stale bar floors, the roaming satellites overhead, and the $50 steaks. I went into the mountains to find out why I had any desire to go into them in the first place. 

What I found along my journey, was how suffocating society’s bubble can be, which seems to be littered with overly-priced lattes, restaurants, and gym memberships. In Boulder, the abundance of running “clubs” could even join the list. Everyone gravitates to the next big “thing” like leeches. Five Fingers. Garmin Watches. Fro-Yo. The Mass of such things pulls and bends light, altering appearance. But if Einstein, in his famous thought-experiments could discover the theory of relativity, then I could discovery something of much less significance on a run up Green Mountain. The smothering bubble is like a mother purposely marking her son with a red-lipstick kiss on his cheek before heading out on a date. Territorial Pissings. Sorry mother, but I’ve got to wipe this kiss off before I head out the door and indulge in self-destruction as I run up this mountain here, no big deal. 

The trails were quiet, they didn’t talk to me - or I to them. Understanding works best when you’re mouth is closed. I linked up to Mesa Trail from NCAR, and headed south towards Bear Creek Canyon where I would start the real climbing. Large boulders were scattered along the trail, ancient debris of some epic battle among the gods I presumed, or maybe they just fell that way. Every one of them looked like a bear, posing as a mannequin, awaiting my arrival before attacking with all might and destroying my body, leaving pieces of my mutilated limbs along the trail. Bear Sighting. I pushed the pace further up the trail as my blood raced, waiting for a bear attack.

Not one human soul was on the trail, besides mine. I clipped along as the snow crunched beneath my feet, echoing though the canyon. The trees watched me pass by, as they wouldn’t see anyone else for quite a while. Lonely trees. The only challenges were natural: mountain climbing, slippery ice, and wild animals (that existed purely in my fevered imagination). The stability of the cosmos seemed to exist here on these trails, beneath the trees and among the rocks; where man hadn’t yet intervened to tip the scale. I was the warm little center of this mountain that every natural life form crowded around. The Zen Master. I didn’t pass a Starbucks, see any training groups in matching uniforms, or find anyone searching for a signal on their Garmin. The challenges out here were real. Unlike life back in the bubble, the purity of the canyon I climbed through, the rocks I hopped from, and the peak I summited, the simplicity of this pursuit, this act of self-destruction was all the freedom I yearned for. The mountain challenged my Will, and nothing less. 

I glided along the packed snow, up and up as the peak grew larger and larger. The higher I got, the silence of the cosmos prevailed. Self-Destruction: Engage. My heavy breathing clung to the trees, stealing my oxygen. The final push to the top was a rocky scramble, coated with ice. “Slide”, the power-animal Penguin would say. Owning a pack of chia seeds, or taking a obnoxious “selfie” wouldn’t be any help here. My blood raced through my body like tiny little race cars on a battery-operated track. I shuffled, but couldn’t quit. I would know if I stumbled to a walk. Don’t Walk. Walker’s walk. You’re a runner. The Will of my ambition teetered on the see-saw. How bad do you want it? Does it matter? The First rule of Project Mayhem is you do not ask questions. I bounded from rock to rock, traversing a path many sea-level tourists would attempt in another six months, when the trail was easier. I daydreamed for a moment of slipping on the ice, breaking my leg and being stuck here for the bears. At least the self-inflicted pain aspect of this pursuit would be over. Redline City had rapidly approached, but then I could see the massive formation of rocks at the top that signaled The Summit. Where’s the oxygen tank?

The beauty of reaching the top of a mountain is always in having the opportunity to look back down on where you came from. Life as a tall man. Boulder seemed small and insignificant from here. Each overly-priced restaurant sat next to another. Even the only McDonalds and Burger King in town found company in being constructed side-by-side. I wondered briefly how a food-chain that didn’t offer wine or organic blends could survive in a town like this. But then I got cold enough to head back down. But not before realizing that both sides of coin existed in the bubble. You can’t have the day without the night, the dark without the light. Ying/Yang. 

Perspective.

From down low, within the bubble, the noise and chaos of the rat race can be somewhat annoying, and quite depressing. From up here, atop Green Mountain, beyond the bubble of civilization, it’s quiet and serene. Life is simplified in the mountains, which began to explain my journey of self-destruction. The mountain doesn’t care if you ate at an overly-priced restaurant last night, it doesn’t care what gym you go to, your attendance record at Pure Barre last month, what training group you’re a part of, how often you eat frozen yogurt, or how many packs of chia seeds you’ve got tucked away in your fanny back. The mountain quite simply, does not discriminate. It only cares for One Thing: The Will.

It cares only for the Will to reach the top, the Will to burn your legs and your lungs in pursuit of something so pure and so simultaneously meaningless. Remember the first rule of Project Mayhem, you do not ask questions. Don’t think.

I set a fire along the trail (not literally) as I cruised down, again hopping from rock to rock and open my stride on the softer sections. The trees were joyful of my temporary return as I zipped on by. The strain became easier on my lungs as gravity pulled me back down to the earth. 

I arrived back at my car and looked at the mountain I just traversed. My warm breathe clouded in the air around me as my heart pumped warm blood through my tired body. From down here, the mountain was just a blue silhouette each evening, but in each glance it beckons me back, reminding me not to get lost or caught up in the trivial pursuits of life. I focused on the peak, searching for the rock formation I climbed to sign my name and claim some territory. Nothing was really accomplished, but nothing mattered. 

My quads burned and my body gave up the fight. Self Destruction: Complete. My mind danced along the ridges of the mountain, and went into a tailspin. 

Running involves a daily bout of self-destruction. And through that destruction, comes improvement. Whether it be Physical, Mental, Emotional, or All of the Above, you must be broken down to build yourself back up. You’ll start every run on a High, but eventually, you’re going to want to stop on the side of the road and cry. Your Pride and Ego must fall. The side of the road is cold and lonely. Tears will fall down your cheek and you’ll wait for mommy or daddy to come save you, “Everything will be okay, sweetheart” they’ll say. 

Sorry sport, but mommy and daddy aren’t here, and it’s all on you to finish this workout. So buck up, and quit pouting on the side of the road, because you’re about to get hit by someone who doesn’t care: Big Pappa Results.

Big Pappa Results is the Godly-figure that looms over you daily, the black and white numerals of your last workout or race. There’s no hiding from Big Pappa Results, because he’s everywhere. He’s the reason you get out of bed before the sun rises each morning, the reason you climb Green Mountain in the dead of winter just to reach the top, and he’s the reason you drown away your pathetic sorrows of your last bad race in a haze of tequila on your kitchen floor. Big Pappa Results, the tourist who never left.

Self Destruction is Self Improvement. There’s no crying in baseball, and there’s no hiding from Big Pappa Results. So before your next workout, when you’re contemplating whether or not to dive into your dirty laundry for that musky flannel, you know, the one that smells of something that died behind the refrigerator, or before you slide of those non-prescription glasses to read that ever-so ethically challenging book by candlelight, remember: Big Pappa Results is watching. 

Some days you just have to literally run yourself into the ground, destroying all that you think matters until something climbs out of the ashes, stronger than before. Only the survivor can describe what climbed out, and if it was worth it.

But you can’t ask, because the first rule of Project Mayhem is you do not ask questions.