Part 7 Personal Renaissance – Undo the Undone: “A Skunk Ape & Ferris Bueller”

01 May 2013

“Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” Remember that line from the 1986 classic, “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off”? It’s still one of my top ten favorite movies of all time.

Here’s the 24-second clip from the movie:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=91lJhEzMaH4

What does that have to do with your Personal Renaissance? And what about this so-called Skunk Ape?

As we continue to pursue several desired outcomes in our Personal Renaissance, I’ve learned that, at a certain point, we need a change of venue, and we need to “unplug” when we get there.

I’m not talking about a vacation. I’m talking about changing your setting while you keep your routine.

You still need to focus on your spiritual/mental/physical integrity and growth. You still must focus on your professional highest calling (your $ column), and certainly on Undoing an Undone in your life, but you need a new place to do it, and you need to step away from technology for a bit while you’re there.

Had I not done exactly that, I never would have experienced a Skunk Ape, nor would I have been reminded of Ferris Bueller’s famous line …

This past month, I really hit the wall. When it came to training for my 2013 Death Valley Badwater 135-mile Ultramarathon, I just felt cooked. I’ve been at it since October, starting three months earlier than I ever have in any of the seven years past. I’ve logged well over 1,000 training miles. I was pretty burned out.

So a few weeks ago, I was facing another long run on Saturday, which is usually an all-day commitment (30-50 miles). It seems like forever that I’ve been using A1A as my regular route, and I was not looking forward to the same old sights, sounds, and smells.

The same ones I’ve seen hundreds of times over thousands of miles since I first started training for my first Badwater race in 2004. Poor me, right?

True, the scenery up and down Ocean Boulevard is beautiful. Breathtaking views are conveniently located just a few steps from our front door. Yet I’ve run north and south 50+ miles in each direction from my house, alone, so often that I felt I couldn’t bear another day on the same stretch of oceanfront highway.
No matter how energizing this area has been to me, no matter how many times I’ve looked out my treehouse windows at the Atlantic and felt inspired to create, to innovate, to live to the fullest … the monotony had set in.

Have you ever felt what I was feeling?

So I was wondering where I could go, someplace new. It didn’t have to be luxurious in any way, and in fact I was looking for something pretty plain. This wasn’t a vacation but just a change of venue.

After some conversation with Nilsa, I decided to head to Lake Okeechobee, the largest freshwater lake in Florida and the second largest in the lower 48 states. An ultramarathon held there, The Lake Okeechobee Scenic Trail Run (LOST), covers just over 110 miles all the way around the lake, primarily on a narrow, one-way, elevated access road used to maintain the locks. So I planned to run a part of the course, out and back in five+ hours, however far that would take me.

The day before, I arrived at small hotel in the little town of Clewiston, right on the lake, so I could check out the route and then get an early-morning start the next day. When I arrived, the hotel Internet service was down, and phone service was spotty. Taking that as a sign, I decided to leave my piece of technology behind the next morning, that being my iPod. I’d forgotten my headlamp too, so I began to embrace this training run as something completely different, totally unplugged.

That morning, I woke to no visible moon and heavy humidity. Those conditions, combined with the fact that the lake is not near very populated areas (light pollution) meant there was no ambient light whatsoever.

Leaving the hotel room around 4:00am, I started out pretty unsure of myself because I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, although I could just barely make out the sun-bleached pavement beneath my feet. So I set out on a trail no wider than a car, flanked on either side by steep, grassy drop-offs that cascade 20+ feet down into the lake or marsh.

I kept wondering what I was going to run into, fall off of, trip over. Truth is, I was kind of spooked.

But I could begin to see the brilliant stars overhead. The sound of crickets, frogs and fish jumping filled my ears, and although I’d wished I had it at first, soon enough I didn’t miss my iPod at all. For about the first five miles, I became calm and slipped into an Alpha state, a deep relaxation that comes over me sometimes when I run.

Then, suddenly, I heard this bloodcurdling guttural sound, some kind of deep-throated, animalistic growl … and I started screaming like a – well – little girl. Embarrassing, I know…

Just as some creatures do when they’re scared, I tried to make myself bigger, got up on my tiptoes and spread my arms wide, and started running sideways down the path, still shrieking my head off.

What the heck was that thing out there and what did it want with me? I still couldn’t see much beyond my own feet.

Then it dawned on me. I knew what was out there. In Florida, we call it the Skunk Ape, a kind of Big Foot that hangs out in the swamp. My daughter, Laura, and I had watched a program all about Skunk Apes just six months ago, so I could picture the thing in my mind’s eye, all hairy and lumbering, and wanting to tear my limbs off.

The hairs on my neck stood up as I considered the possibility that I would be killed by the Skunk Ape. It was a humiliating moment. If there had been a night-vision camera, it would have captured me looking like a giant, cowardly fifth grader, all high-pitched screams and flailing arms and ridiculous sidling steps down the trail.

And the smell! A horrible stench accompanied The Thing as I heard it running right beside me in the grass. (That odor is why they call it the Skunk Ape.) Then it took off down the banks, across the marsh, and into the sticks, where I could hear the crackle of the underbrush as it trampled off into the distance. And then the smell was gone.

After it left, I debated continuing. What if there was a whole family of Skunk Apes out there? Still, I decided to press on, and eventually the sun rose, and my imagination stopped going wild.

At least until I passed that spot again on my way back out of the brush and toward Clewiston. I was amazed to see all kinds of holes dug up along the path there. Maybe the Skunk Ape had been foraging for something. Snails? Moles? I don’t know what Skunk Apes eat, so I really have no idea.

Oh, man, I’m so bummed I didn’t have my headlamp. Actually, no, I’m not. If I’d had it, maybe the Skunk Ape wouldn’t have come near me, or if I’d been able to shine a light on it, I might have been disappointed if it hadn’t been a Skunk Ape at all.

Had I not decided to stop being Mr. Connected and unplug, and to get away from my usual routine and change the venue, I would have missed my encounter with the Skunk Ape … and with four alligators, a wild boar, and one really big, dead turtle (those I did see after the sun came up…).

Seriously, if I’d had my music on, I wouldn’t have heard the growl. I wouldn’t have even known something was there.

The moral of this story? Go somewhere new and unplug when you get there. This can be so simple! You don’t have to go to the swampland. If you work at home, for example, find a new corner of the house, just for a day.

Years ago, I’d go to whatever oceanfront home we had under construction, and stand in a different room in the house each week to reflect on what progress we’d made, what struggles I’d encountered, and what new ideas I had for the project. If you work in an office, do your best to carve out some time when you can work away from your own desk. If you’re training for an athletic event, try a new locale. If you’re a musician, practice in a new place. Give yourself the gift of imagination, invigoration, and inspiration in a novel setting.

Forget the distractions you think you need to have, like your iPod or your smart phone or your tablet. Unplug. Whether you think I saw an honest-to-goodness Skunk Ape or not (and this isn’t even about convincing you to believe in Big Foot), this is really about opening yourself up to something unexpected, something that shakes you up, wakes you up, and gets you excited again.

So, to return to Ferris Bueller, remember that life does move pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss your own Skunk Ape!