Crossing the Threshold
May 21st, 2007 at 12:14 pm (Physical)
After an hour [of walking], thought-journeys into the past and future have become less compulsive, and less tinged with regret and anxiety. As I reach the little notch that will bring me to the top of the cliff, I realize that my eyes have abandoned their aggressive “reading,” and have begun to do what I can only call “caress” things. . . At the top of the cliff I stop, and find that I’ve crossed the color threshold.
If I stay out long enough, I can expect this transition, though it doesn’t always happen. Colors become more distinct and saturated, light more radiant and dense, even on cloudy days. . .
Today, along with a heightened awareness of light and color, comes a rinse of relief: I have arrived here, all is well.
I first became a Hannah Hinchman fan when I was learning to journal and draw and paint and generally take notice of things. In her book, A trail through leaves: The journal as a path to place, Hannah talks a lot about meditation. Her journals primarily honor and explore the badlands of Wyoming where she lived at the time, and she uses walking, journaling, and art-making to hone her attention and focus onto the things that are Really Important.
This idea — of crossing the color threshold — has always stuck with me. If I had unlimited time, I too would wander around outdoors with a blank book and a set of watercolors and walk and walk and walk until the world seemed magical and right. This type of meditation would suit me just fine, I suppose, although I have never had the luxury of book royalties and art commissions from which to test out that theory. Still, I experience something vaguely similar when I exercise.
I have noticed that it takes me about 13 minutes to cross the Treadmill Threshold. That is, routinely — around minute 11, when my legs feel like lead and I am miserable and haven’t yet really worked up a sweat and find my breath coming in irregular, raspy gasps — I think to myself, Why am I doing this? I hate this. I want to stop. I want to go home. I don’t want to exercise or lose weight or be healthy or any of those things. It’s too much work. It’s hard. I gave it a whirl and I don’t feel good and now I am going to stop.
What I have learned is that if I can push through to minute 12, 13, 14 and beyond, suddenly my legs feel like they have transformed from lead pipes to wings. I do a little shadowboxing in beat to the music. I feel light and free and even skip a little bit for the joy of it. I laugh, sometimes, to think of myself whipping along — heart rushing, sweating, breathing. I feel healthy and strong and think, Why, I could do this for hours! What was I bellyaching about?
Incidentally, this has also happened when I was walking outdoors, off of the treadmill. It’s just that when on the treadmill, I am ever so much more aware of the minutes as they tick by. Now, at minute 7 or 8 when I start feeling really miserable, I can just think to myself, “Just push through and cross the threshold. If it still sucks then, you can stop.” I never have yet.
Does this happen to you?
