Four Corners Quad Keyah

“You are here…life exists…the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.” 

~Walt Whitman

The Powerful Play Goes On

Flying is faster than driving. Driving is faster than biking. Biking is faster than walking. And walking is easier than running. Running is, possibly, the most difficult way to get from one place to another unless you’re inclined to crawl, so why do we do it? I’ve always found the answer to be a simple, rather logical one. It’s about the journey, and how we get where we’re going matters.

I spent three days this spring hacking away at a tree root with a heavy, two-handled axe. I got the first three trees planted in our yard without much difficulty, but the hole where the fourth was supposed to go was full of large chunks of old asphalt and, when I finally got those pulled out, a tree root from the Silver Maple that fell on our house a few years ago, the bastard.

“How big do you think that root is?” my mother-in-law asked me.

“Oh, maybe six inches,” I replied, unconcerned. This was even before I had the axe, and thought maybe I could remove it with a few pointed jabs of my spade.

Days later, with my wife murmuring something about a chainsaw, I headed back out to the hole in our yard that had become my mission. I’d lift the heavy two-handed axe above my head and bring it forcefully down upon the right side of the root bisecting the hole a hundred times, counting every one, then catch my breath and allow my muscles to recover before doing it again, this time on the other side of the root. From time to time I’d clear excess dirt and wood chips out with a spade. I had to rest for hours between sessions, but I was enjoying the journey. Three days later, with my trapezius muscles pleading with me to get a new pastime, the roots—plural—came loose. There were actually two of them intertwined over a hundred years, measuring more than twenty inches in diameter. I removed them, planted the last peach tree, and went in cut into the last of my blisters and to wash the dirt from underneath my nails, feeling satisfied.

I don’t believe that every step in every journey needs to be inherently difficult, but as the hair in my beard grows increasingly gray I do find myself pushing back on some of the things I see happening around me. We eat garbage food because its fast and easy. We Zoom with people on different floors of the same building instead of meeting for a coffee.  Worst of all, we outsource our thinking to things that cannot think at all, all but guaranteeing the death of thought.

Why a person would use artificial intelligence to do something that natural intelligence can do is, frankly, beyond me, and I fear that we’re on the brink of creating a society that is incapable of writing, of creating art, perhaps even of generating original thoughts. The unethical means by which much AI was created and the unconscionable use of resources required to power it bother me nearly as much as the idea that this could spell the end of humanity—of what makes it meaningful to be a human—of our capacity for thought and original ideas. I think I resisted the urge to grab a chainsaw in favor of a two-handled axe for the same reason that I outline my own papers and write my own emails even though I suppose AI could do it for me faster. And I think these ideas are a big part of the reason that my journey will take me back to the Navajo Reservation this December.

Two years ago, I traveled to Cortez, Colorado, via Denver, before renting a car  with my friend Brian and driving to the Navajo—or Diné—Reservation. Diné means “The people” in the Navajo language. There, at a starting elevation of around 5,000 feet above sea level, I ran a marathon every day for four days, one in Colorado, one in New Mexico, one in Arizona, and one in Utah. The courses were rocky singletrack with some impossibly steep climbs, and after the first day I was so battered that I doubted whether or not I could run at all on day two. Somehow, I got into a rhythm, along with the friends I took with me and those I met there. Each day we’d wake up, consume huge amounts of food (my favorite breakfast was a big plate of biscuits and gravy smothered in scrambled eggs with a side of bacon) and head to the Four Corners. We’d run the races—my marathons took me between just under five hours to just over six on these courses—and then we’d gather up, hobble to the car and head back to the hotel. Once there, we’d shower off the dust and blood and then lounge in the hot tub until we felt like we could move a little better. Then we’d head to a restaurant, eat incredible amounts of food (my favorite dinner was a cheeseburger and a beer with a dozen wings and a “side” of a large pepperoni pizza) and then return to the hotel to use Hyperice and massage guns, struggle through some yoga poses, rub our muscles down, and rest up for the next day. Despite this routine, after four days and four marathons, I had a negative calorie deficit of more than 10,000 calories over the course of those four days. There was simply no way to adequately fuel for a journey like that.

In the end, I was one of fewer than a dozen people to finish all four races at the marathon distance. When I did, running my final mile, mile 104, at a sub-nine pace with another runner I’d met actively running next to me as we pushed each other on, I felt immortal. My cliché belief that “I can do anything” was now supported by concrete evidence. It may have been the best I’ve ever felt in my entire life, having done something that even in the moment felt undoable. I felt more alive that day than perhaps I ever had before. That’s one of the reasons I’m going back.

This past year I’ve been in and out of the hospital far too frequently for my liking—getting blood draws, scanning my heart for calcium build ups, checking my bone density—and in complete candor I cannot even name all of the prescription medications that my doctor has me on right now, each with a unique polysyllabic name that sounds as much like poison as it does relief. Despite it all I feel pretty good most of the time. As I get older and watch as the powerful play goes on, the antagonists erecting ever greater and increasingly enormous monuments to consumerism, convenience, and laze, I can’t help but shake my head. What’s going to be left of us when all the poetry is gone, when the art appears without any human ever touching brush to canvas, when the idea that the easiest way is always the best becomes so prevalent that it causes us to put away our running shoes, discard our axes, and stop not only writing books but reading them as well?

I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to run marathons, but I am certain that running is one of those uniquely human things that I cannot afford to take for granted. Another such thing is compassion, and I’m grateful for the opportunity to combine these two as I set out to run the Quad Keyah again in December. Rather than paying the modest entry fee, I’ve committed to raising money to support important programs on the Navajo Reservation. If you’re still reading this, I’m providing a link below and I’d be grateful if you would support me on this journey.

The Quad Keyah is a spiritual experience for me. Even in perfect health, I couldn’t take finishing again for granted, but that’s part of what makes a second attempt so damn exciting to me. Whether I do ultimately become one of the very few people ever to scale this mountain a second time, I know that I’ll be in a beautiful place with a ton of time to run, to think, and to dream—three very natural acts that no computer could ever replicate or take away from me.  I’m excited by the prospect of spending four days on the reservation, in the great outdoors, running for a good cause; thank you for your support as I strive to contribute my verse.

 
Mark

Help support Mark as I prepare to run the Navajo Yes Four Corners Quad Keyah!

By registering for a Charity Bib for this event, I've agreed to raise money to support the Navajo Yes organization by running the Quad Keyah again in 2025. I have until November 20, 2025, to reach my goal. Once I do, I'll be eligible to run! 

Will you help me raise money to support this incredible mission?

Double Your Donation Today!

Does your company have a gift-matching program? Check with your HR department to see if your company matches employee gifts. If they do, take advantage of this opportunity to double your contribution today!

Please note that matching gifts must be received 2 weeks prior to the race day to be counted towards your fundraising goal. Donations must also have the athlete’s name associated with the donation so we can allocate funds accordingly.

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