“Hard choices, easy life. Easy choices, hard life.”
-Jerzy Gregorek
Last winter, I wrote about The Soft American, JFK’s 50-Mile March, and the Japanese ritual of misogi. I’m not here to tell you how to live your life, but to get the most out of Suburban Sufferfest, you should read them.
At a high level, I made the case that hard choices make us healthy, wealthy, and wise. Easy choices—comfort and entertainment—reverse that progress.
Hard things are good things, and we should do more of them.
But before I wrote about the 50-mile march last winter, I really wanted to do the 50-mile march last winter. I wanted to tell readers about it and then, SURPRISE!, say I’d completed it, thereby cementing my badassery in readers minds forevermore.
I was rucking all over town in preparation, and then I did something I’m not proud of.
I went golfing.
And while golfing, I reached out to high-five a buddy, stepped in a hole, snapped my ankle, and thereby kissed my 50-mile march goodbye.
As I rehabbed, I thought: RFK did his march on February 9th—maybe I’ll work toward that. Rehab, get my mojo back, and knock it out in the cold and dark.
But I was in Hawaii, with friends, swimming with Rays, jumping in waterfalls, and watching the Super Bowl on February 9th.
Little League season led to swim season led to me putting the 50-mile march on the back burner. Maybe for good.
The Sign
This past week, while my family was out of town, I knocked out a few projects around the house (fence looks great, btw). Once those were done, I sat down to work on the next book (soon!) when something strange was staring back at me.
The blog—my blog, this blog—was getting thousands of hits. Thousands! For me, that’s a lot.
Because of the activities in Washington, DC, with RFK, Jr. bringing back the presidential fitness program, my Soft American post was climbing search engines rankings and got linked in both The Washington Post and Citizen Free Press.
The left and the right were talking fitness. My heart swelled.
Every time I checked (often), hundreds more views.
Was it a sign?
I sort of felt like it was a sign.
It was time to walk the walk—literally—and knock out my misogi for the year: the JFK 50-Mile March.
And that’s exactly what I did.
Notes From the Suburban Sufferfest
“Is it hard?”
“Not if you have the right attitudes. It’s having the right attitudes that’s hard.”
-Robert M. Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
Most of life’s problems can be solved with a long walk. Solvitur ambulando—“it’s solved by walking.”
What follows is my road journal. The thoughts that came to me along the way. Maybe they’ll help you complete your misogi, sufferfest, or some other difficult task ahead.
Mile 2: Cougars
Just two miles from home, I get my first warning to turn back. Soaring Eagle Park—a wonderful 790-acre wooded stretch with 12 miles of trails—has signs in four different locations: RECENT COUGAR ACTIVITY IN THE AREA.
A sign like that really changes your walk. Every step through the park, you’re looking over your shoulder. Paranoid.
But when I exit the other side of the park, there’s no sign to be seen. I find it hard to believe the cougars only hang out by the main entrance.
It’s got me thinking: how does your approach, your entrance, your starting point to a subject, and industry, or a park, change your perspective—and in turn, your whole experience?
See? This walk is working out great already.
Mile 4: Tatanka
At the 4-mile mark, I’m having one of those, “I was today years old…” moments. After living in this town for 15 years, I’ve discovered that one of my neighbors is raising buffalo. Actual buffalo.
[Not pictured because I’m pretty sure people who raise buffalo are armed.]
Mile 5: Different Kinds of Signs
The legs don’t feel great. Stained the fence yesterday using a technique I call “squat spraying,” a series of air squats, up and down, down and up, for each board.
At 10% completion, my mind is already trying to find a way out of this hard choice.
Mile 6: Weight
A proper misogi should have a 50/50 chance of completion. I’ll be honest—I didn’t respect this one. I thought it was closer to 98% chance of completion.
So confident was I that, up until the final moment, I considered making this as a ruck. Not a full load, but maybe 20 pounds felt like a nice boost to the difficulty.
I changed my mind because of coffee and water. The impromptu nature of this march didn’t mean I skipped coffee—I made a full pot, landing it in a series of Hydro Flasks. Although this won’t be a ruck as initially intended, the liquid weight plus absurdly heavy insulated vessels has to be damn near 15 pounds.
Mile 9: Trails?
A 50-mile march through suburbia lacks picturesque trails, but it does provide conveniences: pull over for a doughnut or a Celsius. Or both.
Mile 10: Hello Ratio
A walk like this means you can get through a backlog of podcasts or an audiobook. But my favorite moments so far are free of all that—mind wandering, ideas percolating, and the occasional “hello” to a fellow traveler.
On that note, I’ll start an experiment: the hello ratio—hellos given to those received. Any guesses?
Hello Ratio: 1:1
Mile 12: Self-Delusion
I thought I could ruck this. No way. If I had weights in this pack, I’d just crawl in a hole.
Mile 15: Public Math
I don’t do public math, but here’s what we’re looking at: I’ve been walking for around four hours and gone 15 miles. That’s 16-minute miles, meaning I’ll be getting home around 7:30 p.m. Meaning I have about 9 1/2 hours to go.
Meaning, this is kind of crazy.
That’s what makes it misogi, and I’m excited I’ve selected something worthy of the term.
Hello Ratio: 1:4
Mile 18: Eyeball-to-Eyeball
Eighteen miles in just about five hours. Not the speed I was hoping for, but now over one-third of the way there, it feels like it might happen. Still feels a bit crazy. The pinky toes think it’s crazy.
It’s interesting to see places you’ve only driven past. On foot, you see more, notice more. Looking at things eyeball-to-eyeball.
Mile 20: F*ck You!
Somewhere just after 20 miles, I spill my beef jerky. The good stuff.
I consider crying.
And just how did that little packet of silica gel stay in the package while every morsel of jerky scattered across the asphalt?
Go to hell silica gel!
Anything dropped becomes a personal affront. My sunglasses hit the ground, and without a thought it’s, f*ck you!
Mile 21: Things Change
Old baseball fields are cricket pitches now, and Little League coaches weep.
Hello Ratio: 2:7
Mile 22: This Might Be hard
Approaching six hours, and fatigue is setting in.
Also, pain.
This might be hard.
Mile 23: Pringles
There’s some sort of charity bike ride going on. Lots of bibs that say, “cure cancer faster.”
Men and women on top-end road bikes. How much do those bikes cost? Thousands?
And how much are they raising? Hundreds?
I hope it’s thousands and then some, but I know how these things go.
Among all the cancer-curing cyclists on top-end road bikes, one hero rises above the rest: his E-bike, rented; his water bottle holders chambered with Pringles and a hard seltzer. I wish him luck.
Mostly, I wish I had Pringles and a hard seltzer.
Mile 25: Halfway
Twenty-five miles down, 25 miles to go. Halfway by some measures.
I’m thinking of Rommel, in full retreat. The tides of the war had swung; the British were advancing. Church bells rang across London and beyond. “Now, this is not the end,” Churchill told his people. “It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.”
It’s like that. Except walking around Lake Sammamish.
Mile 28: Walden
W. Lake Sammamish Parkway. Not exactly Walden Pond.
Mile 28: Uphill Both Ways
This stretch from Issaquah through Bellevue to Redmond is absolutely insane. I’ve been walking uphill—slight uphill, but f*cking uphill—for two hours now. Where the hell does it end?
Mile 30: The Little Things
Sidewalks. A beautiful thing.
Mile 32: Poetry
You’ll see it all,
Out in the wild suburban sprawl.
You walk past weddings, and funerals, barbecues too,
Church groups, preaching—are they talking to you?
You’ll see groups of social butterflies,
Workouts in the park, thunder-thighs.
Sun tanners, sun avoiders,
Paddleboarders, picnic hoarders.
Out in the wild suburban sprawl,
You’ll see it all.
This is poetry. Pretty much. Walking!
Hello Ratio: 4:13
Mile 34: Uber?
Uber. I want an Uber.
Dropping into Whole Foods for a refill water, chicken Caesar wrap, Probar (chocolate peanut butter), and a mega-super-large coconut water.
But I want Uber. And tequila.
Mile 35: Bells
The pleasant ringing of a bell is the appropriate way to signal your passing on a road bike. Always on the left.
Mile 36: Content Creation
This whole stupid idea makes me think about writing. How important is it to do things.
Most wouldn’t consider taking a hot lap around your city to be “doing things,” but I beg to differ. A lot of my writing comes from reading, movies, things I’ve learned about others. But maybe the best stuff comes from my own experience.
I’m not going to become a war correspondent, but there’s this intersection between skills, knowledge, and experience that plays out on the page. You can level up any of those and improve the whole lot. Even the mundane—anything that pushes you out your front door, creates material with a bit more teeth.
And you might even come up with a dead simple ratio that’s directly correlated to the downfall of western values.
Hello Ratio: 4:15
Mile 39: Andor
Could’ve stayed home and watched Andor.
Mile 41: Some History
I’m on the East Lake Sammamish Trail. My family biked it last weekend. It’s a rail trail, built on top of a decommissioned railroad line that started operation in 1889, connecting coal mines in Gilman (now Issaquah) to Seattle through what are now Woodinville and Redmond.
Seattle residents would wait another five decades before the I-90 bridge connected East and West in 1946.
I have a trait that I’m not particularly proud of. When I walk, drive, or ride somewhere, I can’t help but wonder what it was like 100 years ago. I’m sure this is a relic of parents who pulled over at every lookout point in the West, but it’s stuck with me.
One hundred years ago, the east shore of Lake Sammamish, where I’m walking now, was home to thriving lumber mills, settlements, and resorts.
European settlers, along with natives from the Snoqualmie Tribe, operated a shingle mill using lumber harvested from the plateau above.
My grandpa, who grew up in Seattle’s Wallingford area, said he used to head this way, into the woods, to drink beers with his buddies. That was closer to 85 years ago.
The suburban sprawl takes no prisoners.
Mile 42: Endurance
I mean, just standing for this long would be something, right?
Strides are getting choppy. Lumbering.
Hello Ratio: 6:22
Mile 44: Sanctuary
Back in Issaquah, close to where I started. I need to pee, and Issaquah is not keen on street pee, so I go where all street people pee: Home Depot. [I own shares, so I act like I own the joint.]
God damn, the AC feels good. The yard furniture is calling my name.
Resist!
It’s funny—a few sideways looks, but mostly, you can do these hard things and nobody in the garden center has a clue. And I love that.
Real Gs move in silence like lasagna.
Forty-four miles under my belt, 5.5 miles home. I can go nearly direct.
One problem I’d been worrying about for the past four hours: I live on that plateau we discussed earlier. Nothing crazy, but we sit about 550 feet above sea level, 450 feet above Issaquah below. Enough of a difference to understand why we get all the snow. And enough to really feel when, at mile 44, I make my final ascent.
Mile 45: Reality
You think you’re in shape. You work out. Then you go and do something stupid and figure it all out.
Seinfeld says, “pain is knowledge, rushing in to fill a gap.” I’ve gained some knowledge today.
Mile 50: Home
Hot damn, I’m home.
You can make it hard, right in your own backyard.
Final Hello Ratio: 9:31
I Call Bullsh*t
“Life is hard, Kid, you gotta be harder.”
-James Frey, A Million Little Pieces
I took an aspirin and some creatine. Made salt water, leftovers, and cracked a bottle of white wine that gathered condensation on the counter as I ate.
Didn’t sleep a wink. My feet hurt and my heart was racing.
So Robert Kennedy did this walk, on a trail, in mud and muck, wearing loafers, and all he had to say was that his feet were a little sore? Went ice-skating the next day with the kids?
I call bullshit.
This was a toughie—cycling through self-doubt, self-assurance, self-esteem, and self-pity. Feeling waves of fatigue. All of those emotions are what made it worth doing.
You don’t really know how many miles that will take, but if you wake up and start walking, I’m sure you’ll get there.
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