Shoshin and the joy of beginning again

I used to run a lot. 7km, 10km, 12 km at a time, three to four times a week. OK, not amazing, but for me, those distances were something I was proud of. Running helped me think clearly, gave me energy, and made me look better. Then five months ago, something wonderful happened and I stopped (we had a baby). 

That is, until today. As you might imagine, five months of inactivity changes your body. You’re less fit, less mobile, and certain bodily angles just hurt. The longer you don’t exercise, the less you want to move. But today, the sun was out, and the pavement was calling. 

I have come to appreciate the need to ‘begin again’ constantly. This is especially true for physical activities, but applies to all aspects of life, be that love, career or health. It is analogous to the Zen concept of shoshin (初心), literally 'initial heart' or more poetically, 'Beginner’s Mind'. It is described as taking the traits of an enthusiastic beginner, and applying that attitude of openness, eagerness, and lack of preconceptions to particular areas of focus. On this day, the focus was on running. So I set out.

As was my ritual, I found a flight of stairs I warmed up and stretched and took my time to prepare, and at my age, it has a lasting impact on the rest of my run. Not that I was ambitious about the rest of my run, I knew I wouldn’t get close to my old distances. Today was all about getting started again, to move my body, and maybe reaching the 3km mark if I was lucky.

This was the first run I would take in my new neighbourhood, an idyllic little island that no one comes to, unless they get on the wrong ferry. There is nothing here for tourists. They disembarking with great expectations of a bustling weekend getaway, they instead arrive at a sleepy fishing village. Most leave within two hours. I moved here about a month after my daughter was born because of these reasons and more: I am surrounded by trees, I wake to a daily chorus of birds, and fall asleep in the darkness of nature by 10pm. I know about eight people here, my landlord and his entire extended family of indigenous islanders, and some old sporting buddies who happened to migrate here a few months before I did.

My island hideaway adds to the idea of ‘beginning again’.

New beginnings have the tendency to refresh the spirit, give new perspectives, and make you dig deeper for answers of yourself.

It casts aside the arrogance of experience, and strips away any presumptions you’ve had in the past - regardless of whether they have served you well or not. It is a beautiful process because it unveils uniquely valuable things you may have overlooked or discarded, and it forces you to question everything.

Running by the East Bay, I breathe in the cool Spring breeze infused with the distinct smell of the sea. I look at my fitness tracker watch. 0.85km?! I had run less than a kilometre?! 

An often ignored aspect of shoshin is the tendency to be afflicted by the same things that affect beginners: Impatient enthusiasm.

It is like fumbling around in a familiar but darkened room, you half know what you're doing, but then you walk into an unexpected closed door.

I was overestimating my abilities and I was being smacked down by the confines of reality. 

Keep going. Down to the end of East Bay, turning around just before I hit the shadowy stone hut where Thai Buddhist monks are rumoured to keep little ghosts in glass bottles. Escaping inwards and towards the centre of the island, I run past two palm trees - not the type you would expect to find in these parts of the world; perhaps something you might expect in the desert - I slow to admire the red-whiskered bulbul, so iconic in Hong Kong, pecking at the palm fruits. 

I am distracted, but I am okay with that because there is beauty in rediscovering the joys of certain activities. What was once considered mundane, or even perhaps a hindrance, becomes a moment of glorious indulgence.

If you’re 95% proficient at what you do, then shoshin is an opportunity to investigate the remaining 5%.  

I look at my watch. Still only 1.2km. Less disappointed as I come to terms with the reality of my pace. I'm feeling good, I run towards the southern bay, and silently commend my body for holding up. I had expected my knees to start giving in pretty quickly.

Before I took up long-distance running three years ago, I would avoid running at all costs. I had hated ‘cross-country’ running ever since I was in grade school. I was never fit enough and I would always come last, or second last with my best friend trailing behind me. Running never made me feel good, and my knees would invariably hurt.

I look at my watch. 1.74km. What is that niggle in my knee? Uh-oh. The dull pain had arrived, perhaps seeking vengeance for my earlier thoughts.

“Push through. Push through,” I tell myself.

I reach the old banyan tree, its age revealed in its dangling roots, the colour of which graduate from a moss covered green, to a weathered brown and finally to the yellow-hued ginger of the early spring growth. I am distracted again, but at least I have stopped thinking about the sharp piercing sensation coming from my knee with each step. I slow to a walk now. My knee needs the relief.

In some aspects, shoshin is contradictory. You are acutely aware of the risks, but you are also openly committed to relearning a process from scratch. One benefit of beginning again is that it comes with experience and knowledge of the risks - if I push forward, ignoring the screaming warnings, then I may reach my goal faster, but I certainly won’t be walking comfortably for the next four days. If I listen to my body rather than my ego and slow down now, then I know I’ll be back on the road again this week. 

You should always start again with a beginner’s mind, but you should never forget past lessons nor hold onto a beginner’s arrogance. 

Eventually I amble to the end of the southern bay and I turn around. Towards the public ferry pier. Pain subsides slightly and I start a light jog again, I look at my watch again. 1.8km. 

No! Yes!

YES!

My watch is American and the distance is measured in miles! Due to either distraction or over-enthusiasm, I forgot to calibrate my tools. This time it has worked in my favour, two miles roughly equals 3km. My target was closer than I imagined!

The realisation brings a renewed zest and burst of enthusiasm. I push ahead with a powerful stride, but the knee disagrees, I slow down, and half walk, half jog the final distance back to my home. I look at my watch again. 3.28km.

I have exceeded my target.

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Stay awesome, folks.