"For what is the point of training but making pain seem routine? You work the body, yes, but the real point of training is to accustom the mind to endure discomfort: to know it, tolerate it and even, finally, to like it."
Plenty of discomfort on this Sunday's training ride: it was boiling hot and horribly humid, I ran out of food, and I got stung by a wasp on my tongue. I thought the wasp was a bit of leftover energy bar wedged in behind a tooth – only as I bit into it (crunch) did I realise what was going on. I took four bars and two bottles of energy drink to see me through the five-hour session, but when I reached round to grab the last bar with an hour to go, I found the pocket empty – it must have fallen out – and trundled dejectedly home with a grumbling belly and plummeting blood sugar levels (but a perverse sense of enjoyment at what I was putting myself through as I rode past people soaping cars, sunbathing on lawns and drinking beer outside pubs).
There's more training – and I suspect no shortage of pain and discomfort – just around the corner. Alastair and I are heading to Utah at the end of next week for a ten-day training camp at Mark Twight's Gym Jones. I've been looking forward to this for a long time, with two parts sheer excitement and one part apprehension. Excitement because Mark Twight has had a strong influence on my own approach to expeditions (and, I suspect, to life). As an alpinist he was meticulous in his attention to preparation, gear, nutrition and training. His book Extreme Alpinism, published nearly ten years ago, seemed ahead of its time, and lay out an approach that had huge parallels with the type of polar expedition I wanted to lead in the future: fast, light, unguided, unsupported, pioneering and with an inescapable degree of challenge, danger and difficulty.
And part apprehension as Gym Jones, like any worthwhile expedition, represents an opportunity to be found out. To come face-to-face with my limits, and face-to-face with the reality of what it will take to surpass them.
"Gym Jones is not a cozy place. There's no AC, no comfortable spot to sit and there are no mirrors. Stressors are intentionally designed to cause discomfort and apprehension. Effort and pain may not be avoided. Physical and psychological breakdowns occur. The support of a like-minded group, dedicated to The Art of Suffering, provides a safety net. An individual will push harder and risk more in the company of trustworthy peers and that's one reason the gym is not open to the public. Gym Jones is a private, invitation-only facility located in Utah."
"It's such a pleasure to travel. I go to New York at least two or three times a year. I'm particularly fond of Marrakech. Last year, we spent Christmas in Dubai. People tell us that Oman is extremely beautiful. I'm also attracted by the idea of Colombia. But more and more I'm coming to believe that the journey into my own self is the journey that I like the best."
- Charlotte Rampling, interviewed in Swiss Air's Swiss Universe magazine
"He was the only person with whom I could have a one-to-one conversation on what I call the sacramental aspect of walking. He and I share a belief that walking is not simply therapeutic for oneself but is a poetic activity that can cure the world of its ills. He sums up his position in a stern pronouncement: 'Walking is a virtue, tourism deadly sin'."
- Bruce Chatwin (on Werner Herzog) in What Am I Doing Here
I'm just back from a speaking gig in South Africa (a big howzit to all the Hollardites reading this). The big news at this end is that, as of an hour ago, Ernst & Young are not going to sponsor SOUTH. Strangely, the call just now has left me feeling galvanised and excited rather than staring into the abyss of self-pity. The next three months just got a whole lot more interesting, so watch this space.
Right now, my journey into my own self continues with a trip to the pub, to celebrate Alex Vero's birthday. More soon…
Challenging times right now, as they often seem to be, and I'm going to break with a self-imposed rule I set a while ago and start talking (or indeed writing) a bit more openly about the ups and downs of getting an expedition like SOUTH off the ground. I've never seen anyone do this before, and probably for a good reason – the small clique of people like me who make a good living from expeditions tend to be pretty cagey about what they're doing next, and exactly how they're funding it. It's not the easiest time to be raising money right now, but I'm going to play my cards a little further from my chest, as it were.
I make no bones about the fact that my expeditions are paid for by corporate sponsorship. I started out with no money of my own, and my first North Pole expedition, in 2001, landed me in £35k ($69k) of personal debt that took years to pay off, so it's been a steep learning curve, and one I'm still grappling with. Last year was an interesting milestone – I did more speaking than ever before, and made more money than ever before. I felt secure and safe; grown-up. I started reading about investments and mortgages and bought a big flat shiny TV. Thought about getting a dog. Yet for the first time since 2001, there was no big expedition that year.
This year things feel different – edgy again. There's been one huge expedition already. Life is hurtling along, deadlines are towering over a horizon that races ever closer and debtors are looming large in the rear-view mirror. It all feels rather out of control, which I've come to learn is probably a good thing. A sign that I'm stretching and not cruising as Ridgway would put it.
There's a lot going on in the sponsorship department right now, and an important phone call with Ernst & Young's global head of marketing at 8am tomorrow. I'll let you know how it goes…
Cinematic Orchestra 'To Build a Home' – Live At The Barbican