Link to article here. Full text below.

Even though I’m running better and farther now than I did in my 20s and have been researching, writing and talking about almost nothing but running, I’ve stayed away from the marathon. The distance wasn’t the problem. It was the event itself that bugged me.

Ten years ago, I quit running for good. I was sick of the constant injuries and dismissive shrugs of doctors who wondered, “Well, what did you expect?” One study found that up to 9 out of every 10 marathoners get hurt in training, so how many cortisone shots would it take before I got it through my head that it means something when a sport has a nearly 100 percent casualty rate? The human body wasn’t meant for all the pounding, the doctors kept telling me — especially not 230-pound bodies with nearly 40 years on the meter.

So I took their advice and tossed my Nikes, somehow missing the zoological weirdness in their diagnosis. I never thought to ask, “Hang on — if running is bad for humans, why isn’t it bad for every animal?” Dogs run on sidewalks, elephants trot for miles across baked African savannas, reindeer bound across solid ice on rock-hard hoofs, yet they don’t get shinsplints and Achilles tendinitis. How come every other creature gets along just fine on its own limbs except us?

It would be absurd if trout were at high risk for swimming injuries or 90 percent of blue jays tore their rotator cuffs from flying. Yet humans, who only had their feet for transportation for most of their existence, somehow arrived in the 21st century broken on delivery. Geronimo used to outrun cavalry horses and say, “You can only count on your legs. They’re your only friends.” So why are doctors telling me just the opposite?

In 2005, after years of exile from running, I discovered that Geronimo’s secret is still alive and well among the ultra-running Tarahumara Indians of Mexico’s Copper Canyons. I met their gringo protégé, “The White Horse,” and Daniel Lieberman, Harvard’s “Barefoot Professor,” and discovered that injury-free legs aren’t such a miracle after all. Within nine months, I transformed myself so completely that I was able to join the Tarahumara in a 50-mile race and haven’t missed a day of running due to injury ever since.

Since I told this story in my book “Born to Run,” I’ve been invited to speak at lots of marathons. And at every one of the pre-race dinners, I’d look down from the podium at people who’d handed over a month’s worth of grocery money to be there. They’d been herded through a maze of booths selling worthless and insanely overpriced running shoes, and would be crowded into buses the next morning and wait for hours penned up in corrals — corrals! like cattle! — before being released in waves, so many bodies they’re measured by oceanography — in exchange for…what, exactly?

If you want to run 26.2 miles, the door’s right there. Go. Why do you need corporate hoopla and 45,000 strangers along for the ride?

“I think mega-marathons pretty much epitomize everything that’s wrong with recreational running,” I recently e-mailed Dr. Lieberman, letting him know I’d decided to turn down an invitation to run this year’s New York City marathon with him.

His response was gentle and friendly, but boiled down to this: Get over yourself. What makes you so special that you can’t be part of “the world’s biggest peripatetic party,” as he put it. “Yeah, there is lots of commercialism, sponsors, hype — but to me these marathons are really more like festivals.”

And parties, essentially, are the centerpiece of Dr. Lieberman’s entire theory of human evolution. A big old running party, he believes, is what made our existence possible in the first place. Two million years ago, the brains of early humans dramatically increased in size, meaning they must have been eating other animals: in those pre-tofu, pre-Greek yogurt, pre-cultivated legume days, only flesh could provide enough condensed caloric energy to fuel that many brain cells. But the first spears and arrows only appeared about 200,000 years ago, so how were wimpy little Homo sapiens catching and killing prey without the benefit of claws, fangs, speed, strength or weapons?

Simple, Dr. Lieberman says. We’re really, really good at sweating. Our one natural advantage in the wild was our ability to vent heat by perspiration, instead of respiration. Let a horse run in the sun, and after a few panting miles it has a choice: breathe or cool off. It can’t do both at the same time, but we can. So he believes early humans formed into hunting parties and set off on hot days to chase bounding beasts into heat prostration, trotting along just fast enough to keep them on the move and out of the shade. But the crucial word isn’t “hunting,” but “party.” Try chasing a kudu on your own, and there will be two cadavers on the savanna.

That’s why we feel this urge to gather by the tens of thousands to surge through the city streets for an average of 4.5 hours — which, incidentally, is almost exactly how long it takes to run an antelope to death. You didn’t choose that distance; survival chose it for you.

But when I looked at today’s marathoners, I didn’t see a pack of brothers and sisters pulling together. I didn’t see communal spirit. I saw isolated, iPod-ed individualists more interested in their Garmins than each other. I saw commercial greed and egotistical obsessions over fractions of a minute.

And then I saw Derartu Tulu.

When she entered last year’s New York City marathon, Ms. Tulu was a 37-year-old has-been from Ethiopia who hadn’t won a marathon in eight years. Months earlier, she’d decided to retire. She hadn’t competed for two years after nearly dying in childbirth and was coming to realize she’d never regain the form that sped her to an Olympic gold medal nearly two decades before. But the limits of her aging body were complicated by the demands of a tender heart; in addition to her own two children, she’d adopted four orphans, and one last payday could guarantee her family’s security for a long time. She decided to go for it.

Unfortunately, so did the most formidable female marathoner in history: Paula Radcliffe, the world-record holder and three-time New York City champion. “Lean and mean,” the race announcers said in awe as they watched Ms. Radcliffe rocket off the starting line. “All the other athletes are so intimidated by this great champion. She’s the sharp end of this spear.”

But at mile 22 something strange happened, followed by something even stranger. Ms. Radcliffe grimaced and fell back. Her left hamstring had seized. It was the chance of a lifetime for Ms. Tulu — and she blew it. Instead of blazing toward the finish, she let the lead pack pass while she stopped and waited for Ms. Radcliffe.

“Come on,” she urged the lean, mean spear tip. “We can do it.”

Ms. Radcliffe tried, but her hamstring wouldn’t release. Ms. Tulu finally set off on her own. Somehow, she caught back up with the lead pack, and then the under-underdog blew past in the final quarter-mile to snap the tape. It’s among the most awe-inspiring performances I’ve ever seen, and to this day, I still don’t understand exactly what happened.

The best I can come up with is this: Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence that one of the most compassionate people on the streets that day was also the most competitive. The greatness of spirit which urged her to watch for every faltering orphan, to keep the pack together, also gave her the strength to lead it. At its finest and most time-tested, after all, running was never a solitary pursuit. The Tarahumara don’t compete individually, preferring instead to kick-flip a small wooden ball from teammate to teammate, maintaining a constellation of flowing bodies. The Hopi believed running was a form of prayer; before setting off on a long run from Arizona to the Pacific, they’d offer their effort on behalf of loved ones in need of help. “I’m offering my strength to them,” the runner would murmur to their god, the Great Mystery, “and in return I ask for some of yours.”

I sent Dr. Lieberman another message. “I’m in.”

The real tragedy of the mega-marathon wasn’t too much hype and too many marathoners, but too little and too few. Luckily, the message has recently begun spreading that running can be easy and gentle and injury free, meaning lots more people may soon be joining the party that started them all.

Christopher McDougall is the author of “Born to Run: A Hidden Tribe, Super Athletes, and The Greatest Race the World Has Never Seen.” This Friday, Nov. 5, he’ll host Dr. Lieberman and other speakers in “Running Reinvented: The Cabaret,” at the Society for Ethical Culture on 2 West 64th Street in New York City at 6:30 p.m.

How to Push Past the Pain, as the Champions Do

By GINA KOLATA

My son, Stefan, was running in a half marathon in Philadelphia last month when he heard someone coming up behind him, breathing hard.

To his surprise, it was an elite runner, Kim Smith, a blond waif from New Zealand. She has broken her country’s records in shorter distances and now she’s running half marathons. She ran the London marathon last spring and will run the New York marathon next month.

That day, Ms. Smith seemed to be struggling. Her breathing was labored and she had saliva all over her face. But somehow she kept up, finishing just behind Stefan and coming in fifth with a time of 1:08:39.

And that is one of the secrets of elite athletes, said Mary Wittenberg, president and chief executive of the New York Road Runners, the group that puts on the ING New York City Marathon. They can keep going at a level of effort that seems impossible to maintain.

“Mental tenacity — and the ability to manage and even thrive on and push through pain — is a key segregator between the mortals and immortals in running,” Ms. Wittenberg said.

You can see it in the saliva-coated faces of the top runners in the New York marathon, Ms. Wittenberg added.

“We have towels at marathon finish to wipe away the spit on the winners’ faces,” she said. “Our creative team sometimes has to airbrush it off race photos that we want to use for ad campaigns.”

Tom Fleming, who coaches Stefan and me, agrees. A two-time winner of the New York marathon and a distance runner who was ranked fourth in the world, he says there’s a reason he was so fast.

“I was given a body that could train every single day.” Tom said, “and a mind, a mentality, that believed that if I trained every day — and I could train every day — I’ll beat you.”

“The mentality was I will do whatever it takes to win,” he added. “I was totally willing to have the worst pain. I was totally willing to do whatever it takes to win the race.”

But the question is, how do they do it? Can you train yourself to run, cycle, swim or do another sport at the edge of your body’s limits, or is that something that a few are born with, part of what makes them elites?

Sports doctors who have looked into the question say that, at the very least, most people could do a lot better if they knew what it took to do their best.

“Absolutely,” said Dr. Jeroen Swart, a sports medicine physician, exercise physiologist and champion cross-country mountain biker who works at the Sports Science Institute of South Africa.

“Some think elite athletes have an easy time of it,” Dr. Swart said in a telephone interview. Nothing could be further from the truth.

And as athletes improve — getting faster and beating their own records — “it never gets any easier,” Dr. Swart said. “You hurt just as much.”

But, he added, “Knowing how to accept that allows people to improve their performance.”

One trick is to try a course before racing it. In one study, Dr. Swart told trained cyclists to ride as hard as they could over a 40-kilometer course. The more familiar they got with the course, the faster they rode, even though — to their minds — it felt as if they were putting out maximal effort on every attempt.

Then Dr. Swart and his colleagues asked the cyclists to ride the course with all-out effort, but withheld information about how far they’d gone and how far they had to go. Subconsciously, the cyclists held back the most in this attempt, leaving some energy in reserve.

That is why elite runners will examine a course, running it before they race it. That is why Lance Armstrong trained for the grueling Tour de France stage on l’Alpe d’Huez by riding up the mountain over and over again.

“You are learning exactly how to pace yourself,” Dr. Swart said.

Another performance trick during competitions is association, the act of concentrating intensely on the very act of running or cycling, or whatever your sport is, said John S. Raglin, a sports psychologist at Indiana University.

In studies of college runners, he found that less accomplished athletes tended to dissociate, to think of something other than their running to distract themselves.

“Sometimes dissociation allows runners to speed up, because they are not attending to their pain and effort,” he said. “But what often happens is they hit a sort of physiological wall that forces them to slow down, so they end up racing inefficiently in a sort of oscillating pace.” But association, Dr. Raglin says, is difficult, which may be why most don’t do it.

Dr. Swart says he sees that in cycling, too.

“Our hypothesis is that elite athletes are able to motivate themselves continuously and are able to run the gantlet between pushing too hard — and failing to finish — and underperforming,” Dr. Swart said.

To find this motivation, the athletes must resist the feeling that they are too tired and have to slow down, he added. Instead, they have to concentrate on increasing the intensity of their effort. That, Dr. Swart said, takes “mental strength,” but “allows them to perform close to their maximal ability.”

Dr. Swart said he did this himself, but it took experience and practice to get it right. There were many races, he said, when “I pushed myself beyond my abilities and had to withdraw, as I was completely exhausted.”

Finally, with more experience, Dr. Swart became South Africa’s cross-country mountain biking champion in 2002.

Some people focus by going into a trancelike state, blocking out distractions. Others, like Dr. Swart, have a different method: He knows what he is capable of and which competitors he can beat, and keeps them in his sight, not allowing himself to fall back.

“I just hate to lose,” Dr. Swart said. “I would tell myself I was the best, and then have to prove it.”

Kim Smith has a similar strategy.

“I don’t want to let the other girls get too far ahead of me,” she said in a telephone interview. “I pretty much try and focus really hard on the person in front of me.”

And while she tied her success to having “some sort of talent toward running,” Ms. Smith added that there were “a lot of people out there who were probably just as talented. You have to be talented, and you have to have the ability to push yourself through pain.”

And, yes, she does get saliva all over her face.

“It’s not a pretty sport,” Ms. Smith said. “You are not looking good at the end.”

As for the race she ran with my son, she said: “I’m sorry if I spit all over Stefan.” (She didn’t, Stefan said.)

Red Rocks. Steep canyon walls. 48 miles of trail. On your own. Who’s in?
A great friend of mine took me aside about a year ago and innocently inquired, “So what if I asked you to run an ultramarathon across Zion National Park with me? Would you think I was crazy?” Yes, I would, but somehow she convinced a few of us to do it with her—a 48 mile trail run across Zion, unsupported, just 5 women (four ecologists and 1 glaciologist-turned-medic). She had been completely sold on this run idea after seeing stunning pictures and videos from Andrew Skurka—an ultrarunner and outdoor adventurer extraordinaire—who is one of the few people to have finished  this traverse before. Our team had all finished marathons in the past, but this was going to be the first big ultrarun for most of us. We picked a date, bought plane tickets and then we were locked in. No going back!

From December to April, each of us followed a training plan combined and modified from Runners World and Hal Higdon. We relied on the theory that if you run back-to-back days (e.g., 25 miles Saturday, 13 miles Sunday), then your body responds as though it’s running longer (>40 miles), but without all the injuries. We each battled with minor injuries during training (tight Achilles tendons, some knee pain, some hip pain), but when April arrived, we were all healthy enough and ready to go!

Vegas, baby, yeah!
Las Vegas served as our meeting and prepping point. No time for a “Thunder from Down Under” show, but we did appreciate the opportunity to stock up on enough food to feed an army. And then we were off to Zion!
The trail
You can see why Zion was protected as one of our country’s first National Parks. Its stunning canyons, slabs of open sandstone, distinctive red and white cliff bands and lush river corridors made for a fantastic distraction from the pain in our legs over the long miles of this run. We ran from the East Rim trailhead to Lee Pass—a route that crosses across some of the most dramatic Zion country, gaining 10,000 feet and then losing just about the same over 48.3 miles (see map—SE corner to NW corner).

Andrew Skurka’s website is a wonderful resource for anyone planning to do this run. Skurka recommends running this route in late April, when the snows have melted but before it gets too hot for those open, exposed stretches of trail. Thinking we were perfectly on target, we chose a weekend in late April to hit that peak time. Who knew it was also going to be an El Nino year? Nature had different ideas in store, and Zion had a heavy winter, getting hit with 170% more precipitation than normal. When we finally were able to talk with a backcountry ranger on the phone, he explained “Well, no one has actually been over that section of trail yet this season, so we have no idea how much snow is out there. Could be deep!” We battled with the decision of what to do with this new information–do we alter our route?  Skip that section? Run with snowshoes? Get a heli drop? We had been training for so long, and had set our hearts on finishing this route, so we decided to do what probably many crazy ultrarunners would do—we decided to just go for it. If we had to turn back mid-route, so be it. So with that uncertainty and a bit more nervousness, we got ready for anything Zion might throw at us.

After several hours of last minute purchasing (what a good excuse to buy new gear!), food prepping (enough to feed an army) and carbo-loading (awesome local pasta shop), we were ready and nervous to start our big day. A sister of one of our team and her friend had very generously offered to be our support crew for the day—we could not have done it without them!

East Rim Trailhead to the Grotto (~Miles 1 – 12)
We drove to the East Rim trailhead early in the morning, playing energetic music all the way to pump ourselves up and ease those nerves. Still dark at the trailhead at 6am, we started our route happily at a slow jogging pace, wary of any hidden rocks along the trail unseen with our headlamps.

As the sun rose, we began to see more clearly the beauty of the landscape around us. A light dusting of snow and sparkling of ice on the vegetation gave it a magical quality. The first stretch was a bit cold, but enjoyable and beautiful in the misty clouds.

We emerged into red rock country and loved the chance to run right through a small slot canyon.

From here we looked down upon the Zion Canyon and the North Fork of the Virgin River, and then proceeded to switchback all the way down to the road to reach the Grotto, our first support stop, at about 12 miles in.

Don’t we still look energized and happy?
The Grotto to the Top of the West Rim (Miles 12 – 16)
After loading up on PB&J’s, water, bananas, oranges, sesame sticks (salty and delicious) and “speed balls” (aka chocolate covered espresso beans, our savior!) we started the steep ascent up to the top of the West Rim. After crossing the North Fork of the Virgin River, the trail—blasted into the rock and surprisingly paved in some parts—climbs quickly and then switchbacks up to the start of the famous Angel’s Landing climb.

Looking back down to Zion Canyon…

The trail and its endless switchbacks are blasted into the rock.

We crossed long sandstone slabs and then continued the climb up to the Rim.

Along the West Rim (~Miles 16 – 35ish)

We happily reached the West Rim, but ran into what we feared, yet knew, would be there. Snow. For about 10 miles we ran through patches of the stuff, which made it difficult to follow the trail. The glaciologist/medic (what a great combo!) member of our team has spent most of her professional career in the backcountry, so she easily guided us through the covered sections.

Our strategy for the entire run had been to keep a steady, consistent pace on the flat and downhill sections and then to walk briskly up the steep hills. Walking uphill actually conserves more energy than running slowly, and we wanted to save every drop of energy that we had. This strategy worked really well until we hit these snowy parts, where it was impossible to keep up a consistent running pace even in the flat stretches.

I have to say that mud is much worse than snow. One step forward, then we’d slip almost all the way back. That’s no way to make progress on an ultrarun!

The snow got deep in some sections and we post-holed our way through it. After several hours of this slow progress, and a bit of trail searching after we went off-trail, we reached a decision point. Do we continue to slog through the snow on hidden trails in the dark? The sunlight was waning, we were all drinking melted snow for water, and after 11 hours of hard work we decided to alter our route slightly and attempt to meet up with our support crew.  We had two options—try to follow the faint trail that was covered in 3 feet of snow, or head out on a snow-covered road that would take us to the same point. The road would be much easier to spot and follow, so we decided to take the safer route.

We emerged into a beautiful snowy field and then headed down the road. Nine miles later (at a total of about 35-38 miles) we met up with our savior support crew, who hailed us with fresh water, warm clothes and beef jerky!

The tired, yet happy, crew at the end of a long day.

Coming back for more (~Miles 35 – 48)
We woke up the next morning feeling tired and happy, but not quite satisfied. We had dreamed for months about finishing this run across Zion, and our determination got the better of us. Instead of soaking our legs in the cold waters of the Virgin River, drinking well-deserved margaritas, we decided to polish off the last unfinished section of the run, from Hop Valley Trailhead to Lee’s Pass, which is about 13 miles. We feared snow, we feared mud, but decided to go for it anyways. What we found was one of the most beautiful and friendly stretches of trail that we had run all trip. We wound through small, intimate red rock canyons, crossed flowing streams and a rushing La Verkin River, passed through gorgeous private ranches and marveled at the stunning scenery all around us. THIS was what running across Zion was all about! It washed away any of the frustration from the difficult snow-slogging of the day before.

Crossing La Verkin River.

With the moon rising and the red color of the rocks coming into full flush, we made it to Lee Pass.  It was an amazing and challenging trip, and we were all so happy to have been healthy enough to attempt it. It took a little longer than we planned, but we did it! I feel confident that all of us would have made it across the Park in one day had the conditions cooperated. And maybe we’ll get our chance—we’re raring to do it again!

Running an ultramarathon through such a stunning place, and with such great friends, was an experience of a lifetime. If you’re thinking about it, go for it!

A little post-run celebration in the hot tub (ahhh…..).

Thanks to Bull City Running Company for outfitting me for this race! The Body Glide was ESSENTIAL!

Resources:
Great information about the route can be found on Andrew Skurka’s website:
http://www.andrewskurka.com/RACE/ZION/index.php

Trip section maps (copied from an excellent trip report from one of the original runners of this route):
http://adventurerun.wordpress.com/2008/05/26/zion-traverse/

Here is the request/impassioned plea that put it all in motion:

PS — So really, will you please start carrying them??

Special thanks to Mike at Starbucks in Southpoint Crossing for the coffee and to Jordan from CRAFT/Karhu for being a part of the festivities and giving folks an opportunity to win a trip to Finland!

Now…onto the NIT Tournament. Go Heels!

The jury is in for one local trail enthusiast! The following shoe review is compliments of veteran trail-runner and passionate nature-lover, Steve “Squonk” Hoge of the Trailheads who recently went heel-to-toe with the Montrail Masochist and La Sportiva Wildcat:

Yo,
I had back to back long(ish) runs last weekend. 15 miles in the Wildcats Saturday and 10 in the Masochists on Sunday. On Sunday I may or may not have imagined that the new Montrails were spongier and more flexible than the La Sportivas.

I kept the Masochists on for Tuesday and Wednesday and think it’s definitely a better shoe for me. Still some tendonitis, but that’s not a shoe thing; it’s a me thing.

The Masochists remind me of the old Highlander which held up well for 50K distance, but fell short of comfortable (relative) for 50 milers. But I’m thinking the new design, with added cushioning (not too much, but just about right) may become my shoe for the remainder of the year.

So, there you have it (but we know he still has plenty of love for La Sportiva). It is also worth noting that our guest blogger/shoe reviewer is also the acclaimed inventor, manufacturer, and distributor of the SportSlipper (and he may be looking for an angel investor). Both Montrail and La Sportiva models are currently available.

Go Myong and all our other friends who are headed to Myrtle Beach the weekend of February 12-14!

The Unforgettable Commencement Address of 2009.

By Paul Hawken

When I was invited to give this speech, I was asked if I could give a simple short talk that was “direct, naked, taut, honest, passionate, lean, shivering, startling, and graceful.” No pressure there.

Let’s begin with the startling part. Class of 2009: you are going to have to figure out what it means to be a human being on earth at a time when every living system is declining, and the rate of decline is accelerating. Kind of a mind-boggling situation… but not one peer-reviewed paper published in the last thirty years can refute that statement. Basically, civilization needs a new operating system, you are the programmers, and we need it within a few decades.

This planet came with a set of instructions, but we seem to have misplaced them. Important rules like don’t poison the water, soil, or air, don’t let the earth get overcrowded, and don’t touch the thermostat have been broken. Buckminster Fuller said that spaceship earth was so ingeniously designed that no one has a clue that we are on one, flying through the universe at a million miles per hour, with no need for seatbelts, lots of room in coach, and really good food—but all that is changing.

There is invisible writing on the back of the diploma you will receive, and in case you didn’t bring lemon juice to decode it, I can tell you what it says: You are Brilliant, and the Earth is Hiring. The earth couldn’t afford to send recruiters or limos to your school. It sent you rain, sunsets, ripe cherries, night blooming jasmine, and that unbelievably cute person you are dating. Take the hint. And here’s the deal: Forget that this task of planet-saving is not possible in the time required. Don’t be put off by people who know what is not possible. Do what needs to be done, and check to see if it was impossible only after you are done.

When asked if I am pessimistic or optimistic about the future, my answer is always the same: If you look at the science about what is happening on earth and aren’t pessimistic, you don’t understand the data. But if you meet the people who are working to restore this earth and the lives of the poor, and you aren’t optimistic, you haven’t got a pulse. What I see everywhere in the world are ordinary people willing to confront despair, power, and incalculable odds in order to restore some semblance of grace, justice, and beauty to this world. The poet Adrienne Rich wrote, “So much has been destroyed I have cast my lot with those who, age after age, perversely, with no extraordinary power, reconstitute the world.” There could be no better description. Humanity is coalescing. It is reconstituting the world, and the action is taking place in schoolrooms, farms, jungles, villages, campuses, companies, refuge camps, deserts, fisheries, and slums.

You join a multitude of caring people. No one knows how many groups and organizations are working on the most salient issues of our day: climate change, poverty, deforestation, peace, water, hunger, conservation, human rights, and more. This is the largest movement the world has ever seen. Rather than control, it seeks connection. Rather than dominance, it strives to disperse concentrations of power. Like Mercy Corps, it works behind the scenes and gets the job done. Large as it is, no one knows the true size of this movement. It provides hope, support, and meaning to billions of people in the world. Its clout resides in idea, not in force. It is made up of teachers, children, peasants, businesspeople, rappers, organic farmers, nuns, artists, government workers, fisherfolk, engineers, students, incorrigible writers, weeping Muslims, concerned mothers, poets, doctors without borders, grieving Christians, street musicians, the President of the United States of America, and as the writer David James Duncan would say, the Creator, the One who loves us all in such a huge way.

There is a rabbinical teaching that says if the world is ending and the Messiah arrives, first plant a tree, and then see if the story is true. Inspiration is not garnered from the litanies of what may befall us; it resides in humanity’s willingness to restore, redress, reform, rebuild, recover, reimagine, and reconsider. “One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice,” is Mary Oliver’s description of moving away from the profane toward a deep sense of connectedness to the living world.

Millions of people are working on behalf of strangers, even if the evening news is usually about the death of strangers. This kindness of strangers has religious, even mythic origins, and very specific eighteenth-century roots. Abolitionists were the first people to create a national and global movement to defend the rights of those they did not know. Until that time, no group had filed a grievance except on behalf of itself. The founders of this movement were largely unknown — Granville Clark, Thomas Clarkson, Josiah Wedgwood — and their goal was ridiculous on the face of it: at that time three out of four people in the world were enslaved. Enslaving each other was what human beings had done for ages. And the abolitionist movement was greeted with incredulity. Conservative spokesmen ridiculed the abolitionists as liberals, progressives, do-gooders, meddlers, and activists. They were told they would ruin the economy and drive England into poverty. But for the first time in history a group of people organized themselves to help people they would never know, from whom they would never receive direct or indirect benefit. And today tens of millions of people do this every day. It is called the world of non-profits, civil society, schools, social entrepreneurship, non-governmental organizations, and companies who place social and environmental justice at the top of their strategic goals. The scope and scale of this effort is unparalleled in history.

The living world is not “out there” somewhere, but in your heart. What do we know about life? In the words of biologist Janine Benyus, life creates the conditions that are conducive to life. I can think of no better motto for a future economy. We have tens of thousands of abandoned homes without people and tens of thousands of abandoned people without homes. We have failed bankers advising failed regulators on how to save failed assets. We are the only species on the planet without full employment. Brilliant. We have an economy that tells us that it is cheaper to destroy earth in real time rather than renew, restore, and sustain it. You can print money to bail out a bank but you can’t print life to bail out a planet. At present we are stealing the future, selling it in the present, and calling it gross domestic product. We can just as easily have an economy that is based on healing the future instead of stealing it. We can either create assets for the future or take the assets of the future. One is called restoration and the other exploitation. And whenever we exploit the earth we exploit people and cause untold suffering. Working for the earth is not a way to get rich, it is a way to be rich.

The first living cell came into being nearly 40 million centuries ago, and its direct descendants are in all of our bloodstreams. Literally you are breathing molecules this very second that were inhaled by Moses, Mother Teresa, and Bono. We are vastly interconnected. Our fates are inseparable. We are here because the dream of every cell is to become two cells. And dreams come true. In each of you are one quadrillion cells, 90 percent of which are not human cells. Your body is a community, and without those other microorganisms you would perish in hours. Each human cell has 400 billion molecules conducting millions of processes between trillions of atoms. The total cellular activity in one human body is staggering: one septillion actions at any one moment, a one with twenty-four zeros after it. In a millisecond, our body has undergone ten times more processes than there are stars in the universe, which is exactly what Charles Darwin foretold when he said science would discover that each living creature was a “little universe, formed of a host of self-propagating organisms, inconceivably minute and as numerous as the stars of heaven.”

So I have two questions for you all: First, can you feel your body? Stop for a moment. Feel your body. One septillion activities going on simultaneously, and your body does this so well you are free to ignore it, and wonder instead when this speech will end. You can feel it. It is called life. This is who you are. Second question: who is in charge of your body? Who is managing those molecules? Hopefully not a political party. Life is creating the conditions that are conducive to life inside you, just as in all of nature. Our innate nature is to create the conditions that are conducive to life. What I want you to imagine is that collectively humanity is evincing a deep innate wisdom in coming together to heal the wounds and insults of the past.

Ralph Waldo Emerson once asked what we would do if the stars only came out once every thousand years. No one would sleep that night, of course. The world would create new religions overnight. We would be ecstatic, delirious, made rapturous by the glory of God. Instead, the stars come out every night and we watch television.

This extraordinary time when we are globally aware of each other and the multiple dangers that threaten civilization has never happened, not in a thousand years, not in ten thousand years. Each of us is as complex and beautiful as all the stars in the universe. We have done great things and we have gone way off course in terms of honoring creation. You are graduating to the most amazing, stupefying challenge ever bequested to any generation. The generations before you failed. They didn’t stay up all night. They got distracted and lost sight of the fact that life is a miracle every moment of your existence. Nature beckons you to be on her side. You couldn’t ask for a better boss. The most unrealistic person in the world is the cynic, not the dreamer. Hope only makes sense when it doesn’t make sense to be hopeful. This is your century. Take it and run as if your life depends on it.

[The original speech appears here.]