From GRP Biathlete Jake Brown.

Alex Messenger was attacked by a grizzly bear and lived to tell the tale. That’s the premise of this book released in 2019. Opening the first pages, the reader knows that much already. So, how much more is there to know? How can 304 pages be filled with such a story that could keep the reader entertained? In The Twenty-Ninth Day, Messenger chronicles his story as a member of Camp Menogyn’s 40-day “Hommes Trip” canoeing in Canada’s remote Nunavut and Northwest Territories in 2005. Messenger beautifully describes his team’s passage through the wilderness: the pristine nature they encounter, their personal transformations and collective growth, their frustrations and joys, their defeats and triumphs. Messenger’s writing is delightful and upbeat, but what really captivates the reader is the dramatic irony of knowing the fate young Alex is destined for. Anticipation builds as the reader consciously draws closer and closer to the fateful twenty-ninth day and is then sustained in the story of survival that follows.

Messenger’s nonfiction account of his experience has little to do with running, explicitly. Sure, an appreciation for nature and a passion for exploration is something that many runners share with paddling enthusiasts. Additionally, both running and paddling demand some sort of physical endurance, although the physiological stress of trekking for days is different than racing a 10km. For me, Messenger’s story struck two deep parallels with the mental side of running.

First, there is the parallel of how the human mind wanders even when we are focused on a simple or important goal. One would think that after his attack Messenger would have had a singular focus on survival- stay alive, stay alive, stay alive, don’t let my wound get infected. Instead, young Alex is often concerned with thoughts about how his fight for survival is impacting the other guys. Certainly he and his team do all the tasks required to ensure his survival, but his emotions and thoughts are not constantly fixated on the primary goal of survival; instead, he empathizes with friends, wonders about his family, and thinks of helping around camp. I don’t know about you, but I find this mind-wandering to be the case when I’m running hard or racing. Even when I’m pushing myself hard through pain and fatigue, my mind still finds the time to wander toward things that have nothing to do with the execution of my task. I think of my teammates. I think of what I will have for dinner. I think of what brand of peanut butter I prefer. One would expect that in order to properly execute a task, whether it should be running a race or (especially) survival, that it should earn our full focus. But we aren’t robots- there is something human about the complexity of our thoughts. Tasks may be simple, but our emotions and thoughts tend toward complexity.

The second and most profound parallel that The Twenty-Ninth Day­ shares with running is the acceptance of fate. Do you ever get nervous for a race with the sense that pain and suffering is awaiting you, and that you have an obligation to accept it, even though you kind of fear it, too? Messenger describes his attack in a similar way. He woke up from a nap with a deep-seeded feeling like he was late for something. With nervous energy he made his way to the top of the mountain behind the group’s campsite, feeling like he had to get there to meet something, someone. It was as if he had a date with fate. Now I don’t know about you, but I feel that running a race is much more enjoyable than being attacked by a grizzly bear, so I think the comparison ends there. But later, after his attack, Messenger’s trip leader has to perform a series of painful washings and procedures on Messenger’s wound without anesthetic. Messenger is aware of the pain before each procedure, and he has to accept that it is coming. His ability to contain his nerves and allow the pain to come for the sake of something greater, long-term healing, is similar to the mentality required to race successfully.

Reading this book is a different endeavor than most novels, because, ultimately, the reader knows what is going to happen… just not exactly how. I found myself racing through this book with a purpose. I really wanted to get to the attack scene! Contrast this to other stories which may be less interesting when the reader knows what will happen. Sure, Messenger does a perfectly fine job describing the trip up until the attack, but I couldn’t put the book down because I knew what was going to happen. It got me wondering, what if I approached racing in this way? If I raced with a purpose, if I was excited about reaching the point of pain, if I was excited about working through it and making it to the finish line as fast as possible. Maybe that mentality would help me accept the fate of pain that comes with racing.