On Beyond Zebra is one of my favorite Dr. Seuss books: In it, Seuss serves up 20 extra letters that come after the regular alphabet, with each linked to a fun, fantastical creature. Like the “letter” SNEE: “And the SNEE is for Sneedle/A terrible kind of ferocious mos-keedle/Whose hum-dinger stinger is sharp as a needle./The Sneedle’s too tough to be killed with a smack/So he has to be hunted on elephant back….”

I’m not sure why, but this geniusly silly book sticks with me to this day, and I often reference it when something continues on longer than expected. Like the other day on the pickleball court: On Thursday mornings, I play as part of a foursome of fairly fearless women, and our games can get intense in the best possible way. Our points can last for 10 to 20 hits before one of us loses the point by hitting the ball out or clinches the point with a zinger shot. 

Yet last week, we went on beyond zebra: a point stretched on for close to 40 hits, with intense drives from the back court, quick-reaction shots near the net, overhead lobs, stretched-out backhands, low digs, the works. A visceral current seemed to pass between Sue, Margaret, Cooper, and me, each of us silently marveling at each other’s shots, gets, and hustle. In the back of each of our minds was the dreaded, “don’t let it be ME who loses this point!” Finally, Sue whipped a low, cross-court shot that Cooper hit into the net. We all released a collective groan—and gasp. After catching our breath, we started exclaiming how amazing the point had been. 

After the game was over, Sue surprised me by comparing the feeling of that thrilling, beyond-our-known-world point to going on a run. “It was like when you get past that point at like one-and-a-half miles, when suddenly it seems you can run forever!” Then she laughed, saying, “except I can never make it to 1.5 miles, which is why I never go running!” 

Lately going “on beyond zebra”—past the point on a run when everything seems tight, creaky, and challenging—has been on my mind a lot. It’s a glorious time of year here in Portland—profuse, fragrant blooms and peridot-green leaf-buds putting forth such promise—yet I struggle to get out and going. I remind myself it’s natural for a run to feel sucky until about two miles in. So I queue up the most engaging podcast or audiobook I’ve got, put my head on Nature-Appreciation-Swivel mode, and remind myself I don’t have to break any land speed records. Sure enough, right around the 2-mile mark, my shoulders drop, my legs find their rhythm, and I feel invigorated by the natural spring glory. 

Even my man Seuss had something to say about a jog[sic]: “And JOGG is my letter for spelling Jogg-oons/Who doodle around in the far desert dunes/Just doodle around, crooning very sad tunes/About peppermint, peanuts and pebbles and prunes/And paint pots, and polka dots, pin heads and pigs/And their grandmother’s grandfather’s step-sister’s wigs.

“So you see!
There’s no end
To the things you might know,
Depending how far beyond Zebra you go!”

Use code INF-AMR to get a gift card good for your next purchase at Selkirk.com