This evening, I watched Michael Phelps finish second in the Olympic Final of the 200m Butterfly by the narrow margin of 0.05 seconds. For an athlete who has experienced some incredible highs in his career (including 8 gold-medals at the 2008 Games in Beijing), this race (within the context of what for him has heretofore probably been a sub-par Olympics) must be a tough one to swallow. And while it is nice to see some other faces winning top races from time-to-time, what Mr. Phelps experienced following that race is one from which we might learn.
It's rarely fun to fall short at something one sets out to do, or indeed fail to meet expectations we have set for ourselves. I know the feeling, though on a different stage. Coming into the Olympics as the current world-record holder and 2-time Olympic-champion in the 200m Butterfly, Michael Phelps was favored to win this race. That he didn't is a testament to how fragile "top of the world" can be; he missed his mark this time, and the world certainly took note.
Yet I think we sell ourselves short if all we take from this event is the fact that someone other than the reigning champion had a great day. It shows that where there is opportunity, there is also possibility (as my old coach often said, "If you have a lane, you have a chance").
It also shows how tough it is to get knocked down by a narrow margin. I could almost feel Mr. Phelps' disappointment through the television; how do you bounce back from that? I think this question is relevant for most of us, since while we may never be Olympic athletes, most of us will experience the pain of defeat at some point. When it happens, how are we going to pick ourselves up and keep going?
The short answer (and one you often hear) is you just do. The real answer is far more complicated, and one which you never really get a chance to answer until it happens. I'm glad Mr. Phelps bounced back well in the relay later, but also thankful that by losing a big race in which he was heavily favored, provided us with a moment to reflect on what it's like to get knocked down and bounce back.
Good luck to all those competing in the Olympics this year, and as always,
Happy Tuesday, friends :)
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Sunday, July 29, 2012
A lesson from a friend's injury
The last four months or so, one of my old roommates from college has been preparing for the San Fransisco Marathon, scheduled for today, 29 July. Last night he called from just outside Alcatraz, complaining of severe low-back pain, not unlike what he experienced four years ago after developing a kidney-stone during XC season. Early this morning he sent a message confirming the kidney-stone diagnosis, and with only hours before the race he withdrew from the competition to recover.
I thought about that a lot today, wondering what it would be like to spend months preparing for a race and then having to withdraw at the last minute. Would I feel sad, angry, or some combination of both? If it was a race for which I was sorely unprepared, might I feel relieved? Or say if, on the day of a marathon, the weather took a turn to the absurd, such as happened in Chicago some years ago with 90+ degrees F for the from start to finish? In such cases, would a DNS (did not start) feel quite so bad?
It is hard to say, but an old Taoist story may offer some insight:
Once there was an old farmer who had worked his crops for many years. One day his horse ran away. Upon hearing the news, his neighbors came to visit. "Such bad luck," they said sympathetically. "we'll see," the farmer replied. The next morning the horse returned, bringing with it three other wild horses. "How wonderful," the neighbors exclaimed. "we'll see," replied the old man. The following day, his son tried to ride one of the untamed horses, was thrown, and broke his leg. The neighbors again came to offer their sympathy on his misfortune. "we'll see" answered the farmer. The day after, military officials came to the village to draft young men into the army. Seeing that the son's leg was broken, they passed him by. The neighbors congratulated the farmer on how well things had turned out. "we'll see" said the farmer.
The story is interesting in many ways, but I think it fits well with the situation we've been discussing above. First, a supposedly-bad thing happens to the farmer, followed by a supposedly-good thing. Back-and-forth goes "Fortune," yet the farmer remains unfazed by anything, be it good or bad. Indeed, as the story seems to say, things that seem good in the moment can turn out rather badly, and things that seem bad at the moment can turn out well. In short, it's not worth getting excited by either.
That's easy enough to say, but perhaps far more difficult to practice. Of course most of us will get excited when things go well, and perhaps feel down when they don't. It's natural enough, and I wouldn't expect anyone to be so cold to either that nothing moves them.
Yet the story may help us remember--both when times are good and when they are not--that we don't know what the future will bring, and how things go now is not a perfect indication of how they will go later. As an old Buddhist story about a king who is thrown this way and that by good or bad fortune concludes, "This too, shall pass."
No doubt my old roommate will feel some disappointment about not getting to run the race. But having completed a successful build-up, I suspect that training won't go to waste. And while I wish he could have run, his present misfortune might prove motivational for him later, and instructional for the rest of us now. At least, that is one way to take it. So far as the future goes, I guess "we'll see."
Feel better soon ol' boy,
Happy Sunday, friends :)
I thought about that a lot today, wondering what it would be like to spend months preparing for a race and then having to withdraw at the last minute. Would I feel sad, angry, or some combination of both? If it was a race for which I was sorely unprepared, might I feel relieved? Or say if, on the day of a marathon, the weather took a turn to the absurd, such as happened in Chicago some years ago with 90+ degrees F for the from start to finish? In such cases, would a DNS (did not start) feel quite so bad?
It is hard to say, but an old Taoist story may offer some insight:
Once there was an old farmer who had worked his crops for many years. One day his horse ran away. Upon hearing the news, his neighbors came to visit. "Such bad luck," they said sympathetically. "we'll see," the farmer replied. The next morning the horse returned, bringing with it three other wild horses. "How wonderful," the neighbors exclaimed. "we'll see," replied the old man. The following day, his son tried to ride one of the untamed horses, was thrown, and broke his leg. The neighbors again came to offer their sympathy on his misfortune. "we'll see" answered the farmer. The day after, military officials came to the village to draft young men into the army. Seeing that the son's leg was broken, they passed him by. The neighbors congratulated the farmer on how well things had turned out. "we'll see" said the farmer.
The story is interesting in many ways, but I think it fits well with the situation we've been discussing above. First, a supposedly-bad thing happens to the farmer, followed by a supposedly-good thing. Back-and-forth goes "Fortune," yet the farmer remains unfazed by anything, be it good or bad. Indeed, as the story seems to say, things that seem good in the moment can turn out rather badly, and things that seem bad at the moment can turn out well. In short, it's not worth getting excited by either.
That's easy enough to say, but perhaps far more difficult to practice. Of course most of us will get excited when things go well, and perhaps feel down when they don't. It's natural enough, and I wouldn't expect anyone to be so cold to either that nothing moves them.
Yet the story may help us remember--both when times are good and when they are not--that we don't know what the future will bring, and how things go now is not a perfect indication of how they will go later. As an old Buddhist story about a king who is thrown this way and that by good or bad fortune concludes, "This too, shall pass."
No doubt my old roommate will feel some disappointment about not getting to run the race. But having completed a successful build-up, I suspect that training won't go to waste. And while I wish he could have run, his present misfortune might prove motivational for him later, and instructional for the rest of us now. At least, that is one way to take it. So far as the future goes, I guess "we'll see."
Feel better soon ol' boy,
Happy Sunday, friends :)
Saturday, July 28, 2012
"What kind of coach would I want to be?"
At lunch the other day, my friend Bob and I were talking when suddenly we came around to the topic of our futures.
"So Mr. Jeff," said Bob nonchalantly, "what do you want to do with yourself in the next few years?" At this he characteristically leaned slightly forward over his plate of half-finished Mexican food, eye-brows raised.
"Well you know Bob," I began, popping a fork full of rice and re-fried beans into my mouth, "I've a mind to be a running coach," <chew, chew> "but those I know in the field" <chew,chew> "tell me it's a tough road, and not one most folks can live on unless it's a college gig."
At this, Bob's eyes lit up slightly. "In that case, you must start your own coaching business!"
"Coaching business!?" I replied, surprised.
"Yes," said Bob, "if you like the thought of coaching, you should jump in and give it a try."
We talked more about it that afternoon, but you get the idea. Ever since I've been mulling it over in my head, wondering how something like that might be done. How does one run (no pun intended) a coaching business? More specifically perhaps, how does one coach people outside a school-setting?
These are not easy questions, but I feel they're ones I could answer in time. And I suspect the first question I would need to answer to get there would be this: what kind of coach would I want to be?
While I believe everyone's emotions are highly individual--and therefore have different needs so far as coaching is concerned--the foundation on which I think I'd establish my coaching philosophy would be grounded in a nurturing partnership between coach and athlete. Perhaps more than anything else, a grounded, healthy, and positive relationship seems to me a good place to begin any kind of physical training.
I've noticed that some athletes get that from their team-mates, others from their parents, and still others from friends or other relatives. Some even benefit from the support of all three. Yet many seem to lack even one such source, and it is for this group in particular who I believe would benefit most from a coaching philosophy centered on partnership and unconditional good-will. Everyone has different coaching needs, and figuring out what they are for each person seems like a good place to start.
In addition, I think everyone has different physical-training needs as well. As such, I would hope to be able to provide at least some measure of individualized training and/or instruction for each athlete in my care. Among others, factors such as "training age" (the number of years an athlete has been training in a particular sport), real age, level of ability, and motivation would influence my approach, which could be fine-tuned over time in response to how it works. People are different, and providing training that works with, rather than against, their body seems like a good approach.
Finally, as I coach I would hope to be capable of maintaining an open mind. It seems easy to get locked in a set of rigid ideas about how things should be done, but such an understanding really can leave us blind to problems which invariably arise. I think a coach, and athletes too, need to be able to question everything he or she believes with respect to their daily practice, so that when an injury strikes, or an unexpected result occurs, we can go back and figure out where our practice went wrong. In any activity in which learning is always present, a healthy humility may help us maintain an open mind.
So I don't know if I will pursue this coaching business or not, but I think these three broad ideas serve as a good place to start. As always, I'm open to feed-back if anyone has something they would like to share on this topic.
Happy Saturday, friends :)
"So Mr. Jeff," said Bob nonchalantly, "what do you want to do with yourself in the next few years?" At this he characteristically leaned slightly forward over his plate of half-finished Mexican food, eye-brows raised.
"Well you know Bob," I began, popping a fork full of rice and re-fried beans into my mouth, "I've a mind to be a running coach," <chew, chew> "but those I know in the field" <chew,chew> "tell me it's a tough road, and not one most folks can live on unless it's a college gig."
At this, Bob's eyes lit up slightly. "In that case, you must start your own coaching business!"
"Coaching business!?" I replied, surprised.
"Yes," said Bob, "if you like the thought of coaching, you should jump in and give it a try."
We talked more about it that afternoon, but you get the idea. Ever since I've been mulling it over in my head, wondering how something like that might be done. How does one run (no pun intended) a coaching business? More specifically perhaps, how does one coach people outside a school-setting?
These are not easy questions, but I feel they're ones I could answer in time. And I suspect the first question I would need to answer to get there would be this: what kind of coach would I want to be?
While I believe everyone's emotions are highly individual--and therefore have different needs so far as coaching is concerned--the foundation on which I think I'd establish my coaching philosophy would be grounded in a nurturing partnership between coach and athlete. Perhaps more than anything else, a grounded, healthy, and positive relationship seems to me a good place to begin any kind of physical training.
I've noticed that some athletes get that from their team-mates, others from their parents, and still others from friends or other relatives. Some even benefit from the support of all three. Yet many seem to lack even one such source, and it is for this group in particular who I believe would benefit most from a coaching philosophy centered on partnership and unconditional good-will. Everyone has different coaching needs, and figuring out what they are for each person seems like a good place to start.
In addition, I think everyone has different physical-training needs as well. As such, I would hope to be able to provide at least some measure of individualized training and/or instruction for each athlete in my care. Among others, factors such as "training age" (the number of years an athlete has been training in a particular sport), real age, level of ability, and motivation would influence my approach, which could be fine-tuned over time in response to how it works. People are different, and providing training that works with, rather than against, their body seems like a good approach.
Finally, as I coach I would hope to be capable of maintaining an open mind. It seems easy to get locked in a set of rigid ideas about how things should be done, but such an understanding really can leave us blind to problems which invariably arise. I think a coach, and athletes too, need to be able to question everything he or she believes with respect to their daily practice, so that when an injury strikes, or an unexpected result occurs, we can go back and figure out where our practice went wrong. In any activity in which learning is always present, a healthy humility may help us maintain an open mind.
So I don't know if I will pursue this coaching business or not, but I think these three broad ideas serve as a good place to start. As always, I'm open to feed-back if anyone has something they would like to share on this topic.
Happy Saturday, friends :)
Friday, July 27, 2012
Training Update II (MCM): Yasso-800s
92 Days, 20 Hours to the start...
Due to work and school schedules, Fridays have become my main "quality" day for marathon training. I train other days too, but Fridays are the one day on which I can do a workout fresh. Last Friday I worked on endurance, and this Friday I did one of my favorite marathon workouts: Yasso-800s.
Developed by RunnersWorld chief running officer Bart Yasso, Yasso-800s involve a conversion of one's goal marathon time (hour, minutes) into an 800m time (minutes, seconds). So for instance, if I want to run a 3:30 marathon (3 hours, 30 minutes), my Yasso-800 pace should be 3:30 (3 minutes, 30 seconds). The idea is to start with 4x800m, and over the course of several weeks work up to 10x800m.
I'd hoped to do 6 this morning, but ended up only doing 5.5. Here's how it went.
I woke up a bit later than usual, and only managed to grab a banana and a few sips of water before heading out. I walked about 25 minutes to an old cinder track, sipping from a water-bottle and taking in the morning. The sun shone brightly between a smattering of hazy clouds here and there. The temperature at 8:05am (when I left the house) already felt pretty hot, and the air seemed heavy with moisture. A fragrant wind blew across the road as I walked, rustling the trees and causing drops of water to rain upon my head. Nearby I could hear a number of robins warbling away, as well as other birds whose songs I don't know as well. On the whole it was a beautiful morning, and I was glad to have time to enjoy it.
Arriving at the track, I continued to warm-up. Back in college, this would usually involve a period of 10-15 minutes of jogging, followed by a few stretches, and maybe some half-hearted sprint-drills. Lately I've had good results doing something different.
First I jogged a few minutes, then walked a few minutes while doing some dynamic stretches along the way. After that I ran another few minutes, feeling much faster than before. Then I'd walk again for a few minutes, and do some different dynamic stretches, followed by one final bout of running. By the end of this process I felt loose and fast, which is the idea for a warm-up I guess.The final stage of warm-up involved four strides on the track.
For the workout itself, I'd hoped to run 6x800m in 3:30. The splits for first 5 went as follows--3:15, 3:18, 3:19, 3:17, 3:16. As you can see, from the start I was going faster than I wanted, and while such a pace shouldn't be that hard, I found myself feeling pretty awful by the end of the 5th rep.
Should I run the 6th? I thought. Generally I would say no, especially if I wasn't feeling great. Today, however, I elected to try a little test: start the last rep, and see how things went.
I did this because sometimes getting started is the hardest part of a rep. I don't know why this is, but it may be a bit like cleaning your room or doing homework...the thought of doing it is more distressing than the actual doing. So while I was definitely not feeling that last 800 this morning, I decided to start and see what happened.
As it turned out, starting wasn't enough this time. I got to the 400m mark a few seconds behind pace, and just decided to call it a day.
On the whole, however, I felt today's workout was very positive. Because the grass was so wet, the warm-up and cool-down were done exclusively on pavement, which is good because I'll need to get accustomed to running on pavement for the race. Working-out in the heat and humidity was also helpful, because the conditions could be quite humid in DC, even at the end of October. Both elements fit into the larger scheme of increasingly-specific training as the date of competition approaches.
Finally, I was glad to have tested myself, even if the test didn't come off well. I'm usually pretty cautious about pushing the envelope, but sometimes doing so can yield great benefits, even when the push doesn't pan out.
And that might be the most important take-away from this workout; that sometimes you'll push and fail, but as long as the failure isn't a total disaster (i.e. causes a long-term injury) they can still be valuable. I now have a better idea what I can do in the heat and humidity, and can use that in the weeks to come. But for now, it is time to recover and prepare for next "quality" day. 92 days to go...
Happy Friday, friends :)
Due to work and school schedules, Fridays have become my main "quality" day for marathon training. I train other days too, but Fridays are the one day on which I can do a workout fresh. Last Friday I worked on endurance, and this Friday I did one of my favorite marathon workouts: Yasso-800s.
Developed by RunnersWorld chief running officer Bart Yasso, Yasso-800s involve a conversion of one's goal marathon time (hour, minutes) into an 800m time (minutes, seconds). So for instance, if I want to run a 3:30 marathon (3 hours, 30 minutes), my Yasso-800 pace should be 3:30 (3 minutes, 30 seconds). The idea is to start with 4x800m, and over the course of several weeks work up to 10x800m.
I'd hoped to do 6 this morning, but ended up only doing 5.5. Here's how it went.
I woke up a bit later than usual, and only managed to grab a banana and a few sips of water before heading out. I walked about 25 minutes to an old cinder track, sipping from a water-bottle and taking in the morning. The sun shone brightly between a smattering of hazy clouds here and there. The temperature at 8:05am (when I left the house) already felt pretty hot, and the air seemed heavy with moisture. A fragrant wind blew across the road as I walked, rustling the trees and causing drops of water to rain upon my head. Nearby I could hear a number of robins warbling away, as well as other birds whose songs I don't know as well. On the whole it was a beautiful morning, and I was glad to have time to enjoy it.
Arriving at the track, I continued to warm-up. Back in college, this would usually involve a period of 10-15 minutes of jogging, followed by a few stretches, and maybe some half-hearted sprint-drills. Lately I've had good results doing something different.
First I jogged a few minutes, then walked a few minutes while doing some dynamic stretches along the way. After that I ran another few minutes, feeling much faster than before. Then I'd walk again for a few minutes, and do some different dynamic stretches, followed by one final bout of running. By the end of this process I felt loose and fast, which is the idea for a warm-up I guess.The final stage of warm-up involved four strides on the track.
For the workout itself, I'd hoped to run 6x800m in 3:30. The splits for first 5 went as follows--3:15, 3:18, 3:19, 3:17, 3:16. As you can see, from the start I was going faster than I wanted, and while such a pace shouldn't be that hard, I found myself feeling pretty awful by the end of the 5th rep.
Should I run the 6th? I thought. Generally I would say no, especially if I wasn't feeling great. Today, however, I elected to try a little test: start the last rep, and see how things went.
I did this because sometimes getting started is the hardest part of a rep. I don't know why this is, but it may be a bit like cleaning your room or doing homework...the thought of doing it is more distressing than the actual doing. So while I was definitely not feeling that last 800 this morning, I decided to start and see what happened.
As it turned out, starting wasn't enough this time. I got to the 400m mark a few seconds behind pace, and just decided to call it a day.
On the whole, however, I felt today's workout was very positive. Because the grass was so wet, the warm-up and cool-down were done exclusively on pavement, which is good because I'll need to get accustomed to running on pavement for the race. Working-out in the heat and humidity was also helpful, because the conditions could be quite humid in DC, even at the end of October. Both elements fit into the larger scheme of increasingly-specific training as the date of competition approaches.
Finally, I was glad to have tested myself, even if the test didn't come off well. I'm usually pretty cautious about pushing the envelope, but sometimes doing so can yield great benefits, even when the push doesn't pan out.
And that might be the most important take-away from this workout; that sometimes you'll push and fail, but as long as the failure isn't a total disaster (i.e. causes a long-term injury) they can still be valuable. I now have a better idea what I can do in the heat and humidity, and can use that in the weeks to come. But for now, it is time to recover and prepare for next "quality" day. 92 days to go...
Happy Friday, friends :)
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Something I learned from reading other blogs
I don't read many blogs, but I often find it interesting to see how other bloggers go about their business. Some make small posts to bring attention to interesting things they've read, or to answer questions about their field. Greg Mankiw, a Harvard economics professor, writes a blog like this.
Others write long, detailed posts about topics related to their profession. Drs. Ross Tucker and Jonathan Dugas, two physiologists from the University of Cape Town and writers of The Science of Sport blog, are examples of this type.
I've also seen blogs with posts of varying length about anything the writer likes, updated almost every day. My friend Sam Stortz writes a blog like this.
Blogs therefore come in all manner of forms, and no form seems more correct than another. They're all quite different, sure, yet they all work. Why they work is a good question, and I don't have a great answer except that they don't seem to make themselves out to be anything but what they are. This is a good quality I think, because it allows the bloggers to write from the heart, which might be the truest voice we all possess.
So if we want to write a blog (or indeed do anything in life), I think we should not fear to be oursleves. Others may not like us or our work, but that will be true no matter how we express ourselves. Might as well keep it real, so to speak.
Just a thought.
Happy Thursday, friends :)
Others write long, detailed posts about topics related to their profession. Drs. Ross Tucker and Jonathan Dugas, two physiologists from the University of Cape Town and writers of The Science of Sport blog, are examples of this type.
I've also seen blogs with posts of varying length about anything the writer likes, updated almost every day. My friend Sam Stortz writes a blog like this.
Blogs therefore come in all manner of forms, and no form seems more correct than another. They're all quite different, sure, yet they all work. Why they work is a good question, and I don't have a great answer except that they don't seem to make themselves out to be anything but what they are. This is a good quality I think, because it allows the bloggers to write from the heart, which might be the truest voice we all possess.
So if we want to write a blog (or indeed do anything in life), I think we should not fear to be oursleves. Others may not like us or our work, but that will be true no matter how we express ourselves. Might as well keep it real, so to speak.
Just a thought.
Happy Thursday, friends :)
Brief reflection on tests
While taking a test this morning for my community college class, I suddenly began wondering about tests generally. What are they for? And how do they influence our lives?
These seem like important questions, particularly since tests seem to pop up all the time. To secure a drivers license for example, I had to pass a test. Tests like this are pass/fail; the score is relevant only to the extent that it places your performance above or below threshold.
To earn a particular grade in the class I'm taking, I'll have to secure a particular average score on the tests the professor assigns. These tests are also pass/fail, but ones for which it generally pays to put greater distance between yourself and the pass/fail threshold. In other words, you can achieve a "pass" without accruing the same benefit as achieving a still-higher mark. Accordingly, some people operate on the margin, in that they'll figure out how hard they have to work to secure a particular grade and work no harder; others try to achieve maximum points on everything. Finally, some aim for a perfect score, but settle if the final outcome is acceptable.
The thing about tests is that they don't exactly measure capacity so much as one's performance at a given moment, under a particular set of circumstances. So if you get tested on an "off" day, the results probably will not match what you might have done when "on." Perhaps it's like running a time-trial at the start of a season; the test measures performance at the moment, under a set of circumstance, but not how one will perform at the championship event. The time-trial is certainly useful, in that it provides some feed-back about what is strong and what is not; but it seems a limited tool for judging how a person will do down the road.
So tests seem to have utility, but more as a measure of where you are rather than where you will go. It's easy to overlook this fact when tests are used to determine your grade, or indeed what you can do with your future...I do it frequently enough. Whether you achieve a good mark or otherwise, at the end of the day it seems important to remember what a test really measures and what it doesn't. Something to think about, anyway.
Happy Thursday, friends :)
These seem like important questions, particularly since tests seem to pop up all the time. To secure a drivers license for example, I had to pass a test. Tests like this are pass/fail; the score is relevant only to the extent that it places your performance above or below threshold.
To earn a particular grade in the class I'm taking, I'll have to secure a particular average score on the tests the professor assigns. These tests are also pass/fail, but ones for which it generally pays to put greater distance between yourself and the pass/fail threshold. In other words, you can achieve a "pass" without accruing the same benefit as achieving a still-higher mark. Accordingly, some people operate on the margin, in that they'll figure out how hard they have to work to secure a particular grade and work no harder; others try to achieve maximum points on everything. Finally, some aim for a perfect score, but settle if the final outcome is acceptable.
The thing about tests is that they don't exactly measure capacity so much as one's performance at a given moment, under a particular set of circumstances. So if you get tested on an "off" day, the results probably will not match what you might have done when "on." Perhaps it's like running a time-trial at the start of a season; the test measures performance at the moment, under a set of circumstance, but not how one will perform at the championship event. The time-trial is certainly useful, in that it provides some feed-back about what is strong and what is not; but it seems a limited tool for judging how a person will do down the road.
So tests seem to have utility, but more as a measure of where you are rather than where you will go. It's easy to overlook this fact when tests are used to determine your grade, or indeed what you can do with your future...I do it frequently enough. Whether you achieve a good mark or otherwise, at the end of the day it seems important to remember what a test really measures and what it doesn't. Something to think about, anyway.
Happy Thursday, friends :)
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Training update 1: Marine Corps Marathon
These days, I've been training for the Marine Corps Marathon (MCM), which is scheduled to happen approximately 102 days and the 13 hours (28 October) from the moment I publish this post. It's the second marathon for which I've ever registered, and with the "100 days to go" point approaching, I decided to make a little update of how the training is going.
In broad terms, preparation has been considerably better this time than for my first marathon last year. At about this time last year, I started a job involving a lot of lifting and many hours on my feet. This made training difficult, and the harder I tried to push through it the worse I did. I still have that job (thankfully), but in the interval I've adapted a bit to the work, such that it doesn't wear me out to the same degree as before.
With that said, my legs still won't allow for a hard-core training regimen, so I've had to adjust. The general scheme I'm following centers on two big ideas: progression and specificity.
By progression, I mean a series of shifts from one type of training to another. As inferred from above, I can't really train hard all the time like a lot of top athletes, so I need to start small and build gradually. Two months ago, I trained about 30 minutes 3-5 days a week, emphasizing time and easy effort over speed and difficulty. These days, I train about 30 minutes one or two days, 45 minutes two days, and about an hour one day (lately it's been Friday), with an emphasis on building endurance. In the next two months, I'm looking to gradually increase the hour workout to 2 or 2.5 hours, the purpose of which is to acclimate the body to running for several hours straight, which is what it will experience during the marathon. This leads to the second big idea, specificity.
Specificity entails the development of components of fitness specific to a particular race, climate, or goal. For the MCM, I need to be able to run for several hours on asphalt, over a fairly flat course, in whatever kind of weather appears in DC on October the 28th. I also have a personal goal of running 3:30 (8:00/mile, 4:58/km) for the distance. These specific goals and conditions require specific adaptations.
So the general plan I'm following involves a progression from general types of training to increasingly-specific types as the day of the race approaches. Right now, I run primarily on dirt trails and grass; as the race approaches, I'll look to increasingly run on asphalt. These days I run for an hour at most; as the race approaches, I'll look to run as long as 2.5 hours. Finally, most of my running at the moment is at a fairly slow speed; as the race approaches, I'll look to include some work at my marathon goal-pace. The main idea uniting "progression" and "specificity" involves first becoming generally fit, then race-specifically fit.
I don't know how well this program will work, but so far it's gone well, and I'm thoroughly enjoying the process. Almost no one will be blown away by amount of training I'm doing, but I believe it will help me get to the starting line on October 28th feeling excited and ready to enjoy the experience of a marathon run. We'll see in a few months with any luck!
Happy Tuesday, friends :)
In broad terms, preparation has been considerably better this time than for my first marathon last year. At about this time last year, I started a job involving a lot of lifting and many hours on my feet. This made training difficult, and the harder I tried to push through it the worse I did. I still have that job (thankfully), but in the interval I've adapted a bit to the work, such that it doesn't wear me out to the same degree as before.
With that said, my legs still won't allow for a hard-core training regimen, so I've had to adjust. The general scheme I'm following centers on two big ideas: progression and specificity.
By progression, I mean a series of shifts from one type of training to another. As inferred from above, I can't really train hard all the time like a lot of top athletes, so I need to start small and build gradually. Two months ago, I trained about 30 minutes 3-5 days a week, emphasizing time and easy effort over speed and difficulty. These days, I train about 30 minutes one or two days, 45 minutes two days, and about an hour one day (lately it's been Friday), with an emphasis on building endurance. In the next two months, I'm looking to gradually increase the hour workout to 2 or 2.5 hours, the purpose of which is to acclimate the body to running for several hours straight, which is what it will experience during the marathon. This leads to the second big idea, specificity.
Specificity entails the development of components of fitness specific to a particular race, climate, or goal. For the MCM, I need to be able to run for several hours on asphalt, over a fairly flat course, in whatever kind of weather appears in DC on October the 28th. I also have a personal goal of running 3:30 (8:00/mile, 4:58/km) for the distance. These specific goals and conditions require specific adaptations.
So the general plan I'm following involves a progression from general types of training to increasingly-specific types as the day of the race approaches. Right now, I run primarily on dirt trails and grass; as the race approaches, I'll look to increasingly run on asphalt. These days I run for an hour at most; as the race approaches, I'll look to run as long as 2.5 hours. Finally, most of my running at the moment is at a fairly slow speed; as the race approaches, I'll look to include some work at my marathon goal-pace. The main idea uniting "progression" and "specificity" involves first becoming generally fit, then race-specifically fit.
I don't know how well this program will work, but so far it's gone well, and I'm thoroughly enjoying the process. Almost no one will be blown away by amount of training I'm doing, but I believe it will help me get to the starting line on October 28th feeling excited and ready to enjoy the experience of a marathon run. We'll see in a few months with any luck!
Happy Tuesday, friends :)
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
A reflection on "Dedicated but Balanced"
Brad Pilon wrote an interesting guest post on ZenHabits today, entitled "Dedicated but Balanced." In it, he talks about what he believes is a modern and unhealthy obsession with "health and fitness," or "... the endless promotion of obsession as health, exhaustion as virtue and suffering as dedication." His central message seems to focus on achieving balance in these regards, to "Eat less, move more, don’t be afraid to break a sweat every once in a while, and remember to be balanced. When we obsess over health and nutrition, it is no longer healthy."
I think Mr. Pilon makes an important point. Whether you adjust your eating habits and/or start a workout routine strictly for health, or for the sake of competition, finding balance can go a long way toward achieving either goal. In athletics, it is not uncommon for zealous individuals (or the poor athletes under a zealous coach) to overtrain and fail to realize their potential. Many become injured along the way, and some see a pre-mature decline in their abilities, as discussed in an earlier post on the subject.
Mr. Pilon suggests a more moderate approach. "Give full focus and effort when it is appropriate," he says, "Be present during your workout session, but after that turn it off." In other words, learn to be dedicated in what you do, but keep a healthy balance too. I suspect this is difficult for some people, but it is I think an effective method for improving fitness and maintaining a healthy life-style. We simply can't be gung-ho all the time it seems, and perhaps that is for the better. Sometimes ee need rest, disengagement, and perhaps even a little humor over the long-term. Something to consider anyway.
Happy Wednesday, friends :)
I think Mr. Pilon makes an important point. Whether you adjust your eating habits and/or start a workout routine strictly for health, or for the sake of competition, finding balance can go a long way toward achieving either goal. In athletics, it is not uncommon for zealous individuals (or the poor athletes under a zealous coach) to overtrain and fail to realize their potential. Many become injured along the way, and some see a pre-mature decline in their abilities, as discussed in an earlier post on the subject.
Mr. Pilon suggests a more moderate approach. "Give full focus and effort when it is appropriate," he says, "Be present during your workout session, but after that turn it off." In other words, learn to be dedicated in what you do, but keep a healthy balance too. I suspect this is difficult for some people, but it is I think an effective method for improving fitness and maintaining a healthy life-style. We simply can't be gung-ho all the time it seems, and perhaps that is for the better. Sometimes ee need rest, disengagement, and perhaps even a little humor over the long-term. Something to consider anyway.
Happy Wednesday, friends :)
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Sticking with it: finding what works for you
The ScienceDaily recently published an interesting article entitled, "Finding right meditation technique key to user satisfaction." In it, a study is discussed which looked at which of four meditation techniques--Mantra, Mindfulness, Zen, and Qigong--proved most popular at the conclusion of the experiment.
The experiment involved teaching participants each of these methods, having them practice at home, and then reporting back on which they preferred.
Of the study's 247 participants, 31% preferred Mantra and Mindfulness, while 22% preferred Zen, and 14.8% Qigong.
Perhaps more importantly, the study emphasized the importance of finding a method that appealed to each person in determining which they preferred. While it remains unclear which, if any, of these methods yield the greatest benefit, it is clear that those who find one that works for them stick with it.
And that I think is the biggest takeaway from all this. Meditation--like exercise, healthy foods, or other things promoting general well-being--tends to have a positive benefit for those who partake in it, yet too often people become discouraged in the process of practice.
The message of this study is that, just because one method of practice doesn't appeal to you doesn't mean others will too. Furthermore, just because one's practice is not 100% serious doesn't mean it won't provide benefit.
Consider, a friend once decided he go vegan cold-turkey (perhaps "cold-turkey" isn't the right word in this case...). In any case, he managed it for about a month and then totally gave up. It was too hard, he said, and he missed things like ice-cream and the occasional piece of chicken-breast. Later, however, he decided that each day he would make one meal completely vegan. This he found manageable, and later still he changed that to two vegan meals a day. Along the way, he found that by allowing himself a little meat or animal product here or there, he could acquire most of the benefits of a vegan diet without constantly fretting about the food he ate. In the end veganism wasn't for him, but a healthier diet was.
Another time, a different friend wanted to start an exercise regimin, and was determined to walk at least an hour every day. This lasted for about a week, and then she gave up. Later, she decided she would try walking for 5-minutes each day. If she felt like going further after 5-minutes, she would; if not, then she would call it a day. This method worked well for her, allowing her to lose weight and have a healthier image of herself. As she became fitter she started running portions of the walk, and about a year after starting, she entered her first 5k. Hard-core exercise was not for her, but a little each day was.
I tell these stories because they show the wider application of the idea we discussed above with reference to meditation: that it can be helpful to find what works for you personally. Whether it's food, exercise, or simply sitting down to meditate, we each bring a different set of circumstances and temperaments to the table, and as such not every popular thing will work for us. But if we find can ways to do these potentially-wholesome activities so that they're fun and fulfilling, much good may come of it. Something to consider anyway.
Happy Tuesday, friends :)
The experiment involved teaching participants each of these methods, having them practice at home, and then reporting back on which they preferred.
Of the study's 247 participants, 31% preferred Mantra and Mindfulness, while 22% preferred Zen, and 14.8% Qigong.
Perhaps more importantly, the study emphasized the importance of finding a method that appealed to each person in determining which they preferred. While it remains unclear which, if any, of these methods yield the greatest benefit, it is clear that those who find one that works for them stick with it.
And that I think is the biggest takeaway from all this. Meditation--like exercise, healthy foods, or other things promoting general well-being--tends to have a positive benefit for those who partake in it, yet too often people become discouraged in the process of practice.
The message of this study is that, just because one method of practice doesn't appeal to you doesn't mean others will too. Furthermore, just because one's practice is not 100% serious doesn't mean it won't provide benefit.
Consider, a friend once decided he go vegan cold-turkey (perhaps "cold-turkey" isn't the right word in this case...). In any case, he managed it for about a month and then totally gave up. It was too hard, he said, and he missed things like ice-cream and the occasional piece of chicken-breast. Later, however, he decided that each day he would make one meal completely vegan. This he found manageable, and later still he changed that to two vegan meals a day. Along the way, he found that by allowing himself a little meat or animal product here or there, he could acquire most of the benefits of a vegan diet without constantly fretting about the food he ate. In the end veganism wasn't for him, but a healthier diet was.
Another time, a different friend wanted to start an exercise regimin, and was determined to walk at least an hour every day. This lasted for about a week, and then she gave up. Later, she decided she would try walking for 5-minutes each day. If she felt like going further after 5-minutes, she would; if not, then she would call it a day. This method worked well for her, allowing her to lose weight and have a healthier image of herself. As she became fitter she started running portions of the walk, and about a year after starting, she entered her first 5k. Hard-core exercise was not for her, but a little each day was.
I tell these stories because they show the wider application of the idea we discussed above with reference to meditation: that it can be helpful to find what works for you personally. Whether it's food, exercise, or simply sitting down to meditate, we each bring a different set of circumstances and temperaments to the table, and as such not every popular thing will work for us. But if we find can ways to do these potentially-wholesome activities so that they're fun and fulfilling, much good may come of it. Something to consider anyway.
Happy Tuesday, friends :)
Monday, July 9, 2012
A reflection on expectations
A couple days ago I was walking along when a fellow and his dog appeared on the side-walk ahead. I expected him to put his head down and walk past without comment, as so often happens, but he surprised me: he said "good evening" with a smile, and continued on his way. The man's "good evening" startled me, to say the least.
The next day I was crossing a stream at a ford, leaping between rocks to keep my shoes dry. I've used this particular ford numerous times, and with the water so low, walking across seemed a simple task. As it turned out, a rock that looked steady turned out to be quite the wobbler, and into the water my shoe went. For the second time in two days I was beside myself.
Tomorrow is my first class at the local community college, and I'm a bit high-strung with nervous anticipation. "What will it be like?" I wonder..."How will it go?"
I thought about these questions off and on today, drawing on previous experience and whatever my imagination could conjure, to have a guess what tomorrow might be like. And then I remembered some of the incidents described above, and realized: I've been startled on several occasions lately, but it wasn't the events themselves that startled me, but rather my unrealized expectations. Perhaps I've been going about this all wrong.
When the man and his dog approached, I expected him to pass without a word. When he did not, I was thrown for a loop. The same proved true at the ford; I expected an easy crossing, but was undone by a not-so-cleverly-disguised-but-very-treacherous-rock.
In both cases, my expectations put me in a position to expect something that did not occur. More importantly perhaps, they left me closed to alternative possibilities, such that when something unexpected did occur I was not only unprepared for it, but also unprepared to be unprepared (if that makes sense).
The take-away then, may go something like this: that while expectations are sometimes useful, they can also close our minds, leave us unprepared, and in the worse cases, cultivate negative feelings. Consider, if I expect tomorrow's class to be the most difficult thing I've ever done, I might not sleep a wink and arrive at the start a haggard mess. On the other hand, if I expect the class to be cake-walk and it turns out to be anything but, well, I'll have started the race several meters back from the start. In either case, specific expectations of this sort can prove a real handicap.
But what about general expectations? For example, I expect tomorrow there will be a class, lasting somewhere from a few minutes to three hours, on the subject of psychology, taught by a professor with a masters' degree, and attended by approximately 25 students. I expect I'll be among them, barring some delay or some as-yet-unforeseen development. Apart from that, I don't know much else.
These general types of expectations seem useful, because they provide a broad sense of what may or may not happen. They help me make certain preparations, i.e. bringing a notebook for notes, approx. $50 for a text-book, and a healthy scepticism of whether I'm in the right class if the professor spends all three-hours talking about physics, fish, or a social history of the Salem witch-trials.
I suppose the point is that it can help to be mindful of your expectations, figuring out as best you can which might help you, and which might unnecessarily close your mind to the unexpected. As one of my favorite books says, "like a parachute, the mind works best when open." Letting go of a lot of one's expectations may do much in this regard. Maybe.
Happy Monday, friends :)
The next day I was crossing a stream at a ford, leaping between rocks to keep my shoes dry. I've used this particular ford numerous times, and with the water so low, walking across seemed a simple task. As it turned out, a rock that looked steady turned out to be quite the wobbler, and into the water my shoe went. For the second time in two days I was beside myself.
Tomorrow is my first class at the local community college, and I'm a bit high-strung with nervous anticipation. "What will it be like?" I wonder..."How will it go?"
I thought about these questions off and on today, drawing on previous experience and whatever my imagination could conjure, to have a guess what tomorrow might be like. And then I remembered some of the incidents described above, and realized: I've been startled on several occasions lately, but it wasn't the events themselves that startled me, but rather my unrealized expectations. Perhaps I've been going about this all wrong.
When the man and his dog approached, I expected him to pass without a word. When he did not, I was thrown for a loop. The same proved true at the ford; I expected an easy crossing, but was undone by a not-so-cleverly-disguised-but-very-treacherous-rock.
In both cases, my expectations put me in a position to expect something that did not occur. More importantly perhaps, they left me closed to alternative possibilities, such that when something unexpected did occur I was not only unprepared for it, but also unprepared to be unprepared (if that makes sense).
The take-away then, may go something like this: that while expectations are sometimes useful, they can also close our minds, leave us unprepared, and in the worse cases, cultivate negative feelings. Consider, if I expect tomorrow's class to be the most difficult thing I've ever done, I might not sleep a wink and arrive at the start a haggard mess. On the other hand, if I expect the class to be cake-walk and it turns out to be anything but, well, I'll have started the race several meters back from the start. In either case, specific expectations of this sort can prove a real handicap.
But what about general expectations? For example, I expect tomorrow there will be a class, lasting somewhere from a few minutes to three hours, on the subject of psychology, taught by a professor with a masters' degree, and attended by approximately 25 students. I expect I'll be among them, barring some delay or some as-yet-unforeseen development. Apart from that, I don't know much else.
These general types of expectations seem useful, because they provide a broad sense of what may or may not happen. They help me make certain preparations, i.e. bringing a notebook for notes, approx. $50 for a text-book, and a healthy scepticism of whether I'm in the right class if the professor spends all three-hours talking about physics, fish, or a social history of the Salem witch-trials.
I suppose the point is that it can help to be mindful of your expectations, figuring out as best you can which might help you, and which might unnecessarily close your mind to the unexpected. As one of my favorite books says, "like a parachute, the mind works best when open." Letting go of a lot of one's expectations may do much in this regard. Maybe.
Happy Monday, friends :)
Saturday, July 7, 2012
A story of two egg-farmers
Listening to a talk the other night, I heard the following story:
There were two egg-farmers who went out to their chicken coops each morning. The first collected all the chicken scat he could find, and left the eggs in his coop to rot. As a consequence, his house was full of chicken scat, his business suffered, and no one ever wanted to visit his aweful-smelling house. The second farmer carefully removed the chicken scat from his coop to fertilize the garden where he grew feed for the chickens, and took the eggs back to his house. There he cooked some for breakfast, and sold the rest for cash. Everyone liked to visit the second farmer, because his eggs were quality, he cooked them for you if you happen to show up at breakfast, and his house didn't smell like scat.
The story serves as a metaphor for life, in that many of us are like the first farmer; we hold onto negative thoughts (scat) and leave the positive (eggs) to rot. It's not to say negative thinking has no place; live chickens always poop, and live humans almost always think negative thoughts. But as the second farmer shows us, we don't need to bring it into the house to use it. It can nourish our thinking, but it needn't define it. Something to consider anyway.
Happy Saturday, friends :)
There were two egg-farmers who went out to their chicken coops each morning. The first collected all the chicken scat he could find, and left the eggs in his coop to rot. As a consequence, his house was full of chicken scat, his business suffered, and no one ever wanted to visit his aweful-smelling house. The second farmer carefully removed the chicken scat from his coop to fertilize the garden where he grew feed for the chickens, and took the eggs back to his house. There he cooked some for breakfast, and sold the rest for cash. Everyone liked to visit the second farmer, because his eggs were quality, he cooked them for you if you happen to show up at breakfast, and his house didn't smell like scat.
The story serves as a metaphor for life, in that many of us are like the first farmer; we hold onto negative thoughts (scat) and leave the positive (eggs) to rot. It's not to say negative thinking has no place; live chickens always poop, and live humans almost always think negative thoughts. But as the second farmer shows us, we don't need to bring it into the house to use it. It can nourish our thinking, but it needn't define it. Something to consider anyway.
Happy Saturday, friends :)
Thursday, July 5, 2012
On the value of humor
When I become stressed, the idea that what I'm experiencing might be funny rarely crosses my mind. Challenges are supposed to be difficult, and I've often heard that difficult things are supposed to be humorless. Yet I suspect this is not entirely true, and in fact I wonder if the ability to laugh in the midst of challenge, toil, and difficulty is not a healthy way of emerging on the other side of that challenge in as good or better a state as before.
In one sense, humor can distract us from unpleasant things which are out of our control. For example, some months ago I navigated the local mass-transit system to get to Villanova University for a coaching seminar. I'd used mass-transit before, but with little frequency, and as such I was nervous about the adventure. What if I missed a train, or ended up in Trenton instead of the Main Line? There was in truth little to these fears, since I'd become acquainted with the train-schedule and allowed plenty of time to make the unfamiliar journey. But sometimes one cannot help but linger on "what-if" disaster scenarios, and as a result I felt very uneasy.
With everything planned that could be planned, I found humor a most effective remedy for keeping my disaster-imagination at bay. I listened to a friend tell a funny tale, and later watched a comedy on the television. Both help put my mind at ease, allowing for potential difficulties while remaining confident that all would turn out okay. In the end, I made a few mistakes but managed the journey just fine. I could even laugh about it as it happened; that was helpful too.
Humor can also help in the midst of difficulty. For example, some months ago I played principle bassoon in Beethoven's 9th Symphony. In the final movement, there is a counter-melody passage I could always play correct in practice, but never in performance. At first it was only frustrating, since the part did not seem beyond my ability. But as the date of the concert approached and the matter remained unresolved, I (and the conductor I'm sure) became increasingly alarmed. Why could I play fine at home, but not on stage? To everyone involved it remained a mystery, and one that was solved through the intervention of humor.
It began with Betty, the second bassoonist. She's much better at counting than me, and realized that I kept jumping beats as I played. The result was that I finished the counter-melody faster than the cellos and basses playing the melody, which of course wouldn't do, and sounded awful. So Betty figured out the melody line, and during breaks she would play it while I played the counter-melody. It became a game of sorts, during which I would sometimes miscount, and sometimes she would misplay the melody (she playing whole thing by ear, without music). We laughed about it each time, and tried again. We soon realized that the matter was largely nerves; to ensure not coming in too late, I jumped the gun on tied notes and finished the line early, an equally sub-optimal result as coming in too late. In either case, by imbuing the matter with humor, we managed to relieve those nerves and give me the confidence to count the notes' full value before coming in. Once again, humor saved the day.
These experiences--among others--make me think that humor has value in difficult situations. In some cases it can help us stay relaxed, while in others it can help us get out of our own way, and let our talent and training shine. I wouldn't say humor solves all problems, but I'm beginning to realize its remarkable value.
Happy Thursday, friends :)
In one sense, humor can distract us from unpleasant things which are out of our control. For example, some months ago I navigated the local mass-transit system to get to Villanova University for a coaching seminar. I'd used mass-transit before, but with little frequency, and as such I was nervous about the adventure. What if I missed a train, or ended up in Trenton instead of the Main Line? There was in truth little to these fears, since I'd become acquainted with the train-schedule and allowed plenty of time to make the unfamiliar journey. But sometimes one cannot help but linger on "what-if" disaster scenarios, and as a result I felt very uneasy.
With everything planned that could be planned, I found humor a most effective remedy for keeping my disaster-imagination at bay. I listened to a friend tell a funny tale, and later watched a comedy on the television. Both help put my mind at ease, allowing for potential difficulties while remaining confident that all would turn out okay. In the end, I made a few mistakes but managed the journey just fine. I could even laugh about it as it happened; that was helpful too.
Humor can also help in the midst of difficulty. For example, some months ago I played principle bassoon in Beethoven's 9th Symphony. In the final movement, there is a counter-melody passage I could always play correct in practice, but never in performance. At first it was only frustrating, since the part did not seem beyond my ability. But as the date of the concert approached and the matter remained unresolved, I (and the conductor I'm sure) became increasingly alarmed. Why could I play fine at home, but not on stage? To everyone involved it remained a mystery, and one that was solved through the intervention of humor.
It began with Betty, the second bassoonist. She's much better at counting than me, and realized that I kept jumping beats as I played. The result was that I finished the counter-melody faster than the cellos and basses playing the melody, which of course wouldn't do, and sounded awful. So Betty figured out the melody line, and during breaks she would play it while I played the counter-melody. It became a game of sorts, during which I would sometimes miscount, and sometimes she would misplay the melody (she playing whole thing by ear, without music). We laughed about it each time, and tried again. We soon realized that the matter was largely nerves; to ensure not coming in too late, I jumped the gun on tied notes and finished the line early, an equally sub-optimal result as coming in too late. In either case, by imbuing the matter with humor, we managed to relieve those nerves and give me the confidence to count the notes' full value before coming in. Once again, humor saved the day.
These experiences--among others--make me think that humor has value in difficult situations. In some cases it can help us stay relaxed, while in others it can help us get out of our own way, and let our talent and training shine. I wouldn't say humor solves all problems, but I'm beginning to realize its remarkable value.
Happy Thursday, friends :)
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