Outstanding Performance

On Wednesday, April 18, I won a pen at the Dale Carnegie course that I am taking for work training requirement fulfillment.  The pen says “Outstanding Performance,” and was awarded to me after telling a story about a “defining moment” for me.  The award was partly for how I told the story (public speaking is one of the components of the course, and I am comfortable doing that) and partly, I think, for the courage it took for me to tell the story in front of about 25 people.

I have never told the full story to anyone but my parents, who are now gone, so telling it in front of a group was, itself, I suppose, a defining moment.  I decided to write the story and tell it here on my blog.  The story does make some people feel uncomfortable, which is why I have never spilled it in its entirety--most people would be too shocked to continue asking questions about the full sequence of events.

Let me preface this story with some background.  I have been an “outstanding performer” my entire life.  I began teaching myself to play the piano when I was 4.  I had my IQ tested when I was in first grade, and it was at that time near 150.  My Dad wanted the grade school to skip me at least 2 grades, but they would not do it, citing my lack of emotional maturity.  That was probably a smart move on the school’s part, since to this day I still consider the social graces one of my weaker points.

I was at the head of the class intellectually from then on through high school.  I was fast-tracked formally beginning in fifth grade, and was able to study higher level Spanish, math and English on my own, with minimal help from the teachers.  I rarely needed to be told to not raise my hand in class—the teachers knew that I always knew the answers, but I didn’t want to always be stealing the show or making the other kids look dumb.

As much as I made an effort to not stand out, you know how kids are—I was known as the smart girl who got all the attention from the teachers.  There was really nothing I could do to change anyone’s mind, but I began to feel increasingly separated from everyone else.  I had one or two close friends that were cool with me, and I did normal play stuff for my age.

In seventh grade, I switched to the junior high school and for the first time, encountered some teachers who were put off by my intelligence, as about this time, I began to challenge some of what was being taught, particularly in literature interpretation.  This was entertaining to me that a kid could intimidate a teacher, but I didn’t sweat it.  About this same time, I finally escaped my physical spazziness.  I still remember being able to turn my first cartwheel, and I joined the intramural girl’s basketball team and played center!  Can you believe that?  We won, and puny little me was at the center of it all!

I continued to be fast-tracked in English, Spanish and math, but sat through other classes at my grade level, even though I was typically bored.  Still, I understood the value of a broad education. 

Next, I began attending high school.  Apparently, the entire faculty hadn’t been debriefed on this smart girl and how they would need to give me special treatment unless they wanted an ugly situation on their hands.  All along to this time, Dad made sure that no teacher stood in the way of my ability to continue excelling and marching ahead of the other kids my age.  I remember being placed into freshman Spanish, and the teacher, Senor Llerandi (his son is Mike—a really good triathlete!), instantly recognizing that I was far ahead (like 4 years) of the other students.  He instantly took me under his wing and was happy to give me advanced study and allow me to tutor other students.

The same thing happened in freshman math—whatever that curriculum was!  There was a kid, Steve, that could tell I was far ahead of the class, and he must have felt intimidated because he told me he was taking Russian and German, which I guess he thought were far more difficult than Spanish, and wanted to hold that over me.  So I signed up for Russian and German, not to challenge him, but to challenge me.  Within maybe 2 weeks, the teachers for those languages could see the innate talent I had for picking up languages, and I promptly flew to the head of those classes and ended up tutoring other kids.  I recall being able to think in all 3 languages at the same time, and sometimes would mix and match what came out of my mouth!  It was fun for me, but easy—languages are structured concepts with rules and such, much like math, so it felt normal to me to study 3 at once.

I loved the studies, I loved helping the other kids along, but still this was high school, so if I had felt like I’d been singled out before for being the smart girl, it was even more apparent now.  Somewhere in the background, the faculty was made aware of me—partly because I was pretty unique in the school, and partly because I’d had 2 brothers and a sister attend the same high school ahead of me, and they were pretty smart, too, but I was going far beyond them.  I remember a few times during my first weeks of high school being asked by a teacher, “are you ’s sister?”  It was probably annoying to my brother Mike, who was 2 years older than me and in the same school while I was there.  He never told me what anyone else said to him—we weren’t very close at the time.

The one fun part of high school for me was that there was a handful of other kids who excelled in math, and we were put into classes with older kids, so at least I wasn’t alone in that area being singled out for throwing the curve on all tests!  We were geeky nerds before it became fashionable!  Math was my favorite subject.

I took Advanced Placement tests in English and math, and scored really high on them.  I had my pick of several colleges to attend, all offering me full academic scholarships, and one that offered me a combined music/math program tailored to me.  I forget to mention that I was a pretty good piano player, but I didn’t give it as much attention as I gave to my studies, and didn’t feel I was receiving adequate coaching in that area to major in it, so I concentrated on my academics instead.

I ended up choosing Northwestern University, partly because it was close to home, and my parents didn’t have money for me to be flying around the country.  I also wanted to attend a college with a student body bigger than my high school (there were about 3,000 students at the time I graduated high school) so that I could just blend into the masses and not be known as the smart girl anymore.

I had a full academic scholarship to NU the entire time I was there.  I’d saved some money up for extracurricular activities by working during high school.  Let me backtrack a bit.  I’d learned to type while in seventh grade, and it came naturally to me as I’d been playing piano since I was very young.  Within about a week in the class, I was over 80 words per minute, and I quickly got up to about 125.  My Mom was super fast at typing, but I exceeded her, and being my Mom, she couldn’t exactly be jealous of me, now could she? 

I attended summer school from seventh grade through sophomore high school because, well, I loved school!  But junior year of high school, I got my first job working at a fabric store.  I loved it, because I’d taught myself to sew when I was in seventh grade (mostly because my Mom no longer had time to make my clothes and I wanted to relieve her of that obligation), and it was fun to be immersed in a store where I could help others choose nice things and offer advice on material and patterns.  The summer before college, Mom got me a job at Allen Aircraft in Elk Grove Village as a typist.  Once again, I showed up, was the fastest typist they had ever seen, and this alienated a few other girls, as I received all sorts of attention for my talents.  And my looks.  By this time, I’d gone from dark brown hair to very light blond, and I’d slimmed down after the puberty had put some fat on me.  I won’t go into what the result of my then looks were, but let’s just say I didn’t suffer for men’s attention!

So I’d saved money from working in high school—the first thing I bought was contact lenses, and the next thing was a bicycle—a white, Italian Casati.  I liked biking here and there, and the bike I’d had since fifth grade was defunct, so I was pretty happy to have a new, really cool 10-speed!  I wanted a bike that I could easily carry up stairs.  If I recall, that bike cost like $250 at the time, and was considered fairly high end.  I gave it away about 5 years ago, as it was just collecting dust.

When I got to NU, I ended up pledging a sorority, Delta Zeta, and because I wanted to live in the house and needed to pay dues, I found a part-time job working for a genetics professor.  Initially, I was pre-med (I ended up changing to math major during junior year, and if I had done that sooner, could have had a Masters degree in 4 years--oh well!), and while I studied hard, I had decided that I wanted to have fun in college and a bit more of a social life than I’d had through high school.  My sophomore year, I was elected Social Chairman of the sorority, and my first order of business was to demand a bigger budget for parties!

Can you imagine me as a Social Chairman?  While I wasn’t particularly good at making friends, which I think was one of the drivers behind joining a sorority in the first place, since it gives you instant friends, I thought I’d challenge myself by becoming Social Chairman and seeing how I could contribute in that area.  I did a great job, but it was a lot of work in addition to my studies and my job, so I gladly passed the baton on that after a year. 

I did OK in college, but was OK not getting straight A’s.  I was one of the valedictorians in high school (there were 5 if I recall correctly), but when I got to NU, I was surrounded by people of that caliber, which was so much fun for me.  So I had successfully achieved becoming a small fish in a big pond. 

The first week I arrived at NU for new student week, I was registering for classes and was puzzled that they wouldn’t let me into sophomore math and English.  I went to the registrar, and they told me they had no record of my AP tests!  Also they said that I would need to take a foreign language, as I hadn’t taken any in high school!  WTF???

Rather than try and cut through red tape, I thought, fuck it, I will sit for your stupid placement tests.  So I did.  I sat for Spanish, math and English.  I proved handily that I knew my Spanish, and I placed into sophomore level math and English.  I ended up being bored in the math class (some bullshit calculus) and skipping most of the classes.  The professor did not like this, and called me to his office (I did show up for tests).  He said I would need to sit for a special final exam that he would make up for me.  I was like BRING IT, and had to take the exam sitting in his office.  We had 4 hours, and I was finished in an hour, and I aced it 100%.  When that same professor called me to review the test results with him, he admitted he understood that I had a special talent for math, and he asked me what I planned to do with it.  He put the seed of actuarial science into my head, I mentioned it to my Mom, and she knew a woman whose husband was an actuary, and long story short, I got a job working at Towers Perrin consultancy (now part of Watson Wyatt) while I was still in college.

Sorry I am taking twists and turns here, but the math professor that made me sit for the special calculus class was again my professor during senior year of college for the Measure Theory class, and he also taught the Probability and Statistics class for math majors, which I was also taking.  I took P&S to help with the actuarial exams, and was taking the theoretical basis for it at the same time!  The professor loved me and would often ask questions in the P&S class that he knew only I could answer.  Interesting turn of events, don’t you think?

So I was lucky to get a great paying job while I was still in college at Towers Perrin (well, it really wasn’t so much luck as seizing an opportunity), and the intent was for me to go full time upon graduation, which I did.  I couldn’t believe I had landed there at the salary they gave me just for doing stuff I liked doing!  Initially, I just went to their office to see what actuaries did, but as soon as I walked in the door, they handed me a job application, so I filled it out.  At first, they didn’t hire me because they didn’t think I’d had enough programming (I had one class in FORTRAN in college), but one man who interviewed me thought I was something special, so he arranged an interview with the owner (the company was privately held for many years).  The owner was really impressed with me, and I was hired.  The job was all math, and I learned programming there and got to work with some really super smart people, so I was in hog heaven!  I got my own apartment in Chicago near Loyola University and took the El downtown every day for work.

And now I get to the story I told last week at Dale Carnegie, although this written version will be much longer—I only had 2 minutes to speak last week.

I was 25 years old.  It was January, and I was walking home from work.  I was wearing a dress I had sewn—a one-piece made of a copper and white print.  It was my favorite dress at the time.  I was wearing a coat that I had made.  My Mom had given me a really cool coat of hers that I wore out during college, but loved the unique design, and so I took it apart and remade the coat with all new fabric.  It had an ermine collar, and I loved wearing that on it, too.

I got to the door to my apartment building and put the key in the lock.  Immediately, I felt the sharp blade of a knife on my neck, and something metal against the side of my head.  I figured it was a gun.  There were two men.  They made me walk with them, with the knife and gun on me, up to my apartment.  First they wanted all my money.  I did not carry much cash on me, but I gave it to them—I think it was $30.  They insisted I must have more in my apartment, so they began ransacking it.  One of them emptied every drawer and closet and box while the other kept the weapons on me.

Next they made me strip and they began raping me one at a time.  Over and over.  While telling me that I was the cause of all their problems, being white and rich (they were black).   While holding the gun to my head and the knife at my throat.

All I could think was 2 things: 1) I need to disassociate my body from this and stay within my mind and 2) with my mind going full force, I have to figure a way out of this.  I was raped over and over for 3 hours.  I did not cry.  I did not let myself feel what they were doing to me physically.  But I could not let my mind give up and give in to the tirades of these people.  I never once acknowledged that I was responsible for any of their situation.  I can’t remember exactly what I said to them, other than I recall steering them around to the thought that I would let them walk out of here and they would never be found.  They were both wearing stockings over their faces, and I doubted that I could identify them anyway.  I had a bigger objective in mind which was to stay alive.

It turned out that one of them was the “leader” and the other was just along for the ride.  The assistant ended up telling me that this wasn’t his idea, and that he thought that they should let me go.  Somehow I appealed to this man and convinced him that all would be OK, that they could take whatever they wanted, but to please go.  At this point, I suppose it didn’t matter whether they killed me or not.  I just wanted it to be over.  I’d already had my dignity stripped away.  I didn’t care about any of my material possessions—all I cared about was my life.  I didn’t have any of those “life flashing before your eyes” sensations—it was just one of pure survival instinct.  I also didn’t have a sense of time during this—they’d taken the watch off my hand right away, and I was being held in the living room where there were no clocks.  I was living moment to moment.  I knew that nothing could be worse than this current moment, but I had no time to engage in hatred or self-pity.  Those things would not save me.  I did not pray.  God would not save me—what would save me would have to be ME and me alone.

Near the end of the ordeal, these men took my TV and my sewing machine out the door, of course, while one was keeping watch over me.  They did not take my bike.  The only memory I have of the actual rape was at this time—the assistant had his dick in me telling me it was going to be OK.  He even told me I was pretty.  I can remember lying there looking up at this person--no doubt with a rather vacant stare--and despite my physical circumstance, knowing he was telling me the truth. A few minutes later, he got up and out of me, and left.  I waited maybe 1 minute before I got up off the floor and ran to the back door and locked it, called the police and threw some clothes on.  My apartment was in shambles.  My favorite dress was tossed on the floor, but I still had it, and the beautiful coat I had made was still there.  I was still the same person who had walked home from work that day wearing those clothes and smiling.  I called Mom and Dad.  I could barely tell them what had happened.  They met me at the hospital where I was taken by the police to be examined and cleaned up.  I was a mess.

But I was alive.  I didn’t know it right then—it took a few years—but by surviving that, I knew I was able to do anything I ever wanted to do. And nobody was ever going to beat me down or take anything from me that they did not have the right to take.  Despite having experienced true evil, I have never harbored any bigotry towards black men or any particular person.  What happened to me was two scarred people and a random act of violence.  They were never caught, but judging from how drugged up they were, I am sure they did not live very long.

But I did.  I suppose this is one of the reasons I became drawn towards endurance sports.  I try not to act jaded when someone tells me of the “suffering” they experienced during a marathon or Ironman, or even longer distance events.   I try not to roll my eyes when yet another person tells me I am crazy, or calls me a mutant, or expounds on how they would never train the way I do (even though I know they often wish they could).   I am not sure anyone would really want to have had the experience I had that would give them the mental fortitude to think of a 5-hour ride on the trainer, that I will do today, as “no big deal.”  It really isn’t.  To me. 

I no longer have that dress.  I wore the shit out of it.  Every single time I wore it, I knew I was strong.  And beautiful.  And that no external event would ever define me.  Not violence, not some race, not the pretty flowers that grow in my yard, not the beautiful bikes that I own and love to ride, not anything on the outside.  But that is what most people see and want to believe about me.  Inside me is this person who is strong and loving and compassionate.  That is how I like being viewed.

I still have the coat.  I rarely wear it, but when I do, I remember what we have gone through together.  I bought the same sewing machine to replace the one that was stolen.  I still have it!  I still sew on it, but up until this moment, it has never reminded me of what happened.  It is just a thing.  I bought the same TV to replace the one that was stolen.  It only died 5 years ago.  The same year that Dad died.  It was just a TV.  When Dad died, I felt worse than when I had been raped.  Grief is mental pain.  Mental pain is far worse than the physical pain I’d experienced. 

When 9/11/2001 happened, it was shortly after I did my first Ironman in Lake Placid. That is the only time that the remembrance of my rape and robbery came back to me full force.  I couldn't stop watching the news stories about the people on the airplanes that were crashed into the Twin Towers or onto the ground.  I knew exactly what it felt like to be faced with the ultimate senseless act of violence, but to remain strong and keep one's integrity.  There were days during that week when I just went outside and screamed at the top of my lungs, "I KNOW HOW YOU FELT" even though those people who died on those airplanes couldn't hear me.  I knew they had died remaining true to themselves and their country and their fellow man.  What those people did was heroic.  What I did was self-preservation.  

I hate it when people call someone a hero for just doing what it takes to save themselves--like lose weight, overcome an addiction, or pick themselves up after a life-changing event.  That is not an act of heroism.  That is mental fortitude.  I am surely not a hero.  I saved myself.  That's all.  But sometimes by saving yourself, you can help save others, and so I guess part of my mission on Earth is to help others save part of themselves in some small way.  The way I try and do that is by showing others what can be done.  If it comes off at times as arrogance, good genetics or luck, I don't really care.  I know where it comes from.  It comes from within, plain and simple.

I suppose it’s appropriate that during the year in which I have lofty triathlon goals that I would step up and tell this story.  It’s been 30 years since it happened, and I truly don’t think of it very often, but I feel good that I was able to tell the story in public, both in person, and now here.  Maybe you see a different side of me now.  Please don’t pity me.  Hell, I am just happy to be alive!  And if I can kick some ass at the races this year, well, that is just so much more icing on my cake!

More Notes to Self

I'm now beginning to get ready for the interior painting of my house, which means I will need to empty out closets and the larger shelves, and take everything off the walls. In going through one stash area, I found something that I'm not sure why I kept. It's a small dry erase board that I got from some race somewhere, I have no idea when. It folds in two, and is intended to hold emergency phone numbers, and then it has a "Things to Do" page.

Below, reprinted for your pleasure, are my Things to Do as of November, 2004. I have left out the 3 items that were triathlon related, since they just had to do with some time goals. The list is in order that I wrote them down. I think I sort of had a plan back then, and since that time, many aspects of my life may have changed, but it's still a good list, I think. I suppose I could have written down things like places I want to travel and races I want to do, but I can sort of remember the day I put this together, and this is what I came up with:

1. Find and keep a mate
2. Be my best
3. Think about retirement
4. Stay employed 5 years
5. Be in the moment at work
6. Do a good job
7. Remember what's important
8. Be a better friend
9. Stay strong in the face of adversity
10. Become more self-aware
11. Let go of attachments
12. Surrender

I guess at the time I wrote this down I had a 5-year plan to be ready to retire (yes, it's an early one!), which means just switching gears from a full-time job that pays the bills to something else that I'd really like to do and maybe also moving or at least figuring out where I want to live the next 20 years or so. Or, I could rephrase it to, "If I could do anything I wanted and could get paid decently for it, what would it be?" So I'll leave #3 on there.

Everything else looks pretty good to me. I find it funny that this "Things to Do" list is so reflective of what I now consider important in my life.

This getting my house ready to be painted is becoming emotional. When I pick something up and really look at it and touch it and remember when I got it and what was going on in my life and then decide whether I want to keep it, put it off to the side or toss it, it makes for some thinking. I remember being young and single and carefree and not owning a lot of stuff. Now, I'm no longer young, not as carefree and have a ton of crap! But a lot of it is good crap, you know? Still, I think I will be eliminating a bunch of things. It's good to touch, think, remember, honor the feelings, and then move on. As hard as this is, I know it's the right thing to be doing right now.

Time for a Break

Believe it or not, I'm taking a much-needed break from training. Since NothingMan, my body, and to some extent, my mind, has been telling me to keep it light. There have been days when I've wanted to run and my legs have felt dead. Same deal with biking. At this point, I'm not obsessing over whether it's as much mental as physical.

I've been sleeping a lot, puttering around the house trying to decide on things I can give away or throw away and not much else. I am keeping up stretching, and I am lifting, because, well, I never seem to tire of that.

Since I'm barely training, I'm watching my diet like a hawk, since I don't want to gain weight. At the end of a season, I always banish all the treats from my house that I allowed myself to have (in moderation, of course) when I was in heavy training--candy, Twinkies, various chips and such. At first, as is pretty normal, I craved all these things and just wanted to eat a bunch of food. But that is subsiding, and it's good to be comfortable on a very modest diet.

I figure I can continue on like this for at least another month. It's not like I don't want to do any exercise--I'm going to work my way back up to running 5x per week--but waking up early to swim is now optional, and trying to push myself hard while running or biking (that is, if I manage to get on a bike) is optional.

In a way, I'm looking forward to winter, as I generally do. There won't be any reason for me to train too hard, there will be no yard work to do (except for moving snow around), and I have lots of time for reading and other indoor activities. Right now, though, I'm still finding my way through a period of letting myself wind down physically and mentally. I laugh at myself periodically how worked up I get over training and racing! Not that that's a bad thing, and not that I won't get worked up again next year! It's just about time that I took a much needed break from running myself into the ground physically and neglecting anything not strictly necessary for or related to triathlon.

So if you don't see me posting here too much, well, that's why. I'm still contemplating whether it's necessary to write a season wrap-up or not--I think this next year for me is going to be about mixing things up--not so much training but just doing stuff, having fun, and letting races be stops along the way.

Woo-Hoo! I'm Sore ALL OVER!!

This weeks marks my return to "training." I am taking it slowly, after doing almost no exercise last week (I did swim once for about an hour; did an abs/core workout and rode my MTB for all of :30). I am going to hold back on any intensity (unless I can do it swimming, which would be rare for me any time of the year!) until I feel ready for it.

Yesterday I did a 1-hour swim drill workout. Man, do I have work to do there! Maybe I'll actually get the swim coaching I've been looking for on my third try? I tried with one guy last fall, and he bagged on me, tried again this summer, same result--maybe third time will be a charm? I would like to improve my swimming, yet I know in the big scheme of things I'd have to work really hard to see something like 1:05-1:10 in an Ironman, and maybe I don't really care--I'm not sure right now. I just believe there are a couple of things that if I can get them right, that I will get a little faster, and I don't see it happening without someone watching me critically.

I also ran for :30 yesterday. I was a little slow, but not too bad. It was pretty hot, so who knows how much of an affect that had? I ran after I lifted weights, so that my legs would be already tired out and again, I wouldn't care about my pace.

I had avoided doing any lifting on my arms because of whatever has been going on with my left elbow/grip. But I figured it out! It's not my brachioradialis, and it's also not mainly my triceps, which I suspected last week. It's my extensor radialis that's fucked up, but I've been working on it diligently for a few days and it is much improved. My triceps have taken a beating, too--I guess all those big yardage swim weeks finally got to my chicken arms?

It felt good to lift, and it feels GREAT to be sore today. I rode my MTB for about 1:30, and I have to work hard to get any speed on it, but I think I did OK. I may ride it again on Thursday, just so that when I head out on Saturday for 2:30 or so on Bitchie, I'll feel like I'm flying!

It's funny that, as is very common post-Ironman (or should I say post-NothingMan?), I've felt fat, out of shape and generally disgusting, yet both yesterday and today I received the nicest compliments from strangers on my physique. I didn't even want to write anything about it here, since I know that can make me appear narcissistic and ego-driven, but what the fuck, I am to an extent and I may as well get over it, right? So there. Anyway, it was interesting that yesterday's comment was that I was so "lucky to be blessed with such a beautiful body." I suppose I am blessed, but I felt the need to interject that it was at the expense of a lot of hard work! I could just tell this woman thought I just looked like this naturally. I didn't go into details, though. And then she proceeded to give me at least 5 reasons why she didn't have time to exercise. Oh well... Today, I was stopped at a light while on my bike, and a woman out with her young son (and pregnant with another child), commented that I am "in phenomenal shape." Well, I wasn't feeling that way, but it sure made me smile, especially since she noted that it must be as a result of a lot of work. And then she said she needed to get to it and I told her "one hour a day is all it takes," and directed her towards the Y just a 1/2 mile away when she got around to it. I love it when I can leave others who are open to it with one idea that they might try to get themselves moving around more.

Initially, I'd planned to not bike or run for 2 weeks post-NothingMan, but I think one week of almost nothing at all was a fine plan. I'm sleeping like a freaking professional sleeper (9-10 hours a night and I want them all!), and I'm not ingesting any caffeine except my morning coffee. Mentally, I'm feeling very calm and at ease. I am returning back to that state where my life is "good enough." And it's plenty good. I'm really happy I don't have another Ironman for 10 months! That in and of itself is reason to rejoice! And I know I will enjoy getting back on the training wagon.

My next triathlon-related task is to take a look at my last season and assess the good, the bad, the ugly and all that. I'm also going to look across the last few years for patterns of what works and what doesn't work for me. As always, doing the same thing generally would not create improvement, so it will be interesting to see what I can throw into the mix this time around.

One thing I know for sure--it's already different--and that is a good thing. I don't think I've taken almost a full week off completely from exercise in years! Maybe it's time for a real vacation, too. One that isn't focused on training. Damn--if I hadn't bought LGL, I could be in Kona right now!

Reflections on Nothing

Desire is the root of our suffering. We want things. We want relationships. We want experiences. We want to be thought of in a certain way (i.e., we're self-conscious). We want to know ourselves! The desire drives us to do, and we forget how to be, or worse yet, our doing generates even more desire. Even as we want this deeply intimate relationship with ourselves and with others, our desire gets in the way!

But we are human beings, so we must do some things. How then do we do them in a way that enhances our being without getting caught up in an ever larger cycle of desire?

What does it mean to be competitive yet be unconcerned with a result? How is it possible to let an entire day unfold before you, seemingly without control or purpose, and yet be physically capable of performing at your best?

How can I be silly and dangerous and lustful and competitive and eager and striving yet quiet in thought and grateful in purpose?

There is a new quality that I hope to be able to bring to my own training, once I start back at it next week, that I hope I can share with others. As much as I believe in structure and measurement and precision, there is another level I would like to move towards. I'm not sure just yet what it is; but it will be different than the past few years.

Training should be like meditation. In meditation we seek to let our thoughts and feelings unfold and be unjudged by ourselves so that we may come to know ourselves better and become more empathic. In training, shouldn't we be able to let our basic structure (training plan) and results unfold so that we become physically stronger so that when we are asking our bodies to perform in a racing situation, that we are able to fully let go and just let it happen?

Most training plans have you start with defining your goals. I want to do "X" time in "Y" race. That's nice, but that just sets you up for evaluating everything you do in terms of "X." And then when you do "Y" race, if "X" didn't happen, you are disappointed. I am going to try and focus on NOW, or at least just this next week, and see where I get. For awhile there, on this blog, I was setting weekly goals (albeit not that focused), and that was a good thing. I need to get back on that train, because instead of focusing on "X," I can focus on just the next week, and maybe I can even bring that to the next workout.

So I'm going to become a bit short-sighted now, even if I lay out a yearly plan. And then maybe I can become less judgmental about myself and enjoy more of the moments that I get to enjoy while I'm training.

For NothingMan, all I cared about was having the right clothing and enough nutrition to get through the day. Isn't that liberating? Isn't that how I should live my entire life? And then, you know what? I did just fine. Actually I didn't even evaluate myself. I just felt good. And that's how it needs to be.

Maybe this is all just a grand excuse to not work hard. But I doubt it. I think I am ready to work hard, but only because I want to WORK HARD RIGHT NOW. I refuse to have some big "X" hanging over my head.

The Full Meaning of Training

Commodore inspired this post.

I get comments from various people regularly when they see the amount of "training" that I put in on a weekly basis. Comments range from it's intimidating to how do I fit it all in and the ever popular do I have a real job?

I really formally began athletic "training" about 15 years ago. I started out just lifting weights, which transformed into bodybuilding, then I added cardio (for health reasons!), then I started running, and then finally I discovered triathlon.

For me, to say I'm "in training" means:

• I have set nutritional/body composition, fitness and or competitive goals (Note: a goal can be "to maintain current weight/fitness").
• I have planned workouts for a period of weeks to months designed to achieve those goals.
• I commit to the goals and planned workouts.
• I execute on my planned workouts daily.
• I measure myself periodically towards my goals, and adjust the goals and or process as necessary.
• I seek out credible knowledge sources to enhance my understanding of the sports, my body, and mental techniques to enhance sport and life performance.
• I tend to my physical health outside of the actual workouts by sleeping sufficiently, eating nutritionally, stretching, getting regular massage, getting my routine healthcare checkups and not engaging in physically dangerous or destructive behavior such as drug use, excessive alcohol usage or driving without my full attention (e.g., I avoid using my cell phone while driving).
• (new in the past 3 years) I tend to my mental health both during and outside of the actual workouts to ensure I am minimizing controllable stress, enhancing personal serenity and tending to my emotional, intellectual and spiritual needs in order to enhance my athletic pursuits and keep my life in balance.

To me, executing on the workouts on a daily basis is the easy part--it's all the other things listed above that can really take focus and mindfulness, for it's the sum of doing all of those things that will yield a peak performance. I think many people jump into "training" too quickly--they see a "plan" that calls for 10-12 hours of "training" a week, but really that's just the workout time, and it's really not much more than about 1 hour per day, so how hard can that be? No, it's the rest of the stuff that you do or don't do that is going to carry you through the "training." And then they start in on it, and find that perhaps they didn't consider that all that "training" would require more sleep, removing sources of stress, getting their mental houses in order, and it becomes overwhelming. Overtraining and poor performance are usually not the result of under- or overdoing the workouts--they are the result of underdoing the rest of the training process.

So let's see--how much time do I spend on those other things? 1.5 hours weekly on massage, about 2 hours weekly stretching, at least 7 hours weekly practicing mindfulness/meditation, at least 7 hours weekly nourishing my intellectual/spiritual needs, and probably that much working on my emotional needs. I guess it's a lot of time! I can't really count it all up, because to me it's a full time job!

It's taken me 15 years to work up to the level where I am today. FIFTEEN YEARS!!! This is why whenever someone asks me how long did it take to get my physique where it is, or my performance where it is, my answer is my current age.

My point here is not to discourage anyone from taking on "training" that has a hefty amount of "working out" included. My point is to remind myself and others that there's a lot more to it than the workouts, and that it's important to be honest about how much time you can devote to this stuff and still lead a reasonably balanced life. My observations lead me to believe that very few really nail it. There is nothing wrong with that. There are more important things in life than triathlon, that's for sure. For the time being though, I am attempting a very bold life experiment which is to be an athlete, even while holding down a conventional job. You might say that's thrown my life into a purposefully unbalanced state, and perhaps it has, but in going for it I am discovering all sorts of wonderful things about myself that I never knew and am experiencing life in a way I never dreamed possible. Where this will ultimately lead me, I am not sure, but the path feels right to me and so I will stay on it for awhile.

I can still remember back 10 years ago when all I did was lift weights, and I spent maybe 4 hours per week doing that, but I began working on all the other aspects of training, and it has proven to be quite a journey. They say that the way you do anything is the way you do everything--and I certainly have approached excellence in other areas of my life in the same way. They all require the same "fringe" activities to support your efforts. You don't need to train to be mediocre!