Roz – Page 7 – Serenity Through Sweat

Expression

Thanks for joining me for another edition of the SerenityThroughSweat blog. This past weekend my wife and I celebrated our collective birthdays attending a concert. The opening act reminded me of the beauty of expression.

Not to be confused with the post by the same name from last Christmas, which discussed the variety in expression of beers following the German purity law or Reinheitsgebot. This is all about the beauty of self expression. (To be fair if you express yourself by creating beer that is beautiful and I salute you)

Alan Chapell sat alone on the stage, with nothing but a small electronic keyboard in front of him. He felt accessible. Maybe too accessible. It was a great thing for the audience to feel that close to the artist. But I’ve seen it go wrong with redesigned kiosks, gate agents, and flustered passengers, too many times that I had a sense of unease on his behalf.

El Duderino playing with his pecker (his name for the toy parrot, get your mind out of the gutter)

Before each song Chapell gave a quick four or five sentence introduction. What his inspiration was. Who the song was for. Some small story or anecdote from his life at the time of the song’s creation.

Chapell’s fingers danced across the keys as he sang his stories. Each offering was a small piece of his life. A moment in time. The thoughts and feelings, the interactions with a lover or a friend. Each song a work of art, not necessarily because it was a great music (it was), but because he did such a masterful job of distilling the moment. Taking the complexities of life events and presenting them in clear three minute chunks, with melodies to boot.

Building a dog house for his valentine’s day present

To be honest I’m not sure how much I was enamored with the music, so much as I was captivated by him as a storyteller. I was definitely tapping me feet, clapping, and swaying along. In the end his ability to express his innermost self was far more impactful than his musical stylings.

I recently heard Jordan Peterson on the Joe Rogan podcast say “the pathway to success for virtually everyone, is facilitation of their capacity to communicate” I had to go back and play the quote three or four times to make sure I got it right. Those fourteen words pack a punch.

Jordan Peterson also discussed how music matches the rhythm of our humanity. How moving along with music is instinctual. It is in our DNA.

I couldn’t help but think about the music I listen to. Why I like it, and what it says or means to me. What the artists were trying to express through their chosen medium. How this blog is largely a vehicle for my own personal expression. A facilitation of my own capacity to communicate.

One of the most gut wrenching things I do as a father is watch my boys struggle to express themself. At 4 and 2 respectively, El Duderino and Speedy fight an uphill battle based purely on limited vocabulary and phonetic acumen.

Some mobility work and a 5k in the new kicks while home

But beyond that, all words are inherently abstract. The way we describe our inner feelings are approximations at best. Now we are taking about shared approximations described with abstract symbols to try to convey some sense of meaning. Throw in a societal predisposition (especially based on gender) to close off certain feelings, and it’s a wonder any young man can express himself at all.

I’m appreciative of the opportunity this platform has provided. I hope that someday my boys can look back on it. I hope that they can see the growth of their father. See my mistakes and shortcomings. My desire towards self improvement. When viewed on a long enough timeline, hopefully, an increased capacity to communicate.

Post concert spin bike and some layover miles in CAE.

Thank for joining me, stay safe and stay sweaty my friends.

A Thousand Ones

Thanks for joining me for another edition of the SerenityThroughSweat blog. This week I was listening to Joe Rogan conversation with General H.R. McMaster and he made a comment that reminded me of something an old boss used to tell me

While describing the recent US military withdrawal frome Afghanistan, McMaster posited the question, “did we fight a twenty year war, or did we fight a one year war, twenty times?”

My old boss, a man who is largely responsible for my professional and career development, used to ask, “Do you have one thousand hours, or one hour, a thousand times?”

The things you learn in those thousand hours

The thought being, there are components of experience, familiarization, and competence that are gained with the accumulation of hours. But that accumulation only takes place if you learn the lessons rather than repeat the same processes of your first time. In other words, have you grown and progressed?

This seems like it should be a given. If you have flown an airplane for a thousand hours there is bound to be some growth and learning. If you have fought a war for twenty years you should have picked up a thing or two.

Learning is hard. Growth is not automatic. The human condition often defaults to the path of least resistance. This is how you end up with “one hour, a thousand times” without some of the requisite lessons learned.

Sure that might be something of an exaggeration, but the concept is there. That’s one of the primary reasons why we have assessments. Every child in a classroom receives the same number of hours of content, but they are assessed to measure their growth and proficiency.

Pilots have intermediate assessments (stage checks) and check rides. There are defined minimum hour criteria to be eligible for a check ride. The check ride itself is a way of verifying that you have accumulated the skill and mastery of those combined hours. Rather than merely repeating the same hour over and over.

This was something I struggled with in the beginning of my professional aviation career. I was a great student in the classroom, and in the airplane. When told what was important, I could immerse myself and learn. The professional world is not always so cut and dry. There is a reason academics tend to stay in academia.

If you are fortunate, someone in the professional world will take you under their wing (aviation pun intended). They can help you sort through what is critical. What to focus on. Push you to grow.

Without that kind of mentorship. That professional nurturing. You are left to your own devices to accumulate knowledge and experience. The risk of repeating your solitary hour grows.

Daddy made it home and he brought treats

I see that lesson more clearly now as a father. My boys need to “build their hours”. But, I can be there to guide them. Making sure their hours accumulate rather than simply repeat.

Thanks for joining me, stay safe and stay sweaty my friends.

This week’s SerenityThroughSweat, zwift double headers and a few days at OBJJ

Spoons and Shovels

Thanks for joining me for another edition of the SerenityThroughSweat blog. This week I wanted to talk about the strange relationship I have with efficiency, in fatherhood, fitness, and flying.

I was reminded and inspired for this post by a quote from a Pavel Tsatsouline’s kettlebell book, Simple and Sinister. Pavel’s style of training is to use heavy weights explosively, and do fewer reps for more sets with long breaks in-between.

“Hard style training is also highly effective for fat loss. In a study that compared the energy expenditures in the same exercise performed explosively and non-explosively, the former predictably burned more calories. “The swing is inefficient, which is why it is a great fat burner,” explains Dan John. “The bike is efficient—and fat people can ride it forever.” Yes, you could burn the same calories by doing more reps with less power or less weight…but why? “

“Famous economist Milton Friedman was visiting a construction site in a country with Soviet-influenced economic policies. It was in the 1960s and Friedman was shocked to see only shovels and no mechanized equipment. He asked the government bureaucrat who was giving the tour about it. The latter smugly replied, “You don’t understand. This is a jobs program.” Prof. Friedman smiled, “Oh, I thought you were trying to build a canal. If it’s jobs you want, then you should give these workers spoons, not shovels.”

In many aspect of my life efficiency reigns supreme. I am always looking for the most efficient way to do something. Whether it is a grappling technique, a flight procedure, or just getting the kids out the door.

Aviation procedures after accounting first for safety, are primarily efficiency driven. Small inefficiencies multiplied across thousands of flights a day make a huge difference to a company.

Grappling is all about efficiency in motion. Your ability to generate the maximum amount of force necessitates not wasting energy through inefficient movement. Getting into advantageous positions is often not possible with inefficient or extra movement.

Beauty beyond the buildings in Burlington

In endurance sports, when racing, I’m trying to achieve the best efficiency in terms of speed for power output. The level of efficiency in a pedal stroke, a swimming stroke, or running cadence can be the difference between a personal record, and a really dark and ugly mental slog just to finish.

When training however, I often find myself deliberately seeking inefficiency. Swinging a kettlebell, over-exaggerating grappling movements, practicing a deliberately slower pedal stroke with a higher gear.

These inefficient training methods have a significant impact on strength, and growth in the particular sport or skill.

Fort building with Speedy and El Duderino

The irony is not lost on me that I waffle between maximized efficiency to minimized efficiency. Doing something the most efficient way is seldom the best way to learn.

I’m thinking about this as El Duderino is starting pre school. There are so many things that I do for him, and for myself for that matter, that are driven primarily by efficiency. But is that always the best approach?

El Duderino has been potty trained for a while. My wife was been a rock star with that, starting when he was only 6 months old. But he doesn’t like to wipe his own butt. Efficiency, being the quickest way to get this task done, dictates that I (or my wife) do it for him. The alternative is an existential argument with a four year old. with pants around his ankles, butt up in the air, explaining to us the importance of team work and helping out your family. His argument (especially in context) seems compelling.

At some point he will have to do this himself. It is a question of when, not if. I know that sooner is better than later. But there is a nagging sense of efficiency that rears its head. The desire to complete a simple task and move on to the next, that drives my avoidance of what I know to be my parental responsibility. To help him grow and develop into an independent young man.

It is hard to feel excited about deliberate inefficiency. It is even more painful when that inefficiency can be remedied, but doing so would be detrimental in the long run.

Parenting, along with many other aspects of my life and this blog, can be an exercise in using spoons instead of shovels. At least I’ve got company down in the trenches digging along with me.

Thanks for joining me, stay safe and stay sweaty my friends.

Debt

Thanks for joining me for another edition of the SerenityThroughSweat blog. I wrote a few weeks back about Pappyland, a book following the van winkle family and their generational story through the booming bourbon market. The writing even after just a small snippet struck such a chord with me that I bought the book and could hardly put it down. After finishing it, I wanted to share my thoughts especially as they fit in with the overarching themes of the blog.

Whright Thompson spends a few years researching the book getting to know Julian Van Winkle, the bourbon industry as well as the family’s complicated history. The story follows four generations from “pappy”, Julian’s grandfather, all the way to Julian’s son Preston, who is learning at his father’s side.

Maple syrup lollipops from Vermont (what does a father, especially one who travels, owe a son?)

Thompson weaves his own relationship with his father as well as his journey towards becoming a new father into the novel which becomes more about family than it does about bourbon.

“Meeting with Julian and making him talk about his family made me ask myself the same question I’d been asking him: What did I owe my late father? What did I owe a grandfather I never met? What is demanded of a son or a daughter? What was demanded of me?”

Both Julian and Wright’s fathers died of illness before their time. Both sons felt the weight not only of the loss, but of the pressure to live up to family expectations. To succeed and press on in ways that the previous generation was unable to, for one reason or another.

The idea of raising a child, makes you reflect on those questions. If you are fortunate enough, and live in enough comfort to be introspective, having all of your needs met, you inevitably owe a debt to your parents. One that I’m not sure can ever be repaid.

Even if that debt is never tabulated, called in, or otherwise made tangible, it exists. It is an unspoken calling across generations to fulfill potential. To create, and affect, and change, hopefully in a positive and lasting way some part of this world.

In the acknowledgements Thompson writes to his young daughter telling her “let me save you some soul searching: you don’t owe me anything”. He goes on to say that he loves her unconditionally and that the book is for her.

I love his work, and I am inspired by it. Especially as I tackle my own literary project. Still, I think he misses the mark. After his deep and moving coverage of the VanWinkle family, it seems to.me there is always some form of generational debt.

The unconditional love and the debt are not mutually exclusive. If your parents did right by you, whatever their faults and failings may be, a debt is owed. It may not even be payable to them. It may be payable to yourself. But, a debt is owed.

My own feeble attempt then, to answer those questions.

Mom and Dad, I cannot thank you enough for the foundation you laid for me, and especially now for my family. There are lessons that are poignant in my mind, that I feel obliged to pass on. Traditions and relationships that I vow to maintain. An idea, of a fulfilled life that I will strive towards. These are the things I feel are demanded of me as a son.

Speedy and El Duderino, you are loved unconditionally. Your mother and I will support you to the best of our abilities in your endeavors. But you owe a debt, mostly to yourselves, but in a small part to us. To try, to engage, to grow, to explore and experience. In short, to live a life with purpose.

These are broad strokes intentionally. There are innumerable paths you both may choose. Following any of those paths in earnest, with intention, grace, and maybe even a touch of serenity, will clear any debt that may be owed.

Thanks for joining me, stay safe and stay sweaty my friends.

Reset

Thanks for joining me for another edition of the SerenityThroughSweat blog. After a short hiatus for a family vacation I’m back and better than ever, and that is exactly what I want to talk about.

My wife and I drove out two boys nine plus hours from Florida into the North Georgia mountains for a family getaway. A change of pace and a change of scenery. There is something about cresting that first ridge about an hour north of Atlanta, seeing the southern tip of the Appalachians standing solemnly yet inviting in the distance, that raises my hopes as much as it raises in elevation.

I didn’t realize how much I missed terrain, until I moved to a place that has so little of it. Florida has its own natural beauty for sure, but there is a majesty in mountains that is sorely lacking in the sunshine state.

We settled into a daily routine of sorts with the boys. We would traverse the steep and winding switchbacks of the mountain roads each morning, trying to appreciate that aforementioned majesty while also fighting back motion sickness (especially for El Duderino and my wife) each day brought a new hike, waterfall, or state park and a small mountain town to explore.

Ana Ruby Falls, Helton Creek Falls, Rocco’s Swinging Bridge

The boys loved it. There is something magical about the mountains, the outdoors, new places, and the synergy of all three for little boys. My two Florida babies where totally unencumbered by the low temperatures and their embarrassingly bulky winter clothes. The Buffalo native in me would be unable to resist poking fun at the collective family’s attire if my thinned out Florida blood could stop shivering long enough to do it.

I loved it too. I cherished it. It was a special time and place to share with family, but it was also a reset for me. Reflecting back on the month of December and the posts I wrote, there is a sense of melancholy. There is pride, and accomplishment, and desire, but it is somewhat tainted by that nagging feeling that all of these things did not awaken in me a sense of joy or fulfillment that I had hoped they would.

That is not to say that the time or activities from December were without value, or that melancholy is negative in it’s entirety. But, it made me appreciate the reset in the mountains that much more.

This study from Japan, shows significant decreases in oxidative stress, pro-inflammatory markers, and serum cortisol levels (a stress hormone) from a cohort who engaged in “forest bathing”

This study from a University of Utah professor shows an increase in problem solving, creativity, and other prefrontal cortex mediated executive processes, after spending a prolonged time in nature, both hiking as well as disengaging from multi media technology.

There was no shortage of cell phone usage, Disney shows, or championship football (how bout them Bills) while we were in the mountains, but the rejuvenation I know I felt, and I believe my family shared in, was tangible.

I have talked in previous posts about the almost temple like sanctity of a wrestling or jui jitsu mat, or a frisbee field. There can be a special feeling crossing the threshold, like the baseball players from Field of Dreams, nothing exists there but the purity of the game. Everything else melts away. Serenity, even if only for the briefest of moments.

The mountains gifted me that same sensation. Sometimes in small doses, and sometimes in heaping truckloads. It was a much needed and very welcome reset. One I am delighted to have shared with my family, and in some small part with you, the reader, as well.

The kettlebells made the trip to the mountains too

Thanks for joining me, stay safe and stay sweaty my friends.

Misspent Youth

Thanks for joining me for another edition of the SerenityThroughSweat blog. This past week I ran the 10th edition of the annual Christmas half marathon and it had me thinking about an old rowing movie.

The Skulls is a movie from the year 2000 featuring Joshua Jackson and Paul Walker. It was popular amongst my friends and I in high school because it featured a very unrealistic depiction of rowing, and there weren’t a whole lot of those on the big screen at the time, or since then for that matter.

Joshua Jackson’s character Luke McNamara is your typical underdog. He comes from an underprivileged background, makes it on to the rowing team where he outworks everyone to earn his way into a good college.

From there he becomes obsessed with gaining social status through a secret society called the Skull and Bones. It is there he meets his Skulls “soulmate” (read frat brother) Caleb Mandrake played by Paul Walker. Drama and crime ensue and the movie is far from a blockbuster, but there are worse ways to spend two hours.

Caleb and Luke come from opposite ends of the socioeconomic spectrum. Caleb is the poster boy from the Creedence Clearwater Revival song, a senator’s son, silver spoon in hand.

There are a pair of matching scenes in which the two “soulmates” help each other in the areas they are each more suited to. Caleb ties Luke’s bowtie, and Luke helps Caleb pick a lock in the respective scenes to which they remark to each other, “the skills of a misspent youth”.

Both characters help their friend, and both skills are valuable in the context of the film and otherwise. There is a tangible sense of regret and envy from each of the characters to the other, feeling that the grass was greener for the way they each grew up.

I ditched the captain, who had invited me out to Buffalo wild wings, in order to embark on my traditional holiday trek. I’m glad I did, and I’m happy with my choice. But, it got me thinking about the skills learned over 10 years of this tradition, which by many might consider, a misspent youth.

What started out as a planned training day while I was on call, morphed into a coping mechanism from being away from home and then into something more. Over the years the Christmas half marathon has taken place at home, in the snow, on a treadmill, and through the woods.

Getting zwifty before heading in to work

It has been a run of celebration, a run of grieving, and a run to stave off boredom. It has been exciting and much anticipated, and it has been slogged through and checked off the to do list most unceremoniously.

More than anything though the tradition has endured. After ten years, all the changes in my life and the world around, all the stress and added activity of the holiday season, this run has been a constant. 13.1 miles of self reflection.

There is an opportunity cost to everything. Time marches on, and every thing that we choose to occupy ourselves with, necessitates a removal of another choice that might have been made.

Endurance athletics in particular carry a high opportunity cost because they are often time consuming solo endeavors. Still, I feel the same way about them as I do about the Skulls movie, and the notion of skills from a misspent youth. There are certainly worse ways to spend two hours.

Thanks for joining me, stay safe and stay sweaty my friends.

Afterglow

Last week I wrote about race week, and this week I thought it was just as, if not more important, to talk about the post race week.

I wrote a post last year, when I thought I could be working my last flight for a while, about mission completion. How there is an emptiness left in the wake of something that you have dedicated yourself too that has reached it’s natural conclusion.

Getting the boys back to their jet setting ways

This emotional empty space is further exacerbated by the recovery process. Not only am I no longer activily pursuing a goal, but I’m actively refraining from, and trying to minimize my otherwise high octane training.

I know that my body needs rest, and that recovery is critical. My brain, and my hormonal reward circuits are not on the same page.

Finishing my first longer course triathlon since having kids four years ago has left a similar, albeit slightly smaller wake. The hours spent sweating over a bike trainer, the lonesome hotel treadmills, the opportunities that were sacrificed in the name of a training plan, all come to be familiar friends.

It is easy to feel a sense of Stockholm syndrome, you become sympathetic to the captor of your time and energy, and soon come to depend on it, not just for your physical well-being, but also your emotional happiness and mental stability.

SerenityThroughSweat as you might have gleaned, is a journey through my many endeavors from fitness to fatherhood, but it is also my trial by combat against anxiety and depression.

Without the sweat, I predictably find myself lacking in serenity. As my wife is very ready to remind me, “your not nearly as nice of a person when you haven’t worked out for two or three days”

I’m not sure what the answer is, maybe I’m restless (more than maybe). Maybe my ambition gets the better of my appreciation. Maybe I have been at endurance sport and competition in general long enough that my dopamine reward pathway is off kilter.

Sure I was happy to finish. Sure I enjoyed splashing with my boys in the pool and sliding down the water slide with them. Cracking beers while catching up with an old friend and my wife was a great post race celebration. But the satisfying sense of accomplishment that can carry over through the post race recovery period was conspicuously absent. There was no afterglow.

Before I started writing I was trying to think about what it was that I was actually feeling and this everclear song popped into my head. Ironically, this song would come up on one of my Pandora stations that I use frequently during training.

“we never ask ourselves the questions to the answers that nobody even wants to know I guess the honeymoon is over so much for the afterglow. (So much for the afterglow, Everclear)

There are clearly answers here that demand some tough questions. Fortunately I do some of my best thinking while putting in miles and sweating.

Thanks for joining me, stay safe and stay sweaty my friends.

Race day

Thanks for joining me for another edition of the SerenityThroughSweat blog. This past weekend was my first foray back into longer distance triathlon since having kids and I wanted to share some of my experience.

Let me start by saying it is difficult to adequately express the range of emotions that pop up over the 5:48 it took me to cover the 70.3 miles.

There are lows of despair, pain, and self doubt, followed by bouts of confidence and elation. The smallest and most insignificant detail can move you from one end of the spectrum to the other, and right back again just as quickly.

Nobody likes swimming with company. Biking and running with friends is great, swimming with friends really just means getting groped and kicked. Even with the rolling start (which was way better than IM FL in 2013) the swim was more of a contact sport than desired.

I’m very grateful for a safe bike experience both training and racing. Seeing some of my fellow athletes bloodied and road rashed, or worse is a reminder of how fortunate I am to have avoided major accidents despite all the miles put in.

It also reinforces my decision to train almost exclusively indoors on the bike. With a smart trainer and zwift, my biking is more efficient (in terms of not needing to load up and load out and drive to a safer road to ride). It is also way more diverse in terms of ability to climb, sprint, and ride different simulated terrain and topography.

I felt very prepared for the bike course with only indoor training, but it was a refreshing reminder of why I love to ride my bike. The cool December Florida temperatures (at least for the bike leg) paired with the rolling hills, rural roads, and orange groves, made for a picturesque Sunday morning ride. There were more than few instances out on the bike course where I found myself smiling, lost in the gentle mechanical hum of the chain through the cogs.

There is a simple and efficient exchange that happens on the bike that is magical. Human power goes in and locomotion comes out, but some of that majesty can be lost when looking at a power meter and a virtual world. The wind rushing past the ear scoops of my way too serious looking aero helmet, brought all that majesty back very quickly.

By mile forty seven on the bike course, after north of three hours of racing already, the gentle rolling hills and orange groves seemed much less enchanting as my legs started to fatigue and the new asphalt gave way to roads that can be best described as a taint jackhammer. It is a glamorous sport, you just need the right words to describe it.

The race start was delayed an hour due to morning fog, which was a good call, but it meant the run would be done in the heat of the day, even for the fastest athletes. My slightly better than .idle of the pack pace was no exception. Add in unseasonably warm temperatures for Florida in December, and the half marathon was set up to be a trip through the pain cave.

There is a surge of energy that happens in transition. Our senses are naturally enhanced by change, as an evolutionary trait, so the bike to run change brings not only a sense of completion and accomplishment, but also a much needed shot of adrenaline. That wears off far too quickly as you realize you have 13 miles to run with more uphill than you realized.

A two loop run course is wonderful for spectators and logistics, but it is a cruel mistress. The exit is always close, the self inflicted punishment can stop whenever you want it to. This is a silly thing to do to yourself anyway, why run another lap?

A shot from a friendly neighbor’s hose, the ice cubes melting into sweet relief down your back, a kind word from a fellow masochist, can all give you the push you need to keep moving forward.

The run course wound in an out of neighborhoods, doubling back on itself, in a way that made me frustrated and delirious. Those same rolling hills that seemed so enchanting just a few hours ago, rose up like a rock wall, shimmering in the Florida sun.

Wanting to quit, wanting to jump for joy, wanting a beer, these are all things I had felt before in varying intensity at different races. What I hadn’t felt was my ability to be a father after that kind of effort.

Above and beyond triathlon, the extra gear and the endurance that I have when I see those two smiling faces, is something that I wish I knew how to train, but I’m glad it comes naturally. Being able to take my kids to the playground and the pool, and run around the house with them after the race means regardless of my finishing time, my training was right on point.

The elevation profile is a little off, but here are the race details in all their glory

Thanks for joining me, stay safe and stay sweaty my friends.

Misogi

Thanks for joining me for another edition of the SerenityThroughSweat blog. I try to write weekly, so this would have been for the week of Nov 28-Dec 4, one week out from IM FL 70.3. because life often gets in the way it’s being written on Dec 9, three days till race day.

Despite being a notoriously braggadocious group, I have never heard a pilot claim to have a perfect check ride. There is always some small detail, or some overlooked aspect that could have been performed better.

As close as we get to white Christmas in FL

I think the same is true of triathletes, runners, and cyclists. Even after winning an event, beating a goal time, or setting a new PR (personal record), there is always some aspect of the race or the preparation that could have gone better.

Neurologically, when we stress our body, especially the type of heightened stress that comes with the fast speeds and hyper focus of racing, all the details of the event get imprinted onto our memories. The same neural pathways are triggered when flashing lights, bells and whistles start going off while moving hundreds of miles per hour across the ground in a metal tube.

Chilly treadmill work in Montreal, and speedo weather at the pool in FL

This is an evolutionary trait that helps us learn from what were typically life or death encounters in our ancient past. Hunting to feed your family, escaping a predator, traversing a difficult landscape to find shelter, all fit the bill.

Where those types of events might have happened somewhat regularly to our ancestors, it is relatively easy to avoid that kind of stress and discomfort in today’s society especially if you are above the poverty line in the U.S.

Enter Misogi. (You can read more about it here) An ancient Japanese practice that originated with a myth and has been adapted to a modern concept of challenge. The idea is to pick a challenge for yourself once a year that tests your physical and mental limits. A challenge that you don’t know if you can actually complete.

Part of the thought process is that you don’t know where the end of your potential lies unless you push up to the failure point. Part of the magic is that the neural imprinting from such a challenge stays with you long after you cross the finish line, or don’t for that matter too.

While I’ve finished a full Ironman triathlon, and finished a few half Ironman distance races, this one feels a little different. For starters I haven’t raced this long of a course since before I had kids. My priorities and responsibilities at home, and my time and ability to train are all drastically different than they were when I crossed the line at IM FL almost a decade ago.

Despite wrestling in hundreds of matches and grappling for closing in on 30 years, I still get butterflies in my stomach before ever match. I’ve been racing for less than half that time, and I get butterflies at the starting line too.

I’m sure when I’m on the beach at Lake Eva state park in just a few days I will have butterflies for the trial that lies ahead. Right now I have the thought of Misogi, a challenge with an uncertain outcome, that lingers in my head.

Like an old friend who has perhaps overstayed his welcome, the excitement of the challenge along with the uncertainty and doubt have become an unwelcome guest, but one that I cannot force to leave before the time has come.

I’m nervous and excited. I’m proud that my boys will be able to share this challenge with me, even in some small way, and I hope that one day I can share challenges of theirs with uncertain outcomes.

Thanks for joining me, stay safe and stay sweaty my friends.

Bourbon dreams

Thanks for joining me for another edition of the SerenityThroughSweat blog. I’ve been reading a lot about America’s favorite drink since my wife and I visited Louisville last week. And while on a lonely Thanksgiving overnight I found this gem by Wright Thompson.

The following is an excerpt from his book Pappyland (which I ordered immediately upon finishing the article). Multiple times throughout the short read I was struck not only by Thompson’s prose and command of language and imagery, but by the deep and meaningful themes he connected to bourbon.

The beauty of the holiday season in FL, you can look at Christmas lights in the park and still enjoy a snow cone

“A career that aligned with my deepest wants and protective urges, both in how it would let me roam and how it would let me avoid myself by diving into the lives of others. I’ve always been happiest when dreaming of escape. From my earliest memories, my greatest solace and focus came while moving, or planning to move, from small actions like pacing while answering flash cards to planning elaborate road trips I knew I’d never take. When I look back at my early life, everything I read and watched and love and hoped and even feared came from this desire to fly far away.”

The idea of avoiding oneself by diving in to the life of another is something I think journalists and maybe actors can relate to, but as Thompson points out everyone can get out of their own way by immersion into their craft. And if that craft is movement based (pilots, journalists who have to travel, or athletes) so much the better.

I wrote back in May about restricted movement. Whether it is injury for an athlete or quarantine or lockdowns, I think there is a part of all of us that wants to rebel against movement restrictions in any form. This is what led me to the world of endurance sports and specifically to IronMan FL 70.3 taking place in less than two weeks.

But more than just wanting to move when we are otherwise unable to, Thompson’s words capture an emotion that I think most triathletes and most pilots live with but struggle to balance and convey.

I look at my work schedule when it is posted each month and plan out adventures that may or may not happen in the layover cities I’m supposed to visit. The schedule often changes whether by my action, my company’s, or external factors like weather or maintenance, but I’m still always moving to a different city and some new adventure awaits.

Most of those adventures involve some sort of movement, a hike, a running path, a walk through a different city to a restaurant or bar I like. My next trip has a layover in Chattanooga where I’m hoping to get in a scenic fall 5k before stopping at a local diner with a desert case that would make the Cheesecake Factory blush.

Rode the first half of the IM FL 70.3 bike course virtually, and some zwift miles through the foothills of France

There is something protective about movement, or maybe there is something vulnerable in stillness. Either way, flying to another place, running or biking, even if it is stationary, moving always has a net calming effect for me.

There is a magical effect when I walk into an airplane that my problems seem to melt away. The airplane doesn’t solve any problems, and they are always waiting for me back on the ground, but flying has a way of lowering the volume on everything else in life.

Athletics have always held that same powerful effect for me. The wrestling mat or the jui jitsu mat has always been a special place almost spiritual. Like stepping into another dimension, where all your baggage gets checked at the door, I grew up Catholic and seldom felt that way walking into church. There is a special mental space only attainable by forgetting your fixation on first world minutiae, and trying to avoid being choked unconscious.

A similar state of mind occasionally becomes accessible to me after long miles on the road or in the saddle. No one is trying to choke me, but the mental struggle against my weaker thoughts, my faults and failings, match the physical struggle to just keep moving.

I’m excited to read the rest of Thompson’s work, and I’m grateful already for his illumination of an emotion that I can so keenly relate to and at the same time, have struggled to express.

I hope that you the reader can find the same solace and focus in whatever your craft may be, that many of us find in movement.

Thanksgiving day treadmill brick run that came after 2hrs on a spin bike

Thanks for joining me, stay safe and stay sweaty my friends.