Tom and Oscar

The amazing Tom Hanks won back-to-back Oscars for Best Actor in 1994 (Philadelphia) and 1995 (Forrest Gump). The gold statue is an award for show-biz talent presented annually to the person judged as ‘best’ by a consortium of their peers. One of the reasons why the recipients of these prestigious little icons sometimes lose a bit of composure during the acceptance phase of the process is that only they (and sometimes their significant others or lawyers) know all that went into said process. The ramp up, the rehearsal, the practice, the dedication, the long days and multiple takes. To reach the pinnacle of movie stardom is like that proverbial iceberg, we only see the tip, the completed work in all its majesty and not the effort, skill and dedication required to get there. One can, as one should, make the same comparison with athletes who have reached this special pointy-part of the summit, the absolute best. 

Hanks has said that concentration and focus are indispensable in ordinal affairs as well as spiritual pursuits. He said that he felt so harried and frenetic during those two demanding years that he disciplined himself to sit daily to write ‘just to find relief from everything and concentrate on ONE THING in order to calm down and relax my mind’. 

We talk about the powerful combination of focus and relaxation so much that we have now connected them with a hyphen to illustrate their connectivity. Hence the oft-referenced concept of the state of relaxed-focus we seek during performance, on either a stage, during a close-up or on a field of play. Further, there is no reason why this seemingly esoteric and mysterious amalgam cannot be applied in any situation or circumstance. In the military, and please don’t forget that Hanks won another Oscar for his role in Saving Private Ryan (1999), they call this relaxed-focus drill, ‘grace under fire’. Quarterbacks, point guards, all-star shortstops, supporting actors, tuba players, comedians, track sprinters, endurance athletes, students, teachers, surgeons, artists and middle managers all know, or need to get to know, the importance of this practice. 

My analysis indicates that it is more important than speed, more critical than raw explosive power, more defining than endurance and more misunderstood than the infield fly rule or stage lighting. It is the Catch-22 of the performance arts. 

The twofold path referenced today, as brilliantly defined by Mr Hanks, is exactly why I do this every day. It is part discipline, part creative expression, part therapy, part joy and part exploratory adventure. It has, in its Zen-ness the need to focus on one thing, and not ride the runaway train of a thousand things all fighting for attention, resolution and destination. There is this. Do this now. Try to make it new, fresh and important, even if that means simply logging the daily events, challenges, insights, struggles, communications, dreams, hits or misses. 

Practice that with all the chores on the to-do list today. One thing. With relaxed-focus. You have the capacity to add joy, awareness, gratitude and forgiveness to that mix. Take that into the training dojo and apply its fundamentals to your exercise practice. Inhale all the positive energy spiraling around your consciousness like enlightened fireflies and exhale your precious fear of failure. LET IT GO. Relax into your power and bring the magic and miraculous of you, here, today, now into sharp focus. 

In any category that will make you Oscar worthy. 

Photo caption: The mechanic as mystic: Deep into his work. 

Polar Extremes

It started, oddly enough, on Memorial Day. My preparatory notes for the morning’s jump-start spin session indicated I would have to mention, somehow, and in some artful way, the dichotomy I have long felt in regard to this national day of remembrance. As we moved towards the completion of another high-quality, high-intensity set, I momentarily allowed the raging endorphins to set the tone and I introduced the topic by the rather prissy tactic of confession. 

You know me by now, there are a few things that I consider sacred. Certainly health and fitness. But I am also high on truth, beauty, morality, honor, integrity and ethics. But when it comes to patriotism I find myself squeezed in a vice between the age old good versus evil debate. I am a proud bleeding heart liberal. I believe in helping my fellow man. At the very least doing no harm to him or her along the way. I think our current leadership is not helping, in fact dramatically degrading both the rule of law, our constitution and what we call race relations. So today we honor those brave military men and women who have made the ultimate sacrifice for our country. I honor them. I JUST WISH WE WOULD STOP ADDING TO THE LIST. 

That was it. Until later.

When the subject popped up again like a pesky blackberry path. Someone opened the conversational thread with the comment the some people (I have no data to add a percentage here) instinctively judge any situation, from a used car to global warming, and see a gaming strategy for profit. Others see (again no data, but I suspect the number would be higher than the first group), the same situation through the utilitarian lens of practically and esoterics. It is not so important that the used car is a bargain, but that it is fast, cherry red and sexy, or that melting polar ice caps should be causing alarms to sound. 

I added my comments ending with the thought that regardless of which end of these seemingly polar extremes you stand, the WHAT DO WE DO ABOUT IT? question should be motivation enough for us to, A) Respect the opinions of those we disagree with, and B) Work together towards the common ground of improvement. Let’s look closer under the hood. 

A) I simply cannot respect people who are attempting to normalize racism. And folks, that tone starts at the top. We have an admitted white supremacist constantly using his power and prestige to empower others to act. In vile and violent ways. Please check out this brisk Don Lemon takedown as exhibit A.

B) There is always the ‘other side’, that bright and shining, courageous and monumental uplifting of the human spirit. Yes, we give a lot of ink and air time to the exploits of professional athletes and their respective teams, but one level removed is where unsung heroics often manifest. 

I have had the pleasure of working with a truly remarkable family. They have been regular participants in our indoor cycling program for over ten years, including Mom, Dad, Sons and Daughters. On that same Memorial Day, as I struggled with the hypocrisy, dishonesty and corruption in our government today, Greg Shea, local kid who has sat in my spin classes as part of his path to the Duke lacrosse team, participated in the National Championship game against Yale in Foxboro, MA.

The Blue Devils lost to Yale 13-11, but that isn’t the point. The point is the achievement. The plain and simple largess of making it to the top, all the dedication, effort, sacrifice, practice and patience required to advance into the arena of champions and have the one-shot, one-time opportunity to compete at the absolutely apex of the sport. 

There are your extremes. One disgustingly abhorrent and the other magic, miraculous, satisfying and enriching. 

I am entrusting you today to search for an answer to the ‘what do we do about it’ question. Firing back knee-jerk tweets merely adds fuel to the fires of hatred, bias and bigotry. We need to come together to find common ground. We need to get big money out of politics. We need to have our united voices heard above the smoke screen distractions. We need to remove hate speech from the national conversation. We must exercise our rights to vote. I think the right color is blue.

We need to celebrate the victories we recognize as wholesome and exemplary of the values and morals that have the potential to inspire others towards emulation. Funny how a simple game can do that. Sometimes a single word. 

George Bernard Shaw nailed it good with this one, “The most tragic thing in the world is a man of genius who is not an man of honor”.

Confucius

I use it as part of a bigger picture. A very important part that can be further divided into sub categories. One is health and fitness and the other the strategies for consistent execution, or good habits. In some circles, ones that I highly respect, these are known as disciplines. In the PowerBarn, our indoor cycling facility, be it ever so humble (no smoke and no mirrors), we have created a safe haven from the relentless lure of distraction. This glorious time of year in the Pacific Northwest the living is easy as we instinctively head outside for a ride, run or row under blue skies and warm temps. This has long been, after all, the basis for our indoor training in the drizzly winter months with their short days, slick roads and distracted drivers; to build the base fitness and power necessary for us to accomplish our summer cycling goals. 

And that satisfies many, perhaps most, of our group’s needs, wants and desires. But there is more, much more than simply that. I am becoming more and more aware of the changes taking place in my personal journey through this ‘experiment of one’. It has taken some time, not always pleasant time, to reach the realization that my goals have changed. Ten, twenty years ago my sole focus was in training for performance enhancements. I wanted to get faster and stronger because that is obviously necessary to achieve my racing goals. If one chooses a championship as goal - along with living in the Northwest - one must get a little creative. Build the character and discipline required to train in the rain, or learn to enjoy their indoor proxies. 

A quarter of a century ago I choose the latter. I distinctly remember a coach that I admired suggesting that I might consider becoming an indoor cycling instructor. Because, she laughed, you are going to spend a lot of time riding a stationary bike in a gym, you might as well get paid for it. 

That scenario became such a large part of me, and created such dramatic change, mental, physical and spiritual, that these days (this is borderline heresy I know) I prefer to ride indoors EVEN IN THE SUMMERTIME. Sure, we’ll take the annual epic rides and I’ll still race once or twice, but the general, garden variety, TRAINING rides, the 2-3 hour ones I used to build in my daily schedule, have been replaced by the comfort and convenience I find in the PowerBarn. Not so much because I don’t like riding outside but because it has established a slot in my routine that is etched in marble. I am in the PowerBarn Monday thru Friday at 5pm. This is non-negotiable. Everything else is built around this absolutely vital exercise as it has become the cornerstone in my quest for balance and growth. And you thought it was just spinning? 

Today this is more about staying fit, keeping healthy and doing whatever I can to keep the fitness I have worked my entire life for. It provides a solid foundation to build from. It is a discipline I wholly accept and have come to sincerely enjoy as part of who I am, and most importantly who I want to become. 

I will be in the PowerBarn every night this week. If your plans, time management considerations, personal responsibilities and structure balance includes, as it should, time for self improvement, carve out an hour and join me. 

Should you choose to train outdoors, enjoy the ride. I completely understand. Should you opt to add the components of consistency, intensity and opportunity, and to do it safely, conveniently and effectively, join me in the Barn. I see it as a service. It is also a dedication and a discipline, one that I gladly accept. To me, it has great meaning. There is purpose. It is important. It has, as anything must have to sustain, an allure I eagerly anticipate every day. It is like a silly joke you have heard a thousand times, but always makes you laugh none-the-less. 

Lastly, I feel compelled to add in closing that I am honored that so many outstanding individuals have come through our program. I have seen heroics, effort, commitment, struggle, joy and success, as well as each of their counterparts. I find this absolutely magical. The hours we have spent together has enriched my experience and added countless layers of value. I can honestly say that every person who has saddled up and spent time chasing whatever personal goal they have set for themselves, has brought something special to the mix. I am honored to have had a part in that experience, to have shared a step to two, a part of the path with so many fine people. And I thank you all for that. 

So I’ll be there tonight. It may be 80 degrees outside but for me the sun always shines brightest inside. I think Confucius said that. 

Good to be Alive

Please affirm this.

I hear it

I don’t know about you…but when I do a mechanical job, and sit at the wheel ready to turn the ignition as the final test, I hold my breath. Today, after our scheduled 50 miler was scrubbed at the last minute, I steadfastly donned my favorite long-sleeved dark blue shirt (no embroidered name tag) and headed out to the RV. Armed with three jpgs, a small thermos of coffee and my kit of sockets, wrenches and ratchets, it was time to face the music, a concerto greaso in 454 time. 

The traveling mechanic had been out Friday and left me with instructions to put the other two ‘golf cart’ batteries back in, re-connect the spaghetti-like cables and, well, see what happens. Not really what one wants to hear from a mechanic. It might be the equivalent of an EMT asking you to give yourself 260 fibrillation volts. 

But I had an eerily confident swagger as I sauntered down the lane to the site where the RV has been parked for almost three years. I had a very clear picture in my head of what should happen, the steps necessary and the tools required. All it was going to take was my connecting all those cables in the right places atop the terminals of the three charged and ready batteries. 

Remembering the short circuit, the TV failure, the GFCI by-pass, the fuse fiasco, the deep charge on batteries well past their prime and the generator replacement, one of two things was about to happen. One, all my honest attempts at DYI and the associated cost savings would pay a dividend in both self-satisfaction and piece of mind, or two, it wouldn’t start and I would have to send an SOS for help and eat an entire very expensive humble pie. 

I am relying on the photos I took upon disassembly, referring to them as a cellist might with sheet music on a new piece, and have all the cables cleaned, attached and ready, when I decide to do one more check. I take my laptop over to the engine compartment and rotate the photo to ensure quality control. There is one cable missing from the center battery terminal. FUCK. I crawl underneath, go into the coach with a flashlight looking down past the engine towards the starter and then back to the battery compartment. I remember that weeks ago I tried to direct wire the chassis battery and by-pass the auxiliary batteries, but did I un-do that test? Did Rob the mobile mechanic do something when he was under? FUCK. 

I look at the photo again searching for clues. I enlarge to max. I tell myself to calm down and relax, this isn’t a ticking bomb. 

And I see it. Shielded cable, black, snaking up from behind the battery. I close the laptop, remove my blue latex glove and trace the cable with my fingers. Something is lose and I gently tug the cable up and good gawd amity, there is the copper connector almost smiling at me.

I sandpaper her clean, attach, and now I am ready for the aforementioned moment of truth. I even had a couple of sparks testify to the readiness of the team of fired-up batteries. 

I clean my hands, taking time to enjoy the moment, step up and into the cab and sit in the pilots chair. 

I remember what it was like the last time I drove this beast, almost three years ago and I wonder how I will react if she resists my efforts and won’t start. Then I think about my response should I hear the familiar sounds of a long comatose Chevy big block blustering back from the semi-dead. 

I hear it. 

Sisyphusian

I got to tell the story this morning that has been brewing in my mind like a craft ale. It happened a week ago today. The seventh and final stage of the 2018 Tour of California. Sacramento. It was the culmination of 645 miles and 46,000 feet of elevation gain. As I mentioned in earlier posts, I continue to be amazed and awed by the tenacity, toughness and dedication that these young men and women put into their sport. 

Standing as close as one can get without being flagged for interference, cameras in hand with tally lights blinking red, they pass with such speed and power that the vortex created by turbulent condensed atmospheric pressure distribution creates a hurricane-like following wind, enough to almost knock you flat. The three cops standing beside me were pulling their first security duty and with each lap their visage of appreciation grew from raised browns to flat out wows. The mix of chemicals in that vortex includes dirt, road debris particles, vegetation, moisture, trace elements from moving parts; rubber, grease, lube, but the matter that most dominates is sweat. I have slowed the video down to just above freeze-frame speed and each of the steadfast riders, at 35 mph, elbow-to-elbow and side-by-side were dropping beads of sweat the size of pearls into the mix. 

I bring this up as back story to illustrate the work load involved in stage racing. This was’t simply a few fast laps around the State Capitol (yes, there were snipers on the roof) it was the crescendo of an orchestral suite of variations on a theme by suffering. Every day you go hard, as hard as you can, for 70, 80, 123 miles. Then you rest and recover. Then do it again. 

I stand humbled in the shadow of this awesomeness. 

On the way home, aboard Alaska flight 800, Sac-SeaTac, I sat and talked with one of the Trek-Segafredo riders, someone I have been training, filming and riding with since he was 15. He is now 32 and one of the old men on the team. We talked about the degree of difficulty involved with this level of professional cycling and about how, if this single week on tour is challenging, what a grand tour at three times the distance is like. He said some young riders learn the lesson the hard way, injure themselves and never quite return healthy. It is THAT demanding.

We fly into Seattle, I hitch a ride with his driver and volunteer to tote his TT bike as fare, least I can do, you know. His driver could be racing Formula One so we make it to the ferry terminal with ten minutes to spare. 

On the half hour boat ride we talk some more about the physical demands and I am left speechless with his detailed synopsis of what actually happens not only in the race, but before and after. It is a grind. He admits that the part that most of the public sees, the glamor of the podium, a sprint finish, the ultra cool counties as backdrop, the mountains, make up about 10% of the total. The other 90% is hard work by the unsung heroes, the domestiques, willing to carry the stars through hell and high water towards the finish line. The public rarely sees this, us here at midnight, getting home to grab a few winks, see the kids, and then pack for Flanders. 

We dock, home on our island in Puget Sound where a light drizzle falls. It reminds me of winter in Europe. I grab his bike case and start the final climb as my truck is parked near the top of a slight hill. I am walking slow and turn to say something, but the kid who finished a grueling seven day stage race just a few hours prior is not there. I turn further to see where he is and spot him about 200 yards behind me.

Head down dragging his carry on luggage with Sisyphusian body language that clearly says, “I’m done.”

It is vintage cycling noir and I am filled with pride at having the experience to participate, however slightly, in this grand and heroic drama. 

Preoccupation

All the happiness there is in this world comes from thinking about others, and all the suffering comes from preoccupation with yourself - Shantideva. 

Preoccupation is the key word here. We are counseled to look out for number one, to take care of ourselves and to mind our own business. True, survival is hard-wired and we are instructed to tend to our individual safety before assisting others, on aircraft anyway, plus we are repeatedly told that the only things we truly own are our thoughts, and that in turn our thoughts become our realities, so where does all this concern for us as individuals break down into the chaotic realm of ‘preoccupation’ and suffering?

I think it starts to head south when greed, selfishness, corruption and ambition assume control of our ability to reason at appropriate levels of consciousness. When politics and the power of prestige take the wheel. When preoccupation with profit at any cost, with complete disregard of collateral damage created along that treacherous trail and a sadly simplistic and myopic view of purpose and meaning finds us thinking that it is us against the world. Get rich or die trying. The myth of the self made man. The rugged individualist. Cowboys. 

I struggle with this dichotomy. I have always felt that one of the ‘higher-value’ traits any man can aspire to is his ability to be self sufficient. A guy has gotta be able to use the tools, be Spencer for Hire or Jack Bauer. Society, under the guide of mainstream media, promotes this daily with stories from the sports world. The guy can do it all. One of the most successful slogans for the US Army was their Army of One campaign. 

So how does being preoccupied with oneself so often lead to suffering? 

Because we are weak. We lie, take things from others, find loopholes, bully, manipulate and employ any means possible to enrich ourselves, often at the expense of those less powerful, of color, less educated, or different in any way. We see horrific examples of this every day as our elected representatives now embolden unethical, immoral and racist behavior through their bombastic MAGA rhetoric. 

Politicians take an oath to serve America first. Not to do exactly the opposite. One need not be a cartographer to connect the dots from our leadership’s preoccupation with self, nepotism, and the suffering it brings to the populace, literally everyone else. 

"I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office (enter position here) and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States."

Right.

Try it today, focus as much of your attention and action on others first before turning towards your fine self. See how that plays. 

And then vote the bastards out of office that brought about all this global suffering.

Mad as Hell

Players in peaceful protest of blatant lethal police brutality ‘don’t belong in this country’? Maybe the racist blowhard saying this doesn’t belong in the office ensuring those very constitutional rights. Matter of fact, there is no maybe about it. 

Don Lemon is now correctly calling this a crisis. Mueller has documented proof that not only was there collusion, there was criminal intent. Trump’s lawyer/fixer is about to be indicted and his business partner is about to sing like a canary to keep his slime ball ass out of the big house, Congressional Republicans are blatantly breaking the law with their insistence that documents be turned over to them during an on-going criminal investigation. Our schools are under siege, our resources being prepped for sales to highest bidders (oil companies) while the environment continues its downward slide into toxic waste. Anyone other than rich, white, old conservative males are wading in deep kimchee. 

The only demographic characteristic where I fail in that litmus test is the rich. Therefore it is perhaps understandable that I feel like I do. I don’t have the credentials to play, I didn’t get an invite nor do I hang in the circles dictating such authoritarian, fascist, regimes. 

I believe that we are headed for a showdown. SOMEBODY has to step up and defend everything that we hold to be true, wholesome, right, just and fair. These things are supposed to be self evident guaranteed to us as rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. 

None of this makes me very happy. Matter of fact, I am MAD AS HELL. 

Really all I/we are asking for is equal rights for all with special benefits for none. But of course that will never happen. Too much money at stake. Like the 21 trillion dollars in off-shore tax-free accounts kept off the books by the companies already robbing you blind with gas, food, medical, insurance, educational and housing costs. Then they raise OUR taxes. What a fucking racket! 

Lemon is right. So is Clapper. So is Maddow. So is every free thinking American citizen looking to take sincere pride in the activities of their country. Where people having the courage to speak for those who can’t. Where atrocities are indemnified and then rectified. Where democratic protocols are followed as guided by our constitution. 

Where no one is above the law. Where truth and justice are the American Way. 

I am not a fan of the NFL. And please don’t misunderstand, I love football. I am a fan of peace and fair play. The rules of the game, especially in this metaphorical sense, are crucial if we intend to continue as a functioning democracy. 

The players need to strike and shut down the revenue sources of the plantation owners. This is no different than 155 years ago, a game replacing a crop as commodity. Our voices need to be heard in their support. 

I would like to hear the roar of the crowd in support. Not republican crickets. 

Lazy Dog

Excellent session this morning. We have ramped up, adding one 30 second all-out sprint per week for the last eight weeks, leading up to today’s official start of an(other) eight week block of our infamous Super Eights. They are hard. They are demanding. They challenge - AND they reward. 

If I had (that is a huge IF) a hundred people to poll today, I would guesstimate that the percentage of them, when asked if they had already, or plan on, completing a workout where reaching 100% effort was included in the session protocol, would be less than 10%. Maybe less than 5%.

OK I’ll broaden the search parameters and include the week (weak?), rephrasing the question slightly to: Does one or more of your scheduled workouts this week include visiting the zone known as MAX?

Broader still? OK, when was the last time your rate of perceived exertion hit 10 of 10? 

Last time. Have you ever specifically targeted a session with the specific goal of finding and holding peak value?

Again, with no research analysis other than the my collected observational data gathered personally since 1960, I can say with confidence that the percentage of folks who answer ‘no’ is far, FAR greater than those answering to the affirmative. 

Why?

Because our comfort zones are so precious, so closely guarded and so ingrained into our definition of self, that anything outside that sphere is seen as a threat, an enemy, a terrorist with bad intent. So we invent new and useful ways to sell acceptance. We steal our own wallets and sell them back to ourselves. Our comfort and the convenience in our levels of anti-quality is worth more than the challenge of becoming the person we used to want to become, but now dismiss as unattainable. It’s too hard, too much work, too far away and too expensive. Why would I want to join a fraternity, an exclusive and expensive club, where hard work, pain, humiliation and sweat are as common as a freshman pledge? I am doing fine with Dungeons and Dragons and being 60 pounds overweight isn’t that big a deal. Maybe next week. Or New Years. 

Next poll question: Do you know anyone who fits this criteria?

You probably do, or would’t have to travel far to find one. (Go to Wal-Mart and walk around if you must).

Statistics say that almost 75% of Americans are overweight, with a robust (sorry) 45% of them being clinically obese. That is about as sad a stat as can be. More then 7 of 10 people are lugging around so much unnecessary fat that the effort to add quality to their existence is a bridge too far. No can do. 

An estimated 160 million Americans are either obese or overweight. Nearly three-quarters of American men and more than 60% of women are obese or overweight. These are also major challenges for America's children – nearly 30% of boys and girls under age 20 are either obese or overweight, up from 19% in 1980.

That, then, is our challenge. We need to find a way (not a for-profit way) to get these folks up on their feet and heading in the right direction. One step at a time.

I have used this formula for many things, it is the (secret) way that we accomplish anything of value, from running a marathon to writing a book, completing an Ironman to video creation. And I will share it with you here and now.

The way that we accomplish anything is simply this: GET STARTED.

Whether or not you choose to add the highest level of intensity along your sacred path of pursuit is solely your decision. I highly recommend one or two per week. However the important, the crucial, second step following your courageous decision to START, is to…..

…..DON’T STOP. 

How We Do

What is what, who is who and how is how? Relating to exercise physiology of course. Maybe later today I will downshift to using the same template for politics and see what happens, but for now…..

What is it, what is the goal when we saddle up to ride a stationary bike? A couple of the most common answers I get to this question are:

Burn calories.  

Strengthen core.

Improve muscle tone.

Improve cardio/vascular/pulmonary function.

Build leg strength.

Manage stress.

Social interaction.

Add progressive endurance.

Who does this?

My classes are defined by time of day. The men prefer getting it done early and I see them as dominant demographic in our club at 0530. My 0845 classes are favored by the ladies and our evening sessions in the PowerBarn sees an approximate 60/40 m-f mix. 

The what makes it interesting. What do we do?

Warm up. Understand the goal, the protocol and the duration. Commit to the session.

In spin class we offer a combination of drills asking different things from different muscle groups, specifically we want to improve speed, power, strength, focus and endurance. We use various combinations, in the two main positions, standing and seated, to accomplish this noteworthy task. There is a need for balance, for flow and, my favorite, attitude. One must show up ready to rock. 

In the PowerBarn, we use power as the primary unit of measurement. After one executes a test to determine their current fitness level, we set the CompuTrainer ergometers to precisely 85% of that value to conduct our bread and butter 2x20 sets, 20 @ 85%, a five minute break, and another 20 @ 85%. Very calm, civilized and steady state. Hard, but not too hard. 

Done in combination, one high-intensity spin set in the morning followed by a 2x20 in the evening, will provide an outstanding opportunity to up one’s game, be it cycling specific, cross-training, adding a specific improvement, or simply revving metabolic function to a higher frequency.

That is what we do and how we do it. 

And I am off for the morning set. Have a great day. 

Another Milestone

Hit a milestone of sorts today. Maybe it was my 20 hour fast on Thursday, or the next day’s 18, but whatever the total caloric intake from my whirlwind four days in Norcal, coupled with the two high-intensity spin classes and a hour hoisting free weights yesterday with Junior, I had to check the calibration on the balance-bar scale in the locker room today. 

It was telling me in precise non-verbal AI, that I was at 163 pounds. Wait, I left last Wednesday at 168, so I am supposed to believe that all the beers I downed, the stop at Denny’s and the bean burritos, with zero exercise other than walking and sitting behind the wheel of my Hyundai rental car, reduced my power-to-weight ratio by simple subtraction? 

Seriously?

As you are aware, both of you, this blog has long been a way for me to record trends, mostly, but not limited to, health and fitness, stress management, evolutionary growth, improvements, changes, mistakes, tweaks, refinements and moments of outright breakthrough clarity. I am still charting my progress as a graph, whether flying high in April or shot down in May. 

Since this IS May, I can honestly attest that the last few weeks have been exceptional. I feel great, even considering, cautiously, the possibility of a(another) return to the foot strike-trauma of the run. I should take another FTP test in the PowerBarn to ensure that the five pounds mysteriously lost while video-chasing Pro Cyclists at the 2018 Tour Of California wasn’t muscle. 

That would suck like an Electrolux. 

It came across the heads-up display of my consciousness this morning, like a crop duster toting a banner, the greatest waste in the world is the difference between what we are and what we could become.*

To me, my assessment, riddled with bias and with sanctimonious subjectivity, means:

More of everything. More intermittent fasting, more temperance, more forgiveness, more gratitude, more work, more smarter work, more reading, more risk, more love. 

The road, the path I have chosen to take, goes on. I have this nagging sensation, however, that the clock is running and time is running out, that the end, although not really near, is waiting around some not-too-distant corner. Which corner I don’t know. Where I have no clue. When matters little, as long as my focus, my actions and my daily improvements continue to trend positively. 

Another milestone. 

* Plane piloted and quote printed by Ben Herbster.

Let it Flow

Two more, recent, examples of random cosmic input. 

I was enjoying a cerebral buzz upon entering the airport. I looked around and found nothing to assist with directions to the ticketing department. I rode the escalator up and then back down still searching for a sign to direct me to the ticket counter. With a slight tinge of irritation, please recall that I had just been the recipient of a $47.40 parking ticket, I try to counter the negative emotion by humming a bit of the last song I heard on the Sirius Grateful Dead station that was my musical companion for the almost 800 miles over the three days. I am humming Black Peter as a guy toting a ice cooler on wheels trots directly in front of me chanting, ‘one way or another, one way or another’. 

I sing ‘this darkness has got to give.’  We exchange glances that cement our understanding and seal the moment with nods of head. Weird, yes, odd, no. I get on the plane, fall asleep after listening to my neighbor in the center seat brag on his kid’s motocross talent and wake up in Seattle. 

Where partners in two-part physic harmony meet up again near baggage claim. We exchange notes and wish each other well as I begin the scramble to ferry terminal. I smile at the recall of the interaction.

Precious little light sleep, troubled by anxiety dreams where I had forgotten the user name and password of my pacemaker which was to shut down if not properly entered in 5 seconds, 4 seconds…..before hitting the carpet to prepare for the spin class I was subbing as part of a package deal that allowed the three days on tour to happen without the cost of a lost payday. 

I get to class, actually got an unsolicited, but highly appreciated, round of applause upon its completion, and head back to start video download. Two hours later over at Junior’s to lift. We pumped the 100lbs on the bench 59 times. That is almost 3 tons of pig iron. 

After our session I head to Safeway to restock the fridge. I buy eggs, swordfish steak for half price and fresh asparagus. As much as I wanted a beer, I refrained. 

Leaving the store the same busker whom I spotted walking in was now picking’ a very crisp electric banjo. I stop in my tracks clutching the fish, eggs and asparagus to listen closer. 

He is finger picking the build segment of Candyman, ‘won’t you tell everyone you meet that the Candyman is back in town, look out, look out’. I start to sing the high harmony and in falling, reach into my pocket to drop some cabbage in his case.

First time I ever heard that song on the banjo, great work my brother. 

He affirms the donation and mid-chord, slips in an ad-lib, ‘thank YOU my brother’, before heading back to the chorus. 

Sometimes ya just gotta let it go and let it flow. 

Pictured are my two Shadows, Black Peter and Candyman. 

Dazed

It was one of those moments. You know the ones. Those rare combinations of circumstance and luck. Right place and right time. Corner of good karma and ethereal drama. All planets in proper alignment and snake eyes on the come. Still with me?

As I sit and enjoy a post event meal of rice (spanish), beans (negro), kale (young), avocado (expensive) and beer (Stone Ripper IPA), I can tell you that (with 58% remaining laptop battery power) that this serendipitous lightening bolt of cosmic connectivity has nailed my ass to the holy wall of higher consciousness several times. A sampling would have to include, roughly:

The six times I have fallen in love.
Five incredibly awesome moments on a field of play (mostly baseball or football).
Four as I played music.
Three as I was in an audience (where others were playing music).
Two while under the influence.
And once today.

Let's talk about today. No, let's summarize today. In one sentence from one moment.

(But first) the back-story. Those of you following along will know that I am in Sacramento, CA for the final stage of the 2018 Tour of California. I have been here before. One shot in my ToC 'top ten' will always be the peloton in forefront of the California State Capitol. In slow motion, sped up or at actual speed it never fails. Again today I set up for the ToC money shot, this time with two cameras, the trusty Go-Pro below and the zoomable Canon Vixia, atop a monopod, above.

The Ladies are doing a circuit and I have a chance to add some live racing action to the tour cache. They are hauling ass, and I am able (I think) to capture some decent footage. I am, however, struggling with the number one rule of 'on the fly' race videography. NEVER RUN OUT OF BATTERY POWER.

I need to manage my shoots to make sure I have enough power to capture some of the men who will be roaring through about 30 minutes after the gals. (now down to 44% power).

I mean even my cheap Samsung phone is operating on low octane karma.

All I have left is the Go-Pro, a fixed, fisheye lens absolutely worthless to capture subjects too far away. Get to the spot. Get the shot. And hurry.

I run across the Capitol lawn, no doubt irritating the two snipers atop the cupola, and get to 'my spot' just as the Highway Patrol lead convoy, sirens tearing into the calm like a fire alarm, turns the corner 200 meters to my left.  I 'negotiate' a position as close as possible, hit the record button, and hold my breath, a technique I learned from a pro several years ago.  (31% power).

The Men's Pro peloton comes past me on the first of three finishing laps like a heard of buffalo late for dinner. The lead Colombians look like cocktail napkins with Mercury 500 outboards strapped on.

And then it hits.

The pack pushes past at speeds I take to be 35mph+.

I am trying to hold the cam steady as they fly by. THIS IS IT. They pass. I get the shot.

And almost instantly a cloud of vortex dust follows their propulsion and almost blows us back ten feet. The air pressure slipstream of their effort has left a powerful reminder of things past. It is a remembrance into the importance of the now. They are gone. They were here for such a brief moment. The made their statement and moved to another dimension, leaving us with a cloud of organic exhaust as memory. 

My camera beeps.

We are out of gas. No more. Power spent.

I walk back to the car.

Dazed.

Baseball, Cycling, Rock

I will refrain from using the same cliche I used the last time I ran into a rock star. More because I am tired to the core, its late and we have one more stage tomorrow, than any literary excuse. But, after today's freaking insane 123 miles from Folsom to South Lake Tahoe, the return commute, two hours of video download and prep for tomorrow's final stage, all I want to do is shower, quaff an ale, catch some Rachael Maddow and sleep uninterrupted for as long as I can.

Peter Sagan will not win the 2018 Amgen Tour of California (nor will TJ), but if the post race mayhem near his team bus is any indication, this matters little. The last time I witnessed anything this dramatic was a few years ago in DC after a Nationals/Orioles game when Kid Rip was almost mugged for autographs. I have pictures of that too, but as I am on the road one more day, the photo-journalistic comparison between baseball and cycling fans will have to wait (it just dawned on me that there are no extra innings in cycling).

I am heading off to complete the list outlined above. The video that I glanced at looks very decent. Like a fastball so slow you can see the seams.

Or a breakaway stage win.

Goodnight sports fans. See ya tomorrow in Sacramento.

ToC Bill

Just finished a very long day. Lot's more work left before we start it up again tomorrow morning in Folsom. This is my first Tour of California since way back in 2014. Seems every year I run into the big guy out on the course somewhere. Tons of respect. Today as we crossed a narrow one-way bridge over the Pardee Reservoir, by far Stage 5's most scenic stretch, there he was again, hammering out the 109 miles slightly ahead of the pros. Mega tons. See ya tomorrow.

Stay in the Game

This was the ‘memo’ I set to Junior yesterday as he considered his future with or without athletics. 

Everything changes once a propensity is discovered. Once we find that we can, with a little focused effort, run fast, jump high, champion hand-eye coordination, throw, swim, quickly understand complex strategies, apply torque, balance our movements, follow orders, endue hardship, calm our emotions, bleed, compete, pledge allegiance to the team, commit and sustain an objective, everything changes. We get a spark and that spark can ignite the fire of life. Competition is as naturally hard-wired into or DNA as the survival drive. Fact is they are so connected that one might say, ‘compete or die’, and be close to unraveling one of the great mysteries of life. The enthusiasm that one brings to this arena creates an additional, advanced, understanding that to be authentically engaged in this monumental challenge is exhilarating, valuable and most importantly, absolutely satisfying and enjoyable. The personal quest to find our true nature through sports and the competitive imperative is a very private journey. We must visit our souls and asks hard questions. Why do I do this? What is my goal? What set of circumstances will temp me to quit? What are my strengths and weakness and do I have the courage to address the brutally honest answers my spirit delivers?

Yes, we do sports for the pure enjoyment of using our bodies as miraculously designed, to travel a magical path towards, not so much for the win, but for taking pride in our continual improvement, developing new skills and recruiting new partners and powerful allies along the way. Truly it is the hero’s journey. 

Our mission statement can be rendered to one simple goal. 

Stay in the game. That’s where the growth, the magic and the miracles are. 

Off to spin class, Sea-Tac and Sacramento to meet the Tour of California in Stockton for Stages 5,6 & 7. Cheers!

Rules are Rules

I am writing this yesterday. Not so much because this is a travel week or that I am already three (four?) posts behind - remember, please, that the goal was to post an entry every day for 365 - but more to get some thoughts on paper about what just happened. I find it easier to work that way, when importance raises the stakes. 

As in ‘all in’ stakes.

The broad-strokes back-story: I have been an indoor studio cycling instructor for almost twenty years. I am a student of the game and try my best to keep abreast of the changes in methodologies, fostered party by science and partly by fad. Since day one I have had three basic rules. 

1) Show up on time. 2) Work hard. 3) Enjoy the ride. 

One last confession. My acts of contrition have deepened over the years, these days I am more a cheerleader and training partner than an unforgiving drill instructor perfectionist. Additionally as much as I resist the aging process, slowing down, losing power and generally getting soft (as much as I fight it), here we are, together, dealing with this relentlessly changing landscape of emotional conflict. 

One of our regulars, a person I respect tremendously, was a bit over animated today. Normally he is quiet as a mouse, attentive and supportive of our group effort, traits I would expect from someone who played Division 1 college football, but today he was giving me abnormal body language and even a hand signal or two. What? What? Repeat please, I didn’t get the sign, missed the signal. 

After our set, another killer, variations on the same monstrous theme we explored Saturday, tweaked slightly to provide additional recovery between the intervals, I walk into the locker room and ask him how we did. Where he asks me what my number one job was. You mean in life, in the real world or in this club? 

‘Just say thanks for showing up and hope to see you again’, he says, gruffly.  

Still glowing in the endorphin flow of a high quality hour, I take his words with me into the shower, now turned 180 degrees in my assessment of the class. Evidently my ‘great’ rating wasn’t shared unanimously. 

A woman had come into the studio, my dojo, my performance hall, my temple, 15 minutes after our start. As late as it gets. In the past I would fire a caustic remark with the hope of sending a ‘be on time’ message, but today I just turned my head to look at the wall clock directly behind the instructors bike. That was it. Not a word was issued in comment on (what I take to be) disrespect, rudeness, laziness or apathy. 

So today I consider the scales of justice. General Principals. Right and wrong, good and bad. My rules. The bigger picture. Change. Dedication. Flow. Truth. Kindness. Challenge. 

Maybe I have lost it. Maybe I never had it to begin with. Maybe this has all been a charade. Maybe I am a fraud. Maybe I should get life without parole. 

But then again, rules ARE rules. 

Nine of Nine

Nine of exactly how many? Nine of ten, nine of twelve or nine of seventeen? Obviously it makes a larger difference when talking of distance, especially if one happens to be on a bike climbing a 7% grade, than it does, say, when discussing a shortstop’s batting average or a dual-threat QR rating. It also applies to time, as we have seen on many occasions that if we use the clock as ally, leaking the intel that there will be a ten minute standing climb beginning in ten seconds, the ‘most manageable’ portion of said climb will be whenever we finally feel confident and in control, usually with a minute or mile to go. Because we know we can finish after coming so far. We have cut the total load into manageable pieces, in order to digest them more comfortably. Or, to continue with the gastro metaphor, maybe we have reached a level of appreciation typically known as expert or gourmet. We savor every morsel, every muscular contraction, chewing with delight all the challenging flavors. Maybe we simply want to make it last, to stay in the sensory flavor zone until our aerobic capacity has been wiped from our plate like pinto beans with a flour tortilla. We like the sweet and the spicy. 

I think it is a magical right of passage when we make that bold, empirical transition from seeing exercise and training as play rather than work. There comes that bright and beautiful day when something changes and it all suddenly makes sense. The WHY we do what we do is no longer a burning question, it is now HOW we do what we do. What level of participation in the process, what relaxed focus applied to the effort and to what degree of acceptance towards the continual progress ideal do we travel up or newly discovered path? How long can we keep a positive mental attitude, present and aware, undistracted by media noise, nurturing our bodies with the organic inertia of dynamic movement? 

It is my job to choreograph that path. There has to be challenge. It is the hero’s journey every time we saddle up and face the mountain. Change is our strongest ally, the captain. Even the mountain with its rock solid foundational majesty, changes every time we point our consciousness towards her apex. No two rides are ever the same. We go faster, the wind blows harder, we ride with more efficiency while lenticular clouds circle overhead. There is an old saying, perhaps from the I Ching, THE Book of Changes, or maybe Heraclitus, that tells us, ‘One cannot cross the same river twice.’ 

The translation of course being that every time one sets out to, metaphorically or otherwise, cross a river, even, or especially, the same river, the river one has crossed a thousand times before, both it and YOU have changed. 

Substitute the river for the mountain, another early morning spin class, a run in the park, laps in the pool, homework, motorcycle maintenance, food preparation, learning a new song on the guitar, painting rocks, gardening, tiny house construction, love, videography, travel, etc. etc. etc. and the idea comes crystal clear. 

It is a new day and a new river. A new now and a new mountain. 

Nine of nine. 

Happy Mother's Day

Decided late last night to take advantage of the wonderful weather and order up a scouting mission to Hurricane Ridge. After all I had washed the truck and my bike was already loaded in the back awaiting the giddy-yup command. I loaded the camera gear, a Go-Pro and a Canon Vixia along with assorted mounts, pods, cables and battery packs, stuffed my riding gear into a Kelty and was heading North by 0700. 

Called my sister in DC along the 90 minute drive and we chatted about The Post, Tom Robbins and the sad state of the state. 

I get to the site where we traditionally park and start only to find that the annual road re-surfacing work has begun, the lot is closed (and fenced) and that there is gravel, delays and danger for the next 5 miles. Darn.

I tweak riding plans, stay in the truck and crawl up the hill, stopping at scenic lookouts to shoot video and enjoy the brilliant sunshine. One spectacular Mothers Day! Along the 17 miles and 5,200 ft of elevation gain I am thinking that I might jump tradition and START from the top, blister the ride down and then slug out the return back up.  Almost immediately I see this idea as a 'not so good' one. 

To this moment I am not 100% certain as to why I decided not to. I could have, but did’t. Why?

On the drive home I did stop to buy potting soil and a Honeysuckle plant for my neighbor/landlord/friend/client/Mother. 

And as I ponder the deeply physiological intricacies as to my mountaintop decision (most likely pure laziness) I would like to wish everyone a Happy Mother’s Day.

Even if you are a Father or a Son.

Halfway to the Moon

Ogni Morte del Papa is the Italian equivalent of Once in a Blue Moon. The literal translation is every death of a Pope. For unexplained, but fitting reasons, the colloquialism flashed across my consciousness this morning as we hammered out a new spinning protocol. I’ll provide the drill instructions as the main course before getting to the desert. And just for the record, I will take gelato over tiramisu any day of the week. That being said, the set was designed to both try something new as well as to illustrate the difference between simply burning calories as a cardio routine and actually stimulating core muscles to encourage adaptation. As we say, authentic evolution is more about continual improvement than winning. So I wanted this one to be a fanny kicker and build some muscle. 

10 minute warm up.

One song standing in groove zone, with a 10 second push somewhere in the middle. 

One song seated at 7/120 with a 20 second push somewhere in the middle.

Repeat for six songs, adding 10 seconds per tune.

Start over with 10 and proceed.

60 minutes, warm down, stretch and recover.

Fortunately my set list primarily consisted of mostly 3 and 4 minute tunes, so there was a ‘decent’ amount of seated time in 7/120 mode to fake a complete recovery. 

About 3/4 of the way through it became apparent to everyone that this was, indeed a monster. Even those who regulated their pushes, governed them way down in power, were at boiling point and hunkering down for the conclusion. And then it happened. That ONE 6 minute song opens at the precisely WORST moment, a long stranding climb with a 60 second push. I am checking my heart rate as the aforementioned Italian cliche pops up, due to the fact I am quite sure that the titular theme of the tune, Halfway to the Moon, connected me to an astral, cosmic, otherworldly awareness that only the magical alchemical synergy of endorphin flow and music can do. I am not simply in the groove, I AM THE GROOVE. This is why we do what we do. This moment, this piano, this harmony, this challenge. 

After our set, out of shower, in the lobby sipping coffee, one of our regulars stops on his way out to ask the name of that Phish tune. 

And that happens Ogni Morte del Papa. 

It Must Stop

Yesterday my nephew and I spent a few moments before breakfast discussing race strategies for his first-ever 200 meter race. Dialogue via text. We covered some interesting ground including my suggested tactic of saving 5% of fuel stores for a final kick, distance of which would be declared by the leader. Be prepared to make it hurt a little and, as they say, leave it out there. He (semi) jokingly asked what if HE WAS the leader, what then? I felt that it was a positive and constructive conversation to start the day, filled with optimism and energy, traits I suspected might be transferable to scholastics as well as athletics. 

He went about his day and I mine. 

If you are among the tiny demographic following our story, you will know that yesterday was a success of sorts as I managed to get the Ranger’s new starter in, including the customized make-shift integrated solenoid copper pin connector attachment, a small but vital part the design and manufacturing success of which I was particularly proud. To say nothing of its delicate installation. There is nothing quite like the feeling one gets when the job has been buttoned-up and the key is turned, ahhhhhhh. The starter does its job on the first try, not the third or fourth as was the case prior to diagnosis and subsequent repair. I should send myself a bill, the generator cost me $300 a month ago, just as a reminder that a little grease under the fingernails is a small price to pay for such DIY satisfaction. 

I also began the Season 4 Episode 53 PowerBarn 2x20 video. Working title is The Cave, based upon the magnificent maxim from Joesph Campbell, “The cave one fears to enter, holds the treasure one seeks.” I am in need of new media, but I want to get this one wrapped before (hopefully) bringing back a treasure trove of video from the ToC trek, now just five days away.

To refresh, I will be joining the Tour of California in Stockton, CA., for the 5th stage of the event. Thursday’s route is a little flat, a little dusty and a little mundane. It runs 109 miles through some totally nondescript central California waste land (sorry Lodi and Turlock) to finish in Elk Grove, a town I have only driven through without stopping. None the less I will film whatever catches my eye and either the entire mens or womens course including the obligatory finishing sprints. Now standard strategy, sunrise and sunset time lapse capture is a challenge for even the most experienced location scout. 

Friday is the biggie. Folsom (great time lapse ops) to South Lake Tahoe (I should bring the drone). A grueling 123 miles and video-ops galore. The Ladies are also racing that day so I need to scout and research their route to determine the most scenic and plan accordingly. 

Saturday is a circuit course in and around Sacramento totaling just short of a century. I should be able to capture the same quality video in front of the capitol as I did back in my first try in 2008. That sequence remains one of my favorites. 

I fly out Saturday night, in order to make Sunday’s spin class at 0730. 

There is the broad strokes overview. I am looking forward to the challenge and a chance to rest and heal up for a few (three) days in the sun. 

Junior has yet to run a 200 meter event. There was a bomb-scare lock-down at the High School. 

Please do not allow the corrupt leadership (?) currently raping America to normalize the violence and overt racism we witness on a daily basis. This is NOT making America great, it is making America hate. 

And it must stop.