It seems as if sometimes the easiest things are the hardest.
I read most often in bed. I am working my way, painfully slow, through Steven Kotler’s mesmerizing The Rise of Superman. It is late and my eyes are tired, still I need to turn the pages as the subject matter fascinates me. He is taking about one of the most important elements of sports physiology, what he has coined ‘peak flow’, defined as the state of awareness that a level of experience has been reached that allows ultimate involvement of mind body and spirit, the sum of which is peak performance. The key word here being flow.
Between his examples, antidotes and definitions, I must lay the paperback on my belly and deeply consider his words - and their ramifications. I do this as I close my eyes to rest them as it seems easier to ‘see’ abstracts with no visual distractions. Kinda like turning down the car stereo when you need to see through the fog.
This sequence goes on for as long as I can maintain my focus. Finally, on a more obscure point, I wander off, lose the thread and fall asleep.
Several sleepless hours later I wake with the book by my side and my finger still holding the last page read. I chuckle at the ridiculousness of this, mark the page, turn out the light and roll over, eager to take this flow thing into the realms of rapid eye movement.
My phone plays a simple, irritating synth arpeggio to inform me that I have, officially, 30 minutes to get ready to go. The first thing I remember is the idea of flow, so after my morning ritual of breath counting, I try to flow through the process of brushing, shaving, dressing, packing, fueling and hydrating. It is going to be a great day.
Class is outstanding. I try to incorporate my NY Resolution of listening more into the set and defer my usual motivational stories to music appreciation. It works.
Junior and I have a work-out scheduled for an hour after class ends so I catch up on some errands downtown before heading over. We do a monster 45 minute set ending with 48 reps of 120 lbs on the bench. I am shaking as we head into the kitchen, he for a BLT and I for a cup of coffee.
His Dad and Mom are arguing again about gutter cleaning and safely. I apparently make the mistake of volunteering to do this nasty and dangerous chore, but only if I can do it Monday. Dad, my brother, blows a fuse. Insists I am undercutting his authority and such.
We have an argument, the results of which I still carry with me as unease. I don’t like it. But I need to buffer the time between apology with some neutral energy. Yes, it is my fault, yes I am sorry. No I didn’t mean anything other than to help. Sorry this happened and let’s fix it.
The easiest thing in the world now seems like the hardest.
Where is my flow?
No comments:
Post a Comment