Race Day

I have shot a thousand events. From Ironman to Earth Day marches. They each offer a unique opportunity to free-lance, improvise and capture the spirit they we established to promote. They can be fun, electric and crackling with energy, or seriously challenging.

Today I covered a mountain bike event. Kids to Masters and every skill level and age group demographic. I do this on foot, with a loaded back-pack toting gear, water and a small emergency kit.

The course that I walked was around ten miles. Give or take. It is work. But work that I enjoy. I took some chances out there today trying to capture new and inventive camera angles. I was fully prepared to sacrifice one of my Go-Pro's to this endeavor, placing it in a mid-course hole, this former home of a baseball sized rock. Rock out, cam in. It was positioned behind a log so that most riders would be air-borne as I captured them from the undercarriage. A great shot, especially in slow motion.

I am down loading media and hope to push the next video release to next Friday. We shall see.

Pictured above is one of the course marshalls I was telling my favorite racing story to as we had a break in the action. I, as the Waco Kid, like to keep my audience riveted.

Tomorrow is April first. WOW. This is all happening in real time.

Phishing with Ms Brown

Phishing with Ms Brown

Too Hard or Too Easy?

If it’s too easy, make it hard (show improvement, growth, change).

If it’s too hard, make it easier (to continue, for consistency, little victories).

There is a sweet spot somewhere between those bookends of degree. Mine is not yours as yours is not your neighbors. We all, every one of us, reside today in the here and the now, at a different spot on the physical fitness timeline. The distance between those dots might be a mile, or it might be as thin as a sheet of tracing paper, but there IS a difference. Our job, today referenced in the form of a mission statement, is to fearlessly and relentlessly move in the direction of continual improvement. 

Along this noble path one can use an accurate marker of current status, a real-time sit rep, situational report, by asking one simple question, but be warned up-front that the simplicity of the question belies the complexity of the response. The interrogation asks for brutal honesty and complete sincerity. We are seeking the truth here, absolute reality, as far as one can be objective in matters of self assessment. Here is the query: 

AM I IN A STATE OF DYNAMIC FLOW? 

If you have been following this thread (since 2008) you might have a pretty solid understanding as to the definition of that juicy subject. Accordingly, if one understands the question, one understands the complexity of a proper response. This is where it gets interesting because any answer other than the polar binaries (yes or no) insists on another question. 

WHAT CAN I DO RIGHT NOW TO GET THERE?

Kinda, sorta, maybe doesn’t cut it. 

Did I accomplish the primary objective? Kinda? (No)

Am I happy with my progress? Sorta. (No)

Will I fully and completely commit to my goal? Maybe? (No)

There is a balance available to each of us, an appropriate level of effort mixed with our cognitive internal measurement and management of it, that gets us close to the zone, and sometimes we even glimpse a flash of it. But finding our peak experience, dynamic flow, AND KEEPING IT, is what we seek. And only possible when we add whatever level of spiritual acumen we currently possess to the mix. Like on the road with cyclists, it has to be shared usage. It has to be soulful, harmonious, joyous and urgent. One must want it above all other materials, mantras or modalities. It is a fascinating paradox that one must want this as one is simultaneously grateful for the wisdom that it is already here and just waiting patiently for an enlightened circumstance to manifest. 

This is where linguistics lends a hand. For IF one looks at, defines, hard work as a joyous opportunity to combine mind, body and spirit in flowing harmony, it is no longer hard. Or work. Or suffering. Or anything other than a magical personal moment in which to flow with eternity. 

Is that too hard? Or too easy? 

Learn to Duck

From Bob Weir 'Ace'

A series of semi-related events - wait - they’re not semi-related - they are exactly the same, precise data bits of incredible personal importance. The randomness of the universe is making yet another attempt to capture my attention. The two events both deal with perhaps humanity's one and only true question, the one of mortality and the inevitability of its pending arrival. As much as I am fond of my personal record of consecutive days alive, the odds are overwhelmingly against the streak lasting much longer. A day, a week, a year, ten? Let’s do some DNA averaging just for grins (or in some manner paying respect), Mom died when she was 64 of cancer and Dad last year at 85 from a massive stroke. That totals 149 years, or a 74.5 average. My record stands at 66 as of today, so I have already past Mom and chase Dad, with, by this sophomoric calculation, 8.5 years to hit that target. 

Eight years and six months. Roughly three thousand days. 

The street fighter in me reaches into the right boot for the switchblade (taking a knife into a fire-fight) as the Zen monk silently accepts the reality of mankind’s natural cycle of life and death, bows to the passing cat and takes another deep breath and meditative step towards enlightenment. 

Some days I am a street-fighting’ man and others Kwai Chang Caine, a bitter-sweet reality I have accepted as fact, in spite of most normal people seeing this personality paradox as a character flaw. Oh, well. 

The two closely related events mentioned in the opening are:

1) Our government has called for reductions in two areas of great concern for me, and about 50 million others, cuts to Social Security and Medicare. If they get their wicked way and divert my hard earned cash and retirement funding, including health care when I/we need it most, to the richest percentile of their donors, I will be, in a word, tested. (Did you think I was going to use another word?)

2) I am going through another round of testing on my pre-existing condition known as chronic atrial fibrillation, with Bradycardia. Monday’s echo cardiogram with provide diagnosis for the new course of action we take, either more and stronger drugs or additional ablation surgery. 

Add those up and the math looks worse than the longevity calc! 

So it is with those two in mind that my subconscious came up with a dozy of a dream last night. In the attempt, of course, to steer the direction of my path up a sunny, verdant hill instead of down a nasty, twisty, endless black hole. 

The dream, translated and annotated, told me this: 

THE SECRET TO PREPARING FOR DEATH IS TO FULLY LIVE. 

Fully being the key word. Or completamente as my Italian dream prescribed. 

Fully, English, and complete, Itiliano. 

Add those two together and you get a prize.

They are so finely related that the sum of their parts equals one. 

One. Not 8.5, 3K, or 2. 

The sum of everything is one. 

Translation is that you, as I, am the sum of everything. How can it be otherwise? We are all connected. I feel the enormous pain of corruption and the delight of my teammates victories. All my positive energies assist others in unknown cities and jungles I have yet to visit. My every thought adds to the farrago of universal consciousness. I am here to find happiness and discover universal understanding. It is important to me that love, peace and awareness bests the cult of ignorance currently in vogue. I must serve. Not just some, a little or every blue moon, but with ceaseless activity and kindness. Full. Complete. One. 

Screenwriters and songsmiths alike call this ‘throwing the left-hand monkey wrench.’ 

Better learn to duck. 

With Fire Comes Smoke

One last note. On the ever expanding topic of ACQ, one’s Athletic Character Quotient. This morning in our hump-day 0530 indoor cycling ritual, with the current drill the intimidating and intriguing Super Eight protocol, we had a new kid in class. He appeared to be very fit, maybe 50, and an accomplished cyclist. I walked him through the basics of the equipment, the heads-up display and read him the standard disclaimer, our version of Miranda. Satisfied that he understood (the chances of needing an attorney appointed to him) we saddled up and I hit the play icon on my trusty iPad. 

We ride through the opening warm up and hit the ground spinning with the opening set of 5 reps (30 seconds at 85% of max - with 90 seconds of recover.) And then, as protocol demands, a 5 minute block of highly controlled and focused mayhem in the groove zone. Abbreviated as GZSS, Grove Zone Sweet Spot. This is where it always gets interesting. The ‘joys’ in the adequate description of an obscure concept. I challenge you here and now to a duel. Provide three sentences that do justice to the idea of GZSS. I will make it easy on ya, your definition doesn’t even have to be about cycling. It can be anything; music, literature, art, soccer, dog breeding, sailing, the hit and run, reviewable pass interference, religion, Mitch McConnell (he doesn’t have one), recreational marijuana, Roe vs Wade, Bosnia or Horticulture. 

But it must contain elements of, as I mentioned this morning: Everything good (exactly why Mitch has no clue). It must have, in relative and appropriate proportions to the individual, parts of:

Sincere effort.

Speed and power.

Efficiency and stamina. 

Relaxed focus.

Joy, balance and harmony.

Rhythm.

Pace.

Meaning.

Purpose.

Frequency and amplitude.

Force and energy.

Grace and elan.

Gumption and bravado.

Hi and Ho.

Here and now.

Gratitude and forgiveness.

Intrinsic and extrinsic.

Hot and cold. 

Peace, love and hope. 

Infatuation.

Kluge and impedimenta. 

Attitude.

Appreciation. 

And the one additional element I added today, specifically for the benefit of the new kid: A heapin’-helpin’ of suffering. It has to challenge. It must be outside of your current comfort zone. It must raise your heart rate and cause a cooling system overload. It needs intensity to be of high value. It must be all the good that you can bring to this equation. It must be super. Super YOU. As that relates to the character of your inner athlete and its outer manifestation. Much as knowledge is to wisdom or music to joy. 

Yes sir, all of that is in the GZSS. And our ability to constantly and with brutal honesty access and manage the real-time results of our efforts in the golden zone of dynamic flow. Which directly becomes our ACQ. Or, as the many that have gone before us in search of these same definitive answers have said, perhaps more succinctly…

With fire comes smoke. 

Smile More

Many of my fondest memories of travel include sitting on park benches, in sidewalk cafes or in dimly lit hostels scribbling notes. Never (almost) without a notebook to capture whatever my limited attention considered worthy of inclusion, such as conversion rates, architectural renderings, song lyrics, translations, or dreams that one day I might force to fruition. It was a glorious combination of youth, adventure and hope. When I refer to these battle-weary notebooks, some with dust gathered over three decades ago, it always strikes me as sad. The sadness of the reality that one of those big three, youth, adventure and hope, is gone. And will never return. 

At least physically. Range of motion limited, core strength compromised, arthritic and carrying a pacemaker with more consistency than my notebooks, I face the one demon that has haunted every man since Adam. The reality of an aging body and our frail human nature of parts wearing out, the onset of disease, sickness, suffering and eventual death. Might as well accept it. Get used to the idea and negotiate an appropriate response. Deal with the facts as best I can, do something proactive and, above all, never give up. 

This is an important concept to me. It is why we train. It is why we push ourselves so hard when it would be much, much easier to simply submit to the magnetic pull of the Lazy-Boy. I have one formal, and with all due respect, firm response to the latter scenario: NO FUCKING WAY. 

If I am going down, and that is now just a matter of time, I am going down fighting. Fighting for every last bit of life I can jam into my brief time here. I have my personal, unique opportunity to do the one thing that settles all disputes, solves all mysteries and satisfies all requirements of success: I will be true to the self awareness I have created and please the spirit inside me that seeks it. Put another way, I must do what makes me satisfied with my efforts. Or in another way still, if I have but two items left of the big three, youth having fled the scene, I will bet the farm on adventure and hope. There is a lot to be said about the quality of living wide. Not long or large, but wide, as much experience as one can squeeze into one's allotted time in this magic garden of delights. 

As I remain in the afterglow of my trip to Seattle to watch and hear filmmaker Bryon Smith’s video storytelling, I culled the notes from the pocket of my Levi’s prior to washing, uncrumpled them and did a quick review to ensure I didn’t miss any important jottings. Capsulized, here are a few observations:

Consider risk/reward, success/failure ratios closer.

Generate lists of potential projects.

Adventures reveal stories.

Do something different, risky, adventurous, and…

Tell that story. 

My notes ended with the red-letter suggestion to smile more. 

Something I learned in my youth, and also something that fosters adventure and hope. 

The Well Hydrated Irishman

I think it has more to do with awareness than randomness. Those rare occasions when everything, and I mean every thing, falls nicely into place as if by design. Detectives like to say that coincidence is not conspiracy, until it happens as a trend. That is when the dots start to be connected with greater frequency leading to the final dot. Usually that one final dot appears below a tapered oblong known diacritically as a point. The point of exclamation. Ah Ha. Gotcha. Book ‘em Danno! 

Yesterday the dots were coming at me fast and furious, falling from the sky like runaway hockey pucks. As I drove to the ferry listening to a book on tape, currently Amor Towles phenomenal “The Rules of Civility”, if the narrative was describing a lost dog running down the street, that is what I saw. As response I would think ‘Amazing’ just as I pass a billboard using that very adjective to sell whatever it was that is that. As I shake my head semi-violently to regain a semblance of reality, my phone screams to me that someone has sent a text. I resist the temptation to check on the fly, safely opting to wait until I have parked. When I initiate the game. OK. Mr Clairvoyant, without looking tell me who it is wishing digital correspondence. Go.

I visualize my rolodex and consider the situation and circumstances. I hear a Men at Work song as background. I am walking towards the ferry terminal on a Sunday afternoon along with what appears to be half the population Seattle. That is the bad news, the good is that there are many beautiful young women now calling the Emerald City their temporary zip code. My steps immediately lighten as I return my focus to the game. Julie? Is that you? Could it be my darling Clementine needing commuter comforts? Peggy? Patty? Pink?

I am three-for-three and on fire. I decide to push the envelope. I will see someone on the boat that has a clue for me. I nod affirmatively, anticipating the upcoming magic meeting. Will it be love, gold, opportunity, creative involvement or something other, like lunch at Pane Pane? 

As I sit in the gallery sipping coffee for which I paid $1.38 because I carry a travelers mug for this specific reason, and jot notes from the inbound trip, I feel a soft call from my backpack, like the purring of a cat. I know by now that these cosmic prompts need quick response so I open my pack to find my book sitting atop my camera gear, almost glaring at me. Stop whatever menial task you are currently attempting to preform and dance with me, it purrs. 

I obey and open to the page marked by a sticky flag that the previous owner/reader left for me as recommendation. Just the simple sentence of introduction ending with a quickly scrawled heart makes mine miss a beat. 

It is Packing for Mars, by Mary Roach. It is every bit as good as the note indicated it would be. Inside of two sentences the author has established that space travel severely and dramatically tests the ability of human beings to tolerate one another while in close proximity for extended periods of time. Even the best of friends, the chain of command, and/or traditional social hierarchies crumble under this zero-gravity stress. 

Walking through town, the newly revamped and vertically enhanced streets of Seattle, I pass two giant cranes stacking hefty scaffolding to allow overhead access for yet another crane to be placed atop one of the existing scrapers of sky. I stop and gawk, recalling my days of heavy construction on the dam circuit. I am standing there, head bend back as far as I can safely tilt, when I hear a voice behind me comment that it isn’t the same town that she was thirty years ago, is it? 

I shake my head acknowledging the affirmative with a negative pan as I lower to look and see a guy whom we used to walk past every day on our commute from ferry to office. Thirty years prior. How are you mate?

After the gelato pictured in yesterdays introduction, I waltz into spectacular Benaroya Hall to find my seat for the presentation. Bryon Smith, an adventure filmmaker for National Geographic comes onstage and spends little time with small talk getting right to the heart of the matter. This is adventure, so big and so grand and so soul satisfying that every one of you will be impacted, and hopefully for the positive. Please try. Let go. Imagine. Join us as we flirt with the tipping point of failure, something we call a the risk/reward coefficient. Let’s start he says and turns to the giant screen.

First, he says, let me say that these fearless adventure athletes whose journey you are about to share all have a common dream, but that dream comes with a cost, yes there is danger, but perhaps even more devastating is the fact that adventure travel severely and dramatically tests the ability of human beings to tolerate one another while in close proximity for extended periods of time.

I close my eyes and drop my head, grinning like a well-hydrated Irishman. 

A Day Off

I took the day off to trek into Seattle to see an adventure filmmaker show and speak of his craft. It was an enormously entertaining and enlightening afternoon. I will attempt a devotional of all the events that transpired tomorrow because today I am plotting my own adventures in filmmaking. Mostly because I was challenged to do so, and also because I love gelato. As if a more reasons are necessary. Ciao a presto.

Thanks Anyway

I am thinking about my Saturday spin class protocol as I listen to a book on tape while navigating the eight semi-rural miles between house and club. It becomes quickly apparent that I need to eliminate one, or probably two, in order to better focus on the safe navigation on my truck. Music in the background is one thing but trying to absorb delicate conversations integral to the story being told, is another altogether. Then there is the well-intentioned (mostly) people on e-bikes with little or no cycling experience thinking that they are bullet-proof in a two-way asphalt battle zone. Relax, focus, anticipate. 

A gentle, I assume, creative and fearless entrepreneur has set up an adult’s version of a lemonade stand along the road that I travel four times a day. He or she, has built a woodsy, folksy and totally cool cedar three-sided cabin with which to house inventory, display wares and conduct commerce. There are just a pair of items on-sale, shopping bags of fire-ready cedar kindling for $5 per bag and my personal favorite, organic free-range Montana river rocks, also for a mere $5 per stone. I have been keeping a mental spread-sheet of turns on inventory of each since the operation opened with a soft launch just before Christmas. There is also a banner loosely attached to the ‘cabin’ promotion the sponsorship of an organization called Raising the Blues. I had no idea as to what their direction or purpose was prior to doing a Google vet ten minutes ago. I invite you to do similar as I was very surprised and pleased with the mission. 

Freeing up available memory as I drive also has the side benefit of inviting unsolicited random input. A somewhat seamy personal response to the gross corruption currently on display from the republican party has, like hate speech inspiring a 226% increase in hate crimes, caused me to think about fighting fire with fire. These sacks of slime are not working for the benefit of the people they are bought and sold by corporate America. As I asked yesterday of a confused potential swing voter, if I gave you a million dollars would you vote for our guy? This is exactly what happens. The ‘bigs’: Oil, pharma, energy, medicine, education, military-industrial and banking, ‘donates’ millions to the politicians elected by the people to pass legislation to make their profits even greater. And the pols do. YOU WOULD TOO, I accuse the poor guy at the business end of my smoking rhetorical AR-15. 

This disgusts me no end. But it also helps explain a lot too. Nobody can be so evil as to deny health care, housing, schooling, nourishing food and a decent paying job to people just because they are not rich and white. Right?

So I plot ways to overthrow, rebel, incite and be as civilly disobedient as a non-violent revolutionary can possible be. I decide that I will hedge on my taxes and get that two dollar savings from line 18b on the 1040, charitable donations. THAT OUTTA SHOW THEM! 

I am laughing at the silliness of my response when I pass the kindling/rock stand. There is an older woman loading rocks into her SUV. I take an immediate left into the closest driveway, back out and U my turn. I pull up in the drive, roll down my window and ask the woman if she needs help loading the medium sized rocks. Seems she is done and walks the five steps towards me and hands me a twenty dollar bill. Hey Andy. 

Instantly the entire sequence plays out in my mind. She thinks I am the proprietor. trump would take it. Trickle down hate-o-nomics. Corrupt and greedy eye for immoral, unethical eye. Take the ill- gotten gains and run offshore to bank. Blame Obama. 

‘I was just offering assistance, ma’am, I am not the owner.’ 

She is embarrassed. But hurries back to reclaim the twenty. 

‘Thanks anyway.’

Be There in Fifteen

I exhale deeply as I sit. A bowl of hot soup accessorized with a lightly toasted slab of fresh bread atop. I pull the ring of a twelve ounce pilsner and take a sip, waiting for the browser to load. It has been a long day and I am pleased with the degree of my fatigue as it represents effort, movement and labor. I dab the bread into the soup to carefully add enough melted cheese, lentils, spinach and pepperoncini to complete the desired palate of tastes. I am holding the bread at eye level considering with delight with pending transfer from olfactory to gustatory. When the phone alerts me to an incoming text.

Immediately I am reminded of a recurring scenario of which I once envisioned to be a semi-scientific lab test. I chuckle at the very thought of it, marveling at the speed with which a simple digital sound, in this case a maniacal laughing crane, has connected a long forgotten memory to the present moment. I put the toast back on the bowl landing it with the precision of a jet fighter pilot on an air craft carrier. As I enter the ridiculous passcode that unlocks the phone, the semi-scientific experiment’s objective protocol plays out in a series of one-frame video flash cards. One second each. 

I am tired from 0530 high-intensity spin class

I sit at my work station after five straight hours of video editing

I remove my glasses to massage my weary and bleary eyes

I decide to take a ten minute break

As I sip a re-heated cup of day-old coffee then decide a twenty minute nap is in order

I negotiate the twelve steps leading to my loft bedroom

Remove hat, glasses and lay down pulling comforter over me

Pull hoodie overhead and take deep breath inducing deep relaxation

Look at the clock

Phone rings. 

The experiment I designed was this: If I needed a return call, some logistical update, a bit of fresh news or just the sound of a friendly voice, once I lay my poor body down to restore and relax, I could, through a mysterious and marvelous interpretive application of pi and my personal theory of hyper-special relativity, induce, conjure or prompt said communication. WITHIN ONE BREATH AFTER LAYING AFOREMENTIONED BODY DOWN. It was as if the universe was telling me that there was no time to lose and/or I could sleep when dead. In more crude terms I was being told to wake the fuck up and get my lazy ass back to work. The innocent demolition wrecking crane operator wreaking destruction and havoc upon past bias and outmoded rigidities. Concrete falls. This never failed. Pavlov’s team of ravenous canines would salivate every test and the speed of light will always be 299,7922,458 meters per second, like death and taxes, a sure thing. 

I open the text.

Have a fever of 102, need a ride to Urgent Care. 

I stand, look at the soup, reply.

Be there in fifteen. 

Balance in Three Parts

It has been suggested that things are never quite as bad as we think they are, and conversely, never quite as good. Likewise as much as I admire those with an overload of talent, skill, capability, endurance, strength, compassion or Amazon stock, we seem to seek balance. 

The balance, or harmony we seek is with the trio commonly referred to as the trinity; mind, body and spirit. Here at the PowerBarn, RCVman, 2016 Epic Ride HQ we spend a considerable amount of time and energy in our labs focused on the honest attempt to collect sufficient data to initiate change. Positive change. We would sincerely like to make a difference with those interested in increasing what we now call one’s ACQ, Athletic Character Quotient. Or, what makes one tick and another simply toc. 

Having finished Amor Towels magnificent A Gentleman In Moscow tome, and already half-way through his first effort, The Rules of Civility on audio book,  this morning I was awed (while looking for free parking near the ferry terminal) by one of his protagonists in ‘Civility’.

A poor Indiana farm girl moves to Manhattan, falls for a wealthy, handsome, young banker. Being in 1930’s New York, they like to party. One night driving home in the snow and ice they are hit head-on by a milk truck. Our heroine is catapulted through the window, ends up in the hospital for five months and leaves horribly scarred and with a mangled hip. 

The banker decides to take responsibility and as time passes during her convalescence, they gradually fall in love - where she is showered with the spoils of aristocratic prestige. Truly rags to riches. BUT at the cost of incredible pain, disfigurement and a limp for which medicine and technology at that time had no cure, other than gin and opulence. 

This is not an original theme. It has been explored a thousand time prior. From Robin Hood to Romeo and Juliette, as Friar Tuck to Mercutio, some seem to have prodigious gifts in one area at the woeful expense of another. Remember we are in an apples, oranges and pears, the sun, the moon and the stars, gold, silver and bronze, the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost metaphorical trilogy here. Or, as suggested earlier, the combination of them creating a balanced and harmonious sum with more value, truth, meaning or beauty than any one of them singing the aria solo. 

You might even recall that we have been in debate with a ‘non-competitive’ person who still laments her inability to rise to the occasion when power, focus and grit are most required. Did I mention that she is a scholar? A mother and librarian? See where we are headed here?

We are not asking you to rob Peter or bribe Paul. This can be a united, shared, joyous team effort. Let your body do what it was created to do. Move it brightly and with the grace of a dancer. Consider the part, the roles, the supporting participation of your awareness and ability to rate, judge and compare. This is a beautiful thing contrary to what most say about judgments. This is about your cognitive awareness used for positive gains in yourself. There is no need to compare or judge others unless you have the maturity to pick the best as role models. Otherwise this judicial decree is about your progress at whatever pace is appropriate. If you are in a hurry it will take longer. Additionally, and I have sung this tune a thousand times, once you have syncopated the powerful and graceful movements of your body with the objective awareness and unconditional support of your central governor (upstairs in the corner office of Gray Matter Inc.) a funny thing happens.

Your spirit, your very soul, asks, begs, implores permission to join the party. 

That is harmony and balance firing on three cylinders of cosmic inch displacement. 

Isolate one, structure it, be consistent, enjoy its wild ride. Add your real-time awareness as relaxed focus. Work hard and when you’re ready, let go. You will find dynamic flow. This is when, and only when, the spirit of a person with a high ACQ joins the show. The vast majority of people have no idea about this. (If I was interested in material gain I would blog on sexy, shiny mobile devices instead of today’s topic). 

Balance is a word not quite powerful enough to convey the absolute magnificence of this synergy. 

But be warned, you are never as far from it nor as close to it, as you think.  

If you keep moving towards it - you will find it. 

And to finish with the theme of threes, you will find it yesterday, today or tomorrow but should you not know of it, or desire it, you will find it no way, at no time an no how. 

You Versus You

What we do with it is, as always, up to us. Yesterday we opened the can of mambas centering around the use, misuse and abuse of the ‘concept of competition’. This all started innocently enough with a new ramp test protocol measuring one’s functional threshold power, FTP, courageously executed by one of our female teammates. After her initial test, the traditional twenty minute max-out test, and the subsequent year of training, she was overtly disappointed when her score showed little improvement, none actually. After her test we chatted about some of the possible reasons why her score was flat. It was during that conversation that she confided to me that she was not a competitive person - so that last sixty seconds, when the algorithm rewards effort - she was unable to respond. She was on the verge of tears as we spoke, as a rather paradoxical thought popped into play. 

How can a person, by their own admission, be non-competitive, and then be devastated by their lack of drive, desire, strength of will and mental toughness, upon completion of a physical test? Something isn’t in harmony here. It seems like a non sequitur to me. 

What makes us competitive? What traits, skills, attributes are involved? Can competitiveness be improved? Are we born competitive or is it learned? Can a plethora of ultra competitiveness assist me in obtaining my goals, or conversely, will a dearth of them hinder that effort? 

First off, before we even go one question further, please understand that my goal here is not so much to teach as it is to learn. I have nothing but anecdote. True it is based upon my almost seven decades of involvement with sports, training, racing, all manner of victory and defeat and being a true ‘student of the game’, so I am familiar with the obscure, mysterious, magical and marvelous nature of our subject matter. Some might even call my relationship with it intimate. I have studied it from all sides, inside and out, top to bottom. 

And yet I remain in the search for a better definition. Nothing that is currently out there totally satisfies. It is in the same category with such opaque and nebulous words without perfect definition as quality, value, freedom, reality, winning and God. 

I asked my class this morning to take two minutes to consider their own level of competitiveness. I suggested we use the standby, safe and utilitarian Borg scale, 1-10. One being without any and ten being an overflowing cup. We went about our business and 45 minutes later I asked again. And with comparison to the first estimate. Taking the next step I then asked of my fearless morning spinners, if they noticed any change in their current performance as a result of this introspective personal analysis. They all did. It seemed that the mere mention of the possibility that by addressing this issue might add to their performance, or at the very least lesson the suffering incurred during its execution, had a measurable positive effect. Somewhere Doctor Borg is smiling. 

A competitor, one with a higher than average athletic character quotient, ACQ, knows this. She is in constant communication with her ACQ, asking the questions that provide enhanced physical response on demand, HOW AM I DOING? IS THIS MY BEST? HOW CLEAN IS MY EFFORT? AM I IN A DYNAMIC FLOW STATE? And perhaps most importantly, IF NOT, WHY NOT?

It is not so much that the person with a low ACQ doesn’t ask these challenging questions it is more that they never have experimented with them, they just don’t go there, and never have. Somebody once told them that bad boys and mean girls live there, and they believed it. It takes courage, vision, nerve, gumption, bravado, confidence and the willingness to fail to find the best in ourselves. It also takes hard work, big-time effort, desire, relentless revision, humility, humor and the default skill of fearless risk taking to succeed. 

A high ACQ is not for everybody. Not suitable for every body. There is a price to pay and sometimes it hurts. 

Those in pursuit of a higher ACQ will, sooner or later, have to look this issue square in the eye. Your level of competitiveness could possibly be the one thing that you can change today to impact the trajectory of your progress. And that means wherever you happen to find yourself on the physical fitness timeline, here, today, the first day of Spring. 

This is not about you beating someone else in a footrace, crushing your rivals or bullying your way to a monopoly. It is about becoming the best you you can imagine. It is you versus you. Game on. 

Up your ACQ. Compete. 

We'll Go Deeper Tomorrow

“Your competition is not other people but the time you kill, the ill will you create, the knowledge you neglect to learn, the connections you fail to build, the health you sacrifice along the path, your inability to generate ideas, the people around you who don’t support and love your efforts, and whatever god you curse for your bad luck.” – James Altucher

“The only thing that will redeem mankind is cooperation.” – Bertrand Russell.  

"Because when you change the way you look things, the things that you look at change". Wayne Dyer.

It was not the first time I have run into this brick wall. Nor, I fear,  will it be the last. As long as I can remember, or more accurately 1962, I can recall wondering about why I felt so positive about certain things, and ambivalent over others. True I didn’t know the full definition of the word ambivalent when I was ten, so let’s use the jargon I was familiar with at that time and just say I was confused. 

The basic confusion over why I felt so drawn to sports and frustrated by math. Why I liked girls and not spelling. And very precisely, why I loved music but not homework. 

This trend continued into the late 60’s when I was a high school baseball star and very average student. Being the difficult times that they were I was also caught up in the immoral war in Southeast Asia, Watergate, Woodstock, my beautiful cheerleader girlfriend, surfing, rock ’n roll and the ’65 Mustang that Grandma gave me for making it through four years of Catholic school with a diploma. There were drugs, booze and parties every weekend to tempt even the most dedicated among us. Trouble was a constant companion. 

It was a few years later, my baseball career prematurely ended by a series of bad decisions, that the issue became something to consider, review and perhaps even make a personal course correction. 

The issue was competition. 

No longer being a slave to its demands, the going philosophical approach was that sustainability and cooperation was the enlightened and correct course. This made sense to me and I gratefully accepted the cosmic input, shouldered my backpack and headed down the dusty road. In search for whatever. I smiled a lot more, marveled at sunsets and decided to travel the world. Keroac, Allan Watts, Kesey and Lao Tsu as traveling companions. 

Competition was dead. I was here to see, experience, interact, grow and sing. The only enemy was fear. 

In 1974 I left LA in a 1948 Chevy 3/4 ton pickup carrying a wood and metal camper shell on its back that I had lovingly handcrafted. Me, my German Shepard Cassady, my cheap flattop acoustic guitar and my Grateful Dead songbook pointed ‘Henry’ towards Spokane, WA., destination the Worlds Fair. 

Cassady and I made it, Henry did not. 

Let’s fast forward. In whirl-wind, bullet-point, jump-cuts from Spokane, Brewster, Carlton, Fountain Valley, Bainbridge, Diego Garcia, Venice, France, Germany, Canary Islands, Hawaii, the UK, Australia, Canada and Mexico, Virgin Islands, the Eagle Tree RV park, to here. Today. 

Many miles and many smiles. Along with some headaches and heartbreaks. 

Between those geographic dots, overseas assignments, changes in latitudes, downsizing and upgrading, there came a moment when a long dormant emotional memory resurfaced. 

I missed being a competitor. I missed the struggle, the work, the ethos, the failure and the subsequent redemption. I missed the grind, the soreness, the camaraderie, the moments of brilliance immediately following what seemed to be a humiliating end to civilization. I loved flying high in April and shot down in May. Mostly it seemed to me because that hinted at June through March being a relentless march back to flying high come spring. There was hope. There was a dream. A goal, a victory just over this horizon. I loved the risk. The challenge. The game. My part in something larger than my puny, pitiful self. It seemed to ask only one thing of me; my best. Not some estimate or partial charade, but the absolute apex of my combined effort, attitude, ability, presence, leadership and creative potential to improvise under duress. And, perhaps most importantly, my ability to inspire those same attributes in others. 

God almighty, why had I denied this hard-wired trait in my personality for so long? 

And following, what do I do with it now?

Stay tuned. We’ll go deeper tomorrow.

Happiness Theory

"A calm and modest life brings more happiness than the pursuit of success combined with constant restlessness,“ wrote the physicist Albert Einstein. 

Ran into this one yesterday. Decided that it was worthy of inclusion into the class monologue this morning. I took some liberties with his wise words and for the sake of continuity suggested a few of my own. Please remember that our group consists primarily of highly successful, educated, outstanding members of the community, so when I riff on Einstein it is out of respect and awe, not because I think that I have better insights to relativity or physics. I will argue with Ryand, challenge Milton and question John Stewart Mill, but Albert? No way. Maybe when I understand the velocity of twice the speed of light, I might. All this is to illustrate the delicate balancing act necessary to keep from falling from the tightrope I walk with this group. They are smart. They live in beautiful waterfront homes on an exclusive gem of an island  in Puget Sound. They drive nice cars. They have put bright and motivated kids through some of the most notable institutions of higher leaning in the world. They have made a difference. Who am I to tell them about happiness? 

Wanting nothing but their health and fitness moved in the direction of ‘better’, I use the words simplicity, harmonic balance and peaceful in augmentation to those suggested by one of the brightest minds of our species. I feel the words could possibly suit our specific group in a way that calm and modest might not. Remember that this is a spin class cleverly disguised as a science lab. We test and we train. 

There is the distinct possibility that modest is synonymous with humble and calm with peaceful. You can add your interpretation. The tricky passage is the second part. This, as might be obvious, due to the fact that the very way prescribed as a path to happiness is exactly the one many in our group, and our society, have traversed to get where they are today: Hard work, the pursuit of success and its relentless supporting activities. But perhaps you have heard about what happened to Johnny with an all work and no play routine?

One of the tools we now use to gauge positive trending of the trajectory of our efforts is something we call ACQ. Athletic Character Quotient. And while nowhere near as sexy as Energy equals matter and the speed of light squared, it does provide the utility of measurement required to address the ever changing results of our testing and training. It also has the inherent element of awareness attached, as one’s empirical estimation of real-time quality of effort is addressed simultaneously. We measure this on the Borg scale of 1-10, 1 being an effort totally devoid of focus, output or enthusiasm, and 10 being the best of the best, aces, flags flapping in the breeze of appreciation and gratitude. For we know that perfection is a pipe dream, the impossible dream, the realm of the dreamer. We seek therefore perfect effort. And, as Einstein might have appreciated, this is our relativistic manifesto. 

For the fact that, as illustrated above, while one may possess all the accoutrements of success, he or she may feel something is missing. That 'thing' is usually one of three, and these are the three we worked on this morning: Health, inner peace and happiness. If one is deficient in any of those areas, one will sooner or later have to address them. 

Ask yourself right now what you would barter for these. Is a new car of equal value to your good health? What is the accessed taxable value of your piece of mind? And how does your portfolio of happiness match up with your net worth? 

It has been suggested by many, and I humbly submit my inclusion to their ranks, that Einstein’s most important work was not about the physics of relativity, but in regard to happiness theory. 

Seek perfect effort and the atoms will take care of themselves (at any rate of speed). 

Happy St. Pats

The concept of cross-training is a sound one. Using different muscle groups in a rotation of semi-organized design. In long course triathlon we have been taking pages from this book for decades. Swim - bike - run -rest - repeat, has worked exceptionally well from athletes ranging in talent from Mark Allen to, well, myself. I got a rather rude re-introduction this morning. 

A couple of very good friends, gifted and dedicated mountain bike racers, and long-time members of the PowerBarn, volunteered to act as trail guides as I wanted to shoot some off-road video of the course that will be used for an upcoming local race. 

That was about all it took and we were meeting in the parking area, fitting my a bike and filling water bottles. Then we are off.

Amongst immediately I feel tension in both abductors, stress on my lower back and the ever present pain in my left elbow. Going to be a long morning I hear myself whine.  Moving from the traditional roadie position into the more compact and technically demanding geometry of the high-end fully-shocked bike I was riding for the first time, added to my work load as I was riding with fore and aft Go-Pros. Not only must I keep up with the pack but maintain a steady, smooth and dynamic position as well. There were moments, steep quick climbs, over roots and rocks, twisting into and out of radical banks, whizzing past scrub pines and the walls of single-track Scotch-broom, Oregon Grape and Cedar stands, that I needed to make critical real-time decisions, what is the primary directive here? Life, limb, good video, nice ride or something that might border on the insane. 

I went down once. Took a bad tack on a well-exposed alder root and (I think) locked up the front disc in emergency response. Worse was my climbing legs. One might think that a long consistent winter of indoor training would put me on a decent rung of the power to weight ladder, but this was pathetic. Thank God for the gearing ratio that allowed avoidance from the humiliating experience known to novices as walking it up. 

We shall soon see exactly what the impact of two hours on the trails will be on my poor motor, to mention nothing of its connective ligaments, tendons, rods and rotors. Probably within five minutes of waking in the morning I suspect. I might be wrecked. I still have work to do today, so the video download will have to wait as well. I hope we captured some decent media.

Decent enough to maybe try it again next week. After all there were moments, however few, of the type of pure, woohoo inducing flow of which all mud-heads and gear-grinders swear is more fun than almost anything this side of a class one roller-coaster.

I’ll let ya know tomorrow. Happy St.Pats. 

Start to Finish

Life unfolds. That is the image I take, and hold. There is something quite magical in it. It speaks to me in a way that is clear, harmonious and in line with my values and understandings. Sure there are the rare moments of illumination, fireworks bursting in air, insights suddenly revealed, lotteries won, but for most of us I think the idea that our lives unfold as knowledge, experience and compassion grows, on a regular trajectory over time, is the accepted ideology. At least the most prevalent one anyway. 

We then have the opportunity to assist the process in order to, forgive me, get there quicker. “There” being that non geographic yet specific place where freedom rings and happiness sings about the bounty that meaning and purpose bring. There are things I want to know. Things I want to do. Places and people I want to meet and greet. Just yesterday I lamented the frustrating reality that my Photoshop skills were insufficient to transpose an idea into an instantly recognizable, awe inspiring graphic. I wasted three hours trying to fit the square peg of the idea into the round hole of a totally inadequate (for this job) utility. Finally completely exasperated, frustrated and irritated, I closed the program without saving and went for a run. I could see it but I could not move it to another medium. Like hearing a song in your head but the piano keys are in conspiracy mode when you sit to play. I should know more by now. I should have complete mastery of the tools necessary to juxtapose any creative idea into:

A graphic, logo or illustration.

A song, score or recording.

An essay, production piece, sales pitch.

A video, commercial, spot, doc. 

Further down that creative stream, life unfolding at my behest, I SHOULD HAVE THE TIME, ENERGY, MOTIVATION AND INSPIRATION TO SEE IT THROUGH FROM INCEPTION TO COMPLETION. 

Is that asking too much? 

It isn’t. True, it is asking a lot, BUT…..In order to respect the integrity of MY PATH, of MY LIFE unfolding in its own time, and proper place, I need to be simultaneously both patient and in flow. Move with the energies that propel. Pick up the pace and attach a relaxed sense of urgency. Lean more. Be aware of the changes ballistically seeking their targets at frightening speeds all around me. 

Write it down. Color it. Take its picture. Draw an outline. Write an outline. Develop a theme. Move in the direction of the purest prism. Trust your inner artist. Shoot, edit, render. Develop more design. Design more magic. Use the plectrum. Augment the seventh. Diet AND exercise. 

Write the script.

Edit the dialogue. 

Score the action. 

Love your characters.

Invent a foil. 

Nail the chase scene.

Shoot the opening sequence.

Dream in color.

Throw the monkey wrench. 

Twist the plot until it’s dry. 

Grow your character.

Know the ending. 

Roll the credits.

Fade to black. 

Let your creation, like your life, unfold. 

To finish one must start. 

A Thousand Transitions

Dylan might have called it a simple twist of fate. Dan James, the legendary head football coach of the Washington Huskies once claimed the number to be three. Many say, poetically, that it is as simple as being in the right place at the right time. Others will tell you that the only kind of luck is bad luck. We used to have a pithy little adage about the sun not shining on the same dog's ass all the time. Then there is the one about the broken clock still being right twice every day. 

As we ponder the deeper cosmic significance of this existential philosophical predicament in which we find ourselves, trying our best to attach meaning to an otherwise unruly world hell-bent on running predominantly on a chaos theory that has its genesis around the time of something we call the Big Bang, complexities develop and questions arise. 

No wonder we are so confused. Most of us, after earnest attempts to ‘see’ the meaning in all this, default into political, religious or sociological surrender. We pledge allegiance to an ideology that demands identification by the color of our hats, unquestioningly give our souls to a bishop, Rabi, yogi or other charlatan, or fall in with a sect, club, group, gang or goon squad as a way of belonging to something potentially greater than ourselves. Let’s face it -  the only thing that separates us from sheep is our ability to accessorize. A situation I personally find totally flocked up. 

Which returns us to the open, asking, innocently, how did we get the flock here? A question that has fascinated me since I first noticed the difference between myself and my playmates in the sandbox. Is it choice, karma, predestination, luck, photosynthesis, evolution, genetic mutations, DNA or an alien conspiracy? Why do babies get run over by trucks? Why do we hate those that are not our clones? Who (the flock) invented greed and power, deception and deceit? Why do we tax the poor to aid the rich? How did we ever manage to convince ourselves that killing people for monopolistic global corporations was a patriotic chore? Why do we continue to gerrymander, discriminate, oppress, lie, steal and cheat when all the aforementioned clerics cite their deities as specifically forbidding it? Is it possible that we, the collective us, are the biggest fools to ever hit the big time, and all by just acting naturally? What fools we mortals be. 

The simple twist of fate, Coach James’ calculation that in an entire college football game there are just three plays that turn the tide for or against, or the suggestion that one might wish for luck instead of skill, leads me to wonder about my choices…from here on out. Does every one really count? 

Yesterday we talked about the power of forgiveness, looking upon your past, our errors of omission and commission, with peace. Being gentle with the assessment of your crimes, as well as their resulting punishments and penances. Do the crime and serve the time. But please do not carry the baggage any further than necessary or any longer that the time it takes to honestly chant a mea-culpa. Let it go, and move along to the next challenge, you know, like the one happening right flocking now. 

Breathe deeply. Forgive yourself. Exhale peace. And then do what must be done with a revised sense of harmony and balance. You are part of this. All of it. Make a solid contribution. It is all connected. You to Dylan, to James, to Lenin, and to the Kennedys. Flow with it. Sing your song. Smile on your brother. Laugh. Life is hysterical stuff and all you can do is join in the universal joke. 

“Alexander Rostov was neither scientist nor sage; but at the age of sixty-four he was wise enough to know that life does not proceed by leaps and bounds. It unfolds. At any given moment, it is the manifestation of a thousand transitions.” - Amor Towles, A Gentleman in Moscow.

Yes, sir

“But there is”, I say, somewhat exasperated. 

“There are thousands, maybe millions of references on the very issues which confront you. You have the option of seeking them out, judging their relative merits, matching their experiences with those of your own and thereby, as a result of this effort on your part, advance the holistic acumen of the ever-changing, growing, living and breathing, work of art that you call yourself.” 

I get a blank look in response, augmentation of insult speeding towards injury. Like an airman getting chewed out over something seemingly petty and unimportant. 

“That fucking hurt.”

“You still cling to outdated thoughts about the truth being easy? You feel that all of this you should already know and have the sensitivity, wisdom and courage to execute perfect responses on demand?” 

“You don’t have to rub it in may face, I know I have made some mistakes.”

“I am only ‘rubbing’ the options of growth, of continual improvement, the lessons of learning from our mistakes, taking those lessons and moving on, leaving the guilt, emotion, embarrassment and humiliation behind. Otherwise you are doomed to repeat them….on and on and on, eventually leading you to the gloriously magnificent day when you fess up, face off and look deep into the eyes of the demon that currently pulls the strings of your emotional stasis like a puppeteer.” 

“But it hurts, this is painful, I feel like a total loser with nowhere to go and nothing positive or constructive to do. Everything is bleak and frustratingly difficult. I want it to stop.” 

“Then stop it.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“It is. It is also the hardest thing you will ever ask of yourself to do. Pick one.” 

“Pick one, what?”

“Choose to stay in your self imposed hell and pile on guilt, with fear and helplessness as penance for your sins, stay in the downward spiral that is about to crash and burn into flames, but first load up with toxins that numb and desensitize your awareness, or….”

“What?”

“Choose to accept the facts of the past as reality, forgive them, and start this day, THIS VERY INSTANT, in peaceful recognition of your human nature, taking the first step towards salvation. Your salvation. Open your chute. Breathe deep, forgive those you (erroneously) feel have harmed you, liberally sprinkle a C5 load of gratitude to your actions and more forward with kindness, awareness and joy.”

“All that might be above my pay grade.”

“Two ways to find out, basic airman.”

I finish brushing my teeth, take one last look in the mirror, and snap a crisp salute.

“Yes, sir.”

Rock On

Nursing a sore left hip, resulting, unofficially, from our nooner 5K and the subsequent 2x20 set last night in the Barn, we are facing the intimidation of our second week of Super Eights at the Club. We do this at 0530 in order to offer a high-intensity, turbo-charged cardio session before the days commute and labor force opening bell. Today I am struggling. My power is way down as indicated by both wattage and heart rate, but even at 85% of max I can feel the value. If I can keep my focus, give the now its deserving respect and spin my way somewhere closer to the zone, it will be OK. This is one of those days when music REALLY helps.

I am searching for the median between an uptempo downbeat in a clumsy attempt to dance on the pedals. Having been here many times in the past I know the importance of latching onto the vibration and relaxing into whatever groove the artist, or artists, have presented for our consideration. I am always drawn first and foremost to the rhythm section, bass and drums. Establish a groove and you have me by the second measure. Everything after that is gravy. And please don’t get me wrong, there are many types, flavors and combinations of this delicious topping, but an arpeggio, solo, or even a  basic melody always rests, for me, atop the powerful shoulders of the one-two punch of the rhythm section. I hear it loud and clear with no mud in the middle. It is crisp, clean and directly targeting my heart and soul. I find the frequency and tap out a complimentary counter, a fill of sorts, double-time but controlled. No we got something I think, and offer the experience as one the class might emulate. 

Along with the foot kick now comes an interesting opportunity to augment this flowing movement with a building left-side counter. This suggests to me that in order to accomplish this advanced move I must do two things, now, in real time, and without missing a proverbial beat. One is to allow myself the freedom of experimentation, to improvise and to explore. Who is to say that I cannot or should not try to fit another four beats into the established time signature? This is, after all the basis of jazz. Do the thing that few dare to do, or flame out in the attempt (keeping the fail-safe, bold and fearless ‘treatment’ or ‘variation’ option in play - because well all know that mistakes will be made - but for the virtuoso a mistake made with attitude is a treatment while the mistake without a trace of ‘tude is simply a mistake.)

The harmonic merging of exercise and music has long been known to stimulate participation and improve enjoyment of what could otherwise be a dull and boring routine. No wonder so many of us lose interest so quick. But add some Rock ’n Roll, Texas Blues, Southern Rock or Motown and everything changes. And most of the time for the better. I have tried classical; Rossini, Jazz; Caravans, World; Afro-Celts and enough Pop to fill a juke-box, but I will forever come back to classic rock as the go-to elixir. There I find magic. I appreciate it as must as I respect the courage and skill of the folks who braved the trail once considered taboo, faddish and in some cases even vulgar. 

It is all that! The second thing in this jam is, for me, to find a way to steady my focus, not think about anything but the movements I am orchestrating and the resulting buzz in my soul it creates. It is the sound of my soul. I have no space in here for doubt, fear, anger, rage, guilt or distraction. None. 

We call this practice. It is our practice. We hope to improve, to get better, and to grow from the string of consistent efforts. The combination of sound and speed, of music and the rhythm of movement, is something that is both awesomely exhilarating and amazingly valuable in our relentless march on the path of continual improvement. We know we cannot have it all at once, adaptation takes time, but we do recognize that this is a whole lot better a combination than say, a donut and 500 calorie super-sugary, creme, mocha-mint grande at that place where the green mermaid hangs. 

And let us please remember that our pre-dawn dance is one in celebration of spirit and not designed to be penance for the sins of overconsumption. Let’s keep the vibe of our spins positive!

And Rock on. 

EV Risotto

EV Risotto 

Nothing Lasts

There have been moments. Those fleeting, quasar-like flashes of insight. When time seems to slow down specifically to properly illuminate the importance of whatever sampling of eternity has snared us. These are not so much learning moments as they are teaching ones. The cosmic potential masters are letting you in on a little secret and if you are found worthy, you will be shown the light. If not - and if you’re lucky - you will get another chance. Generally speaking, my experiences with these magic moments fall into a few broad categories, the same categories we normally associate with popular culture (unfortunately). 

Sports.

Music.

Film.

Literature.

Love. 

Loss.

Awareness. 

I can vividly recall, down to the smallest detail, many moments from the history of my participation in sports. ‘Seeing the seams’ on a belt-high fastball an instant before reversing its trajectory with the unmistakable, delightful and appropriately named crack of the bat. Lightning crackles in the same powerful way. Jerry Garcia once described one of the many ethereal moments from a deep Dead exploration of tonal space as the music ‘crackling with energy’, an allegory that stayed with me for years as I listened intently on determining exactly what combinations created that special sublime condition. It wasn’t simply volume, backbeat, key or tone, it was them all. All at once. And with the support of five teammates all searching for the same magic at the same time. Crackling is good but falls way short of the true meaning of this musical search for nirvana. But those solos, the way the band rushed at full speed to the edge of the cliff and then stopped on a dime, was more of a spiritual awakening than just another three-chord progression with amps at 11. 

Same with film. Envision your favorite scene from your favorite movie and see what the review does to your current situation. Deliver a ‘You can’t handle the truth’, cry ‘Freedom’ or plead for Mr Frodo to make it one more step up the mountainside, to see what that does to the hair on the back of your neck. Absolutely Oscar worthy. 

I could go on and condense first (or last) kisses, the tragedy of losing a loved one, the moment of enlightenment as additional examples, but you get the idea. There are magic moments and there are the mundane. 

Begging the question, can we transform the mundane to the magical? 

With the simple (dynamic) and complex response suggesting that sometimes we can and sometimes we should. 

I am going to state on the record today that there are also times when we need the mundane, or even the sub-mundane in order to learn or appreciate their many lessons. We need to feel sadness in order to better appreciate joy in the same way that we need to fail as a prerequisite for eventual success. I can guarantee that should you nail a three-two slider for a walk-off two-run dinger that your three prior Ks will be quickly forgiven and forgotten. 

Taking musical risks is the natural progression from hours of scale practice. In order to ride your bike fast first you must ride your bike. We would be a doomed society if no-one ever returned to try to love again after initial rejection. How many times did Henry’s Ford stall out and need a jump? How many times has your focus dissolved into the obscurity of distraction? 

In closing today, I will state the glaringly obvious and once again offer, as any honest consultant might, your options. One is you can strive for perfection (where you are doomed by our very nature to fail) and two, dedicate your fine self to the continual improvement strategy of perfect effort. 

Perfect your effort, practice with presence and passion, and appreciate the trajectory of your growth. Every day and every way. Remember the Nothing Lasts (except here.) 

Thick slabs of chaos wrapped around fleeting moments of lucid free-range clarity, is often the blue-plate special of the day. 

Bon appétit!