Afraid of Success

"Something is wrong Jim, I'm looking at your power numbers and I've gotta tell ya, these are pro numbers. I'm glad that you finished in the top 5 but look, you can win - you should be winning. I don't know what you're doing up there, but you're not closing the deal. I know you are capable because I'm seeing the numbers. You don't need to be faster, you need to learn how to win."

Ouch. Here I was all excited that I 'placed' in a big race and my coach, whom I never met but have worked with over the phone and online for about 6 months gave me the real deal.

In split-second pulses at the finish of a race, I was making decisions about how I thought of myself and what I was comfortable with. I was not comfortable winning.

Craig Griffin, my coach, insisted that I win. And he showed me that I was good enough and deserving. Over the next 2 years, every time the finish line got closer, I amped up my mental focus to places I've never been. I would say to myself, I'm here! I'm here! I friggin deserve this. And then, every move was intense, split-second-made and fierce.

I was taking it. I was fighting. Not physically. Mentally. Once I gave myself permission to feel I deserved to win, it felt like I was not just trying to win that race that day, but making up for every race, and every situation in life, that I did not win.

Those moments crystallized in my brain. As I think back to those races over the next 2 years, I remember shutting down extraneous factors and hyper-focusing on where my position was, what gear I was in, where my competitors were and what I needed to do to win. All of it was happening at high race speeds with dozens and sometimes hundreds of bikes cornering deeply into sharp turns before the final straight-away.

So what right? Speedy Jim - whoohoo. Autograph anyone?

But here's the thing: those experiences, and my coach's ability to share his insight with me - in a way that I could handle - changed my life. I was 31 years old at the time. I didn't go on to be a great cyclist. I went on to be a husband, daddy and successful entrepreneur.

I never grew up understanding how to win - it wasn't in the family archives, and that fact made it inherently uncomfortable to succeed. No road map. It was easier - familiar actually - to 'struggle' and be a survivor.

I don't want to survive anymore. I want to live, and live large.

I Mean.... Do Not Exercise for Exercise Sake

Seems I confused some people from my 'Do Not Exercise' blog, so to clarify:

Do not exercise for exercise sake, do it as a means to get out and live a more active lifestyle. Exercise if you can't get outside. Exercise if you're rehabbing an injury or weakness. Exercise if you're already highly motivated and want to get bigger, faster, stronger.

But please don't punish yourself and feel guilty over not exercising. Guilt is counter-productive. And to those people that feel guilt, read the original blog.

Do Not Exercise

For anyone wanting to be fit and free I urge you to NOT exercise. Dance, run, PLAY, ride, row, swim. Move mountains, climb trees, shovel snow, chop wood. Sweat. Sweat in clothes that are not workout clothes. Get out in the elements. Suffer a little bit. But drink lots of water. And grapes, blueberries, rye, guava.

Do not exercise. Do not be a slave to yourself. Just move around. And do it with other people. But don't talk to them. Just be. Move with them. At 150 beats per minute. Communicate that way. It's incredible.

Where I Can Find Me & You Can Find You

I slip on my white italian sidi cycling shoes. They fit perfectly. Tight without being tight. I clip into my bike, I am no longer me and my bike is no longer it. Every effort applied results in one forward movement. Rise from the saddle, cat-like and pounce with speed. I feel comfortable here. Climb mountains, cross desert.

I can relax.

Heart rate climbs, breathing accelerates, and here I am comfortable. This is the place where I can be me. Not a rush, that's a feeling of experiencing something new. This is not new. This is familiar and comfortable.

It's a frequency where I can communicate on all levels. I can reach you here. I can reach me here. I can see brightly. And I can feel everything and be afraid of nothing. Not invincibility. Comfort with my humanity.

God, whoever or whatever that may be, provided me with a heart and I primed it to pump powerfully, and slowly. I did that. My legs - agile sticks as a child are now powerful workhorses that have taken me tens of thousands of miles.

On the road or in the boat, I've met people that I will never forget but that I will never see again. That is living and at its best.

Ever look square into the eyes of an athlete who is at speed, sweating and physically hurting? Its a pure moment of someone being as alive as can be. Challenge that person's spirit by surging ahead of them. I've been here many times, some won, many lost.

Outside My Comfort Zone

Rivanna Reservoir, University of Virginia, October 1st, 1992

Rowing duels are rare. Usually crews will compete in fleets of 6-8 boats at a time. But once a year, my crew would take on UVA's crew and this year it would be on their course. It was a quiet reservoir. No spectators; no shore to have them. It was early fall, the leaves were only beginning to change.

When the gun sounded, we pried into our first ten strokes. The UVA crew was rowing higher than us and they immediately gained a 2 seat lead within those first ten strokes. Joe was our stroke, the newest member of our team, one we have not yet really gotten to know.

Had I known Joe would raise the stroke rating to a 48 and demand that we stay there, I probably would have unlocked my oar and dove into the reservoir because I did not think that pace was sustainable. But, having no choice if we were to stay with the big and powerful UVA crew, Joe kept us high.

I remember cursing Joe halfway through the race, accusing him of inexperience for rowing this high - we never settled! We have to settle you ass! We're going to blow up!

UVA hung with us but I could here there coxswain growing more frantic and demanding toward her crew. They were beginning to falter, which gave us new life, and we began to surge.

"Okay Joe, lock us down. Let's settle. Let's bring this down."

He never did. He kept it high and I, along with my crew, felt like our lungs were going to explode. I had already emptied my tank, or so I thought.

Funny how your body has reserve of which you are not aware. Survival reserve.

2000 meters later, we finished in the lead with an open water advantage and broke UVA's course record. Once we recovered in the boat, UVA floated over to us so we could lock oars, shake hands and claim their jerseys. My UVA counterpart was 6'4" with no lank about him. I could not believe I out-rowed this guy.

I took his sweaty jersey that he surrendered in sportsmanlike fashion and thanked him for the race. On the dock, I thanked Joe with a slight grin and smirk on my face.

Who was this guy that handled me like a horse and demanded I go faster than I was accustomed?

Every now and then, we should all surrender control to what we think we know and let someone else guide us. The outcome could take you to a good place.

36

A relatively young age, but one of massive transition. The middle of the decade of leaving your youth and entering the 'time' you vaguely knew was coming.

I've always been this hyper-focused athlete and now I feel confused. I still have this itch everyday to start racing again, or jumping, even though I know my peak is past. Could I get back there? Well, sure, I think so. But for how long and under what cost? And wouldn't that be a selfish path given the two little munchkins I have running around?

It's their time. Two little ripe kiddies with energy that requires no premeditated thought to unleash. They just...go. Me? I have to have a conversation with myself first before I fire up my engines.

So what's the motivation now if not to win? To look good? That's more about diet for me, and I've never been too good about 'working out' without that competitive element anyway.

I'm itching so badly to open up a studio. One that I, myself, would workout in. I'd invite all of my friends and colleagues to join me for workouts. I NEED to share my experience and knowledge with other people. I want to teach those that REALLY want to amp it up and get fit. It's so hard to do online - no human touch.

I think that's it. I'll be that awesome 40 something year old Dad that's in terrific shape, goes cycling with his buddies on the weekends and occasionally does a Triathlon. Maybe my kids will come by to 'find Dad' and breathe in what I do. Maybe other Dads will walk in and want to get in shape - really want to get in shape. I would love that.

No feeling is greater than the feeling of watching a person's life change as they find their fit selves. Good to know I have those opportunities in front of me, in the not-so-distant future.

Don't Exercise To Be Healthy

I'd be lying if I told you that I exercise to stay healthy. I am just lucky that that was a side benefit. I think a lot of people that meet me feel like they need to put on a healthy front when they're around me. Look - the reality is that, for some reason, I chose to go running at 10:00 on a Friday night when I was a teenager. I had energy and frustration to release. It was an itch to move, so I scratched it. I wasn't consciously choosing to 'be healthy.' Please - does any teenager do that?

I never stopped scratching that itch. There is something special about existing in that 'place' when running, rowing, riding or swimming. It's as close to God as I ever felt. And the feeling afterward, the next day and so on? Awesome. Legs feel strong, abs are tight and you can... breathe...deeply. And that is what kept me running. It was the feeling of having physical mastery in the world I lived in and mental clarity to think my way through it.

So let me say it here - exercise to find that place, to soul-search, to learn more about yourself and negotiate your way through life. Move your body, and use it in every way you can. When it breaks - get it fixed. Don't use your bodies' breaking down as an excuse to get old. Get it fixed.

The other side of this is the reality that we are aging; our bodies will slow down and to fight that is denying the reality of your humanity. Don't fight aging; age gracefully.

Technology. Pharmaceuticals. Processed foods. Progress? I'm not so sure. It's a human condition, especially among Americans, to believe that we are advanced compared to our ancestors. But I look around and I see primitive conditions. I see a culture that lived its glory years. Sedentary people. Very overweight people. People buried underneath their excess. That saddens me, because I would love to meet the people hidden underneath years of neglect. The world needs those people.

Let's get back to basics. Don't eat egg-whites - eat the darn yoke. Skip the energy bar and break a loaf of bread. Bottom-up a tall glass of lemonade, spill it down your chest. Run your hands through your hair and open your eyes to the sky. Go run, or jog or walk. Can't? Knees hurt? Get them fixed. Back hurt? Why? Which part? Which muscle? Get it fixed. Do it to look good and healthy? Sure - that'll happen. But other things will happen. Things that are more powerful and effectual than you can know right now.

The Last 500 Meters

May, 1994, Dad Vails Regatta, Philadelphia

The lane official, laying belly-down on the floating wet dock, held tightly with both hands to the stern of our racing shell. Eight heavyweight men, one coxswain. We try to stay relaxed, oar blade set in water, ready to pull with all our might. Relax. 2000 meters down the Schuylkill River. Six lanes, six boats. Final Event and biggest collegiate race of our lives. Relax.

A storm-whipped cross current can wreck a smooth start; the bows of each boat struggle to keep from pointing to port side. "Bow hit it!" The coxswain yells at Scott, our bowman. "Keep hitting it Scott - keep us straight." The belly-down deckman's forearms are burning from trying to hold still a 50-foot long shell filled with 8 heavyweights pitching into the cross current.

Loudspeakers boom and echo, "Gentlemen, welcome to the final of the Dad Vails Regatta." Then urgently, the coxswains crisply shout out commands to their crews. The spectators are all at the finish line, 1500 meters down the course. I can hear them, but only as a distant white noise hum. It makes the hairs on my forearms stand and sends a cool tingle down my back.

Our instructions from Chuck, our coach, are to pull only by the command of our coxswain, Robin, and not the gun of the race official, who is located on the side of the river. "The sound of the gun shot has to travel to your ears and your pull will be delayed - Robin will watch the trigger finger - go on her command."

I sit, oar blade buried, ready to explode into my first stroke in concert with my 7 teammates. All I see are the broad muscles of Web's back in front of me; he's drawn at the catch, fingers and shoulders relaxed - but ready to explode.

"Cha!" Robin yells, and then the gunshot.

Every stroke has to be clean and all of our blades have to enter the water together. Each of us has to row as hard as we possibly can and we all must be perfectly in tune with one another. No mental lapses. Don't follow Web, the rower in front of me. BE with Web. Move with him. Explosively.

Coming into the last 500 meters of that race has stayed with me these past 14 years, and those last 500 meters are one of three experiences for me that form the spiritual foundation from which I started Agile. The other two I've written about in the past, and they are buried within the archives of this blog, but subconsciously fresh in my mind everyday.

Something released from us coming into the grandstands amidst the roar of that crowd. Our tension disappeared and the boat went faster. I am not sure where this pixie dust came from, but I picked it up just as a dog would pick up a sudden scent. One by one, this sprinkle of magic trickled through us. We were all in great pain; our chests were heaving, our leg muscles were on fire and we were fried. But we found each other through that pain. Our strokes became rhythmic and the boat seemed to lift out of the water and move with litespeed to the finish line.

The pixie dust was the spirit of our friendship built on 4 years of rowing and racing and our realization that a great time was coming to pass - in about 500 meters.