Thanks for all the Fish

As an athlete, I like to think of myself as a perpetual student. My form can always be better; I will always have more to learn about nutrition; a fresh set of eyes will always see something different in my lifts. I’ve also spent a lifetime as a teacher of movement arts: a fight director, ballroom dance instructor, and (way back in the day) swim instructor. I’ve been on both sides of this table.

As a teacher, I make frequent corrections. My students are with me to learn; what I have to show them is something they aren’t experts in. I know more than they do and I see what their bodies are doing with an outside eye. As a result, I’m in a position to note when something they are doing isn’t quite right. The more I correct their form, the more they can grow in whatever movement they are learning from me.

My coach definitely had things to say about my elbows in this front squat

My coach definitely had things to say about my elbows in this front squat

I’ve noticed a knee-jerk reaction in my students to immediately apologize for whatever they are doing wrong. “Hey, the lead on that is coming a bit too soon. You’ll want to wait until the next beat to execute it.” “Oh! Sorry!”

It breaks my heart when students do this. Mistakes are a crucial part of the learning process. When you’re doing something new, or doing something you hope to become better at, you’re inevitably going to do it wrong many many times before you finally get it right. That’s why we practice; that’s why we drill. Being a student is all about making mistakes. It’s a matter of how we react to these mistakes that determines what type of student we are, and how quickly we will excel in the given movement form.

As a result, I never apologize to my coaches when they give me notes on my form. My knees coming together in a squat or my back arching a bit too much in a deadlift are not things to be sorry for. These are elements of the learning process; inevitable foibles that are required to move forward.

So I say “thank you.” I don’t try to explain what’s going on (unless what my coach is telling me contradicts something I thought was correct); I don’t apologize for the mistake; I don’t make excuses. I simply thank my coach and try to do it better next time.

Saying “thank you” also communicates to my coach that I am listening, paying attention, and respecting their expertise. It expresses the truth: that I am grateful for the help and for their expert eye, as well as their devotion to helping me get better at whatever it is I’m doing.

Don’t get me wrong; there are some mistakes that warrant an apology. Any mistake in which you are actually at fault for something will want to be accompanied by “I’m sorry.” Being late to class, stepping on someone’s toe, or accidentally grabbing someone else’s jump rope from the equipment stack (for example) are all moments where an apology is more than appropriate. The inevitable by-products of the learning process in a physical discipline? Not one of these moments.

So try it; see what happens. Don’t apologize for mistakes that only effect you. Learn from them, grow from them, and see what they can spring-board you into.

Trifecta

This weekend, I finished the race that completed my Spartan Trifecta.

For those not in the know, the Trifecta is a series offered by the fine folks at Spartan. They

post-race beer with my medals

post-race beer with my medals

run three basic race lengths: the Sprint (3-5 miles with obstacles); the Super (6-8 miles with obstacles) and the Beast (10+ miles with obstacles). When you complete each race, you are given a finisher’s medal and a wedge of a second medal; one third of the Trifecta medal. To complete your Trifecta, you must complete one race of each type within one calendar year.

I ran my first Spartan race in 2014. It was a Sprint at Mohegan Sun (therefore a “stadium Sprint” and slightly less tough than your standard issue Sprint). I prepared hard for it. This race was the impetus to finally begin and finish my couch to 5K program. I cross-trained with an aerial acrobatic course to build strength. I thought I was ready.

Turns out, I pretty much was. I finished with plenty of gas in the tank and really excited to try it again. One of my compatriots had caught a massive cramp midway through the race, causing us to slow down dramatically. I was frustrated that I couldn’t perform to what I knew was my fullest, and really eager to try again and see where my limits actually were. At that point, I thought I might someday have a Super in me. I never thought I could complete the Beast.

By 2015, I had hit a point where I was flirting with the idea of a Trifecta. I was running regularly, I was set to complete my first half marathon midway through the season, and I was in pretty decent shape. I was still nervous about the Beast, and an injury sustained over the winter of 2015 (fractured clavicle) pretty much ruled out intense upper body work for the season. I had to rehab my shoulder before I could even consider something so grueling as training for the Beast. Trifecta 2015 was out; but I still completed a Sprint and a Super. The Super was grueling; 6 and change miles in driving rain up and down a ski slope. The mud was ankle deep over about 70% of the course. Obstacles were closed or modified due to safety issues. I hit the finish line of that race without much left, and was pretty glad I had made the choice not to push for Trifecta.

By November of 2015, I was re-examining my fitness goals. I had completed 4 half marathons between May and November of that year, and showed no sign in slowing down. I had discovered Crossfit and was attending classes regularly, seeing massive improvements in strength and general athletic ability. I was trying to figure out what the next step was.

It was pretty obvious at the time; it made me a little nervous, but I was reasonably sure that I was finally in good enough shape to begin training (and that I had the proper support to do so). I decided that 2016 was going to be Trifecta year.

Podium Finishing pose from my Beast

Podium Finishing pose from my Beast

I trained for my Beast all winter, and ran it in New Jersey on April 30th. It was grueling. 14 miles (the longest I had traveled in one clip to that date); up and down a ski slope. I hit the finish line mentally and physically exhausted. To make matters worse, I had chosen to run it alone. I have a very small number of fitness friends; and of those most are runners. There wasn’t really anyone who was crazy enough to do it with me; so I did it myself. It took me eight hours to complete, but I came off the mountain with the utmost certainty that if I could handle this, I could handle pretty much anything.

Since I completed the Beast first, the Super and Sprint were not really taxing at all mentally. My Sprint was over Father’s day weekend and I was set to run it with my fiancée, my sister, and my dad. We had run this race the year before and my dad had broken his ankle at about mile 2. We all rushed off the course to get him to the hospital and DNFed (my only DNF to date). As a result, my dad had a vendetta with the mountain. We arrived to find out that it was going to be a long one; 5.8 miles; almost a Super. Once again at about mile 2, tragedy struck; my fiancée twisted his ankle coming down off the 7-foot wall. When he

The whole gang at my Sprint

The whole gang at my Sprint

realized he wouldn’t be able to finish the race, he encouraged us to go on ahead. Since we were pretty sure that this wasn’t going to be a hospital trip, we did. My dad was a champ and finished strong; successfully beating that mountain into submission.

My Super was out in Barre, Massachusetts. This was a completely different race from any Spartan I’ve run before. I’m used to these courses being on ski slopes – hilly to the extreme. The course in Barre is on a dairy farm; it’s flat. The biggest ground hazard is from pockmarks in the field that can easily be ankle twisters if you’re not careful. Due to the aforementioned ankle injury, my fiancée couldn’t run this one; so we took it slow and walked. I’m not going to say that any Spartan race is “easy,” but compared to others I have run this one was a breeze. For that, the weather was against us. It was forecast to be 90 degrees with a heat advisory, and since the course is basically just running through fields there was minimal shade. Luckily, it didn’t quite get that hot; it was only around 82 (“only” being relative here).

Finisher's pose at my Super; sensing a theme here?

Finisher’s pose at my Super; sensing a theme here?

Finishing this series means the accumulation of my first ever fitness “super goal.” It’s the first thing I’ve found that I once though “I could never do that” and then proved myself wrong. It’s the most challenging physical thing I’ve ever done, and the second most challenging thing I’ve ever done (the first being getting my Ph.D.). I’m really proud of it, and I will probably be blogging more about it in the weeks to come because there’s a lot I’d love to gush about (and a lot I think would be helpful to other Spartans). But for now, I’m going to sign off and drink some more water or roll out my lats or something. Until next time!

Sandbagging Myself

This post is a cautionary tale. A tale whose moral is simple: always look carefully at your equipment BEFORE you hit the trails.

As I’ve previously mentioned, my coach has me doing sandbag hill repeats on Thursdays. I’m supposed to grab a 35 lb sandbag, throw it over my shoulders, and run up and down a nearby trail that basically consists of a mondo uphill for about 45 minutes. Honestly, this is one of my favorite workouts of the week. It gets me outside, the trail is really pretty and

As you can tell by this picture (taken post workout), I was none too pleased about the whole sandbag thing....

As you can tell by this picture (taken post workout), I was none too pleased about the whole sandbag thing….

has a lot of nature (chipmunks! Squirrels! Even the occasional snake!), and the duration of the workout is just about perfect. 45 minutes is long enough to feel like I’m going to die without feeling like it’s going to be interminable. It probably helps that this workout spikes my heart rate like (seriously) nothing else; so I burn a WHOLE BUNCH of calories which means I get to eat everything that’s not nailed down when I get home. It’s pretty much a win for all involved.

So I’ve been at my current box for about a year now. Some equipment, like the barbells, we use pretty much daily. Other stuff, like the sandbags, we almost never touch. As a result, there’s still plenty to learn about this equipment. Like, as I learned yesterday (the hard way), the sandbags come in DIFFERENT WEIGHTS! They all look exactly the same, but we have 35, 45, and even 50 pound sand bags that live in the same pile and are nearly identical.

On Thursdays, I swing by the gym to pick up my sandbag, throw it in my trunk, then drive out to my trail. Yesterday, I was having a hard time getting the sandbag off the ground (you’re supposed to clean it and throw it over your head so it lands on your shoulders). I was thinking that I was just having an off morning. You know how some mornings the bar just feels heavy because you’re tired/caffeine hasn’t kicked in yet/you’re sore from yesterday/whatever? I mean, as far as I knew there was no reason for this to be any more difficult than usual. So I sucked it up and told myself I was being silly. It was just a sandbag. Like any other sandbag. Like any other sandbag that I always trained with on Thursdays.

Threw the thing in my car, got to my trail, set up all my music and sunscreen and hydration belt, and went to pick up the sandbag to head out to the trail. That’s when I saw it. The label; sticking out of the side of the bag. Taunting me because I had been too stupid not to check it before I left the box. The darn thing was 50 pounds! Not 35 pounds; 50! No wonder it had been so difficult to clean!

IMG_3451I momentarily thought about swinging back to the box to get a bag of the correct weight, but the morning was already dragging on, it was hot (and not getting any cooler), and I had appointments scheduled for the afternoon. I really had to get my workout started. So I sucked it up. I sucked it up, picked it up, and the gods be damned if I didn’t kill that workout (slowly and with fewer repeats than usual because 15 pounds is apparently ridiculously heavy if you’re doing hill repeats).

I guess you can say I had my “Spartan up” moment for the week. I definitely felt like a total badass when I was done. I can’t say that it was a pleasant experience, or one that I will voluntarily repeat, but as my coach said when I reported back to him what had happened “well now you know you can do the workout with a 50 pound bag….”. Yup. I totally can. But I will definitely be back to my 35 pounder next week.

Any fun plans for the weekend?