High-Maintenance Athletes

In all my years of coaching I have come to the conclusion that male athletes are far more high maintenance than their female counterparts. I'm not sure why this is but a historical look back shows this to be the case and overwhelmingly so. For this reason (and others), if I were ever to have a child---and it's doubtful at best since I feel this planet is crowded enough with humans---I'd pray it was a girl. Then again, if she were to have a schnozz as haunkin' as mine she'd be cursed for life, so perhaps a boy wouldn't be so bad.

But I digress.

Nearly every multisport trainer out there, with the exception of those conniving coaches who lie (and thus vie) for your bu$ine$$, will admit that there are high-maintenance athletes and there are low-maintenance athletes. And every coach I've ever spoken to regarding this confesses to favoring the low-maintenance types. After all, it makes their life a little easier and I've known few individuals who choose to make things hard on themselves (though we Ironman wackos certainly seem an exception to this rule). I myself appreciate the easy life as much as the next person, and it's for this very reason I opt not to "own" things or impregnate women, because these would both necessitate work (like, for example, the work involved in planning how to escape the country in which I'd just impregnated a woman). Work, all told, has never worked for me and truth be told, I'm getting all worked up just thinking about it.

But when it comes to coaching I actually prefer to work with high-maintenance types. "The hell," you say? It's not that I'd rather work with men just because I happen to be one (and a high-maintenance one at that), but simply because a high-maintenance athlete is, to me, an athlete who genuinely gives a sh!t how he does, assuming the maintenance has to do with performance improvement. Often times an athlete is simply being high-maintenance for the sake of it, and not really all that concerned with his performance. And indeed, this is an altogether different type of high-maintenance athlete. You see, there are two types of high-maintenance athletes: good high-maintenance types and bad high-maintenance types.

The good high-maintenance athlete asks a lot of questions and reports in more often than requested, often times when I'm in the shower or enjoying a nice spell of rapid eye movement at 3am local time…his local time. {Please understand, as per my opening sentence, that it is not without reason I use "he" in all of the above instances, though "he" can just as easily be a "she"…and I ain't referring to those fancy surgeries they can do nowadays. I've known plenty of high-maintenance women athletes and, in fact, I'm currently living with one. I better put a smiley face here so I don't get my arse kicked.} :)

But back to the good high-maintenance athlete for now. Often times I have no answer to "his" questions but it's at times like these I use my comprehensive understanding of the English language and respond with, "I don't know". Sometimes I employ my erudite adroitness to finagle my way out of answering his inquiries altogether. The ol' 'I never got that e-mail' is always an option for the good (or bad) high-maintenance type. And if neither of these two fine techniques do the job then I get by with a little help from my friends at Google. Thank God for Google! You want to know all about mitochondria? Go Google!

The good high-maintenance type, of course, asks all these questions (and plenty others) to learn…not just to be skeptical, as per the bad high-maintenance type.

The bad high-maintenance type asks questions so he has something additional to doubt. Then, as is his nature, he disagrees with any answer provided because he's enveloped in his own self-doubt. And because of this he feels the need to share this doubt and disperse it unto others. The bad high-maintenance type doubts everything, but of course he mostly just doubts himself. Never in a million years, however, would he admit to this. You see, not only does he doubt his doubt; he denies his denial.

Because of these traits the bad high-maintenance type is fairly easy to identify. But it's really only easy if you've dealt with those types in the past, as I have. You might even be one!

If you're not sure whether you're a high-maintenance type, be it good or bad, I've written the following to help you along.

Here's how to tell if you're a good, bad or neutral high-maintenance athlete…

1) If your coach hardly ever responds to your incessant inquiries you're a bad high-maintenance type.

2) If you compete as a professional there's a high probability that you're high-maintenance.

3) If you're more concerned with proving others wrong than you are with yourself, you're most likely a bad high-maintenance type. At the very least you carry those tendencies.

4) If you're more concerned about the numbers and the minutia in your training log than you are with your race results, you're not only a bad high-maintenance type, you're an idiot.

5) If you're always making adjustments to your coach's training plans, you're a bad high-maintenance type, though there is the possibility that he or she is simply a sh!tty coach.

6) If you put your trust in technology more than you do yourself, you're apt to be a bad high-maintenance type.

7) If you skip training because everything wasn't "just right" you're a bad high-maintenance type and I'd likely not coach you for long. (e.g., "the water was cold", "I didn't feel right", "This is such a hard sport", "The weather wasn't worth fighting", "Why are we doing hard sprints when triathlon is an endurance sport?", etc)

8) If you pretend not to be high-maintenance, you're high-maintenance, and probably of the bad ilk.

9) If you spend your "work" hours arguing on triathlon forums, rather than training or actually doing what you're being paid to do while at the office, you're the worst of the bad high-maintenance types and I hate you, you pitiful pathetic piece of poo.

10) If no one agrees to coach you, you're a bad high-maintenance athlete. Or an ass.


PS: If I sound livid, it's only because I am. Anger is a good motivator however, and I vow to get even with all you bad high-maintenance jerks trying to rain on my parade. Wait! Parades are stupid! As you were. And anyway, I'm not really angry: while I may be living in a world of hurt, I have that world by the balls. Bring it. Caveman up.

Weather...or Not

The weather. It is the most prevalent topic in contemporary conversation, despite the fact that modern man is only marginally affected by it. (As compared to our ancestors.) This, thanks to his ingenuity and desire to overcome "obstacles".

I personally don't view weather this way. Even when I resided in the woods for more than a half a year at a time, the weather was never an obstacle to overcome, but simply part of what I chose to "deal with" by being out there (the emotional roller-coaster of long-term self-imposed hardship was the chief component/opponent, naturally). Whatever Ma Nature did, I was perfectly fine with (despite the countless curse words flowing freely from my frothing mouth at the time!). I adapted and enjoyed what the gods presented me with, whether it was stifling heat or hurricane-force winds or thick snowfall, or all of it in the course of one day. Such is life on the Pacific Crest Trail.

As triathletes we expose ourselves to the perils of the climate (along with plenty of other risks, like texting teenage drivers) more than most people do. While so many in our society sit inside watching their screens---TV, computer, EKG, etc---we're out there, "dealing with" the "forces" of nature.

Nature, of course, is whatever we want it to be (including tele-visioning and computing and our seemingly intrinsic inclination to become obese) but in this case I am referring to the "natural world" that man has always been a part of: the wind, the rain, the snow, the trees, the dirt, the heat, the waves, the cold, the calm and the risk and emotions that come with exposing ourselves to it all; the same natural world we (believe we) see disappearing. (In this vein, and to quote George Carlin, "Nature provides a free lunch, but only if we control our appetites.")

As athletes we know most elements better than most (people). A short bike ride in Portland this time of year will teach you all you care to know about drizzle. Here in supposedly sunny Solvang ("sunny fields" in Danish) we know all about downright downpours. (Downright, I'm not so sure; they keep coming down, but they just don't seem right.) Head to Calgary or Denver and you'll learn all too well what a "chinook" is. Move to Minnesota and you'll know just how to deal with bitter cold (by accruing layers of insulating fat or by training indoors…or both!).

We expose ourselves to all this in this day and age because we like exposing our souls to ourselves. But we often look at the weather as an "obstacle", particularly those of us here in North America. One thing I saw years ago when I was competing and traveling professionally, and it still seems to hold true to this very day, is that we North American endurance athletes tend to view weather as an "obstacle" or a "force" of nature, whereas our European counterparts look at it as a challenge.

To me, this is an important distinction.

The Norwegians have a saying that there is no bad weather, only bad clothing, and they'd perhaps know better than any of us. Norway essentially means North Way and the further north one goes on our little planet, the more the weather has its way. (The same can be said toward that other pole, which may not even be north or south if you give it enough thought. I mean, really, what is north or south or up or down when you're just a ball floating through infinite amounts of space? Ours, no doubt, is a Eurocentric world). They know the weather is what it is, and will be what it's going to be, and so they get on with their lives. So too do their athletes, who choose to be athletes...and champions.

Most the rest of Europe has a similar climate---often harsh this time of year---and yet the athletes do what they've chosen to do. One little bike ride with Thomas Hellriegel during a Bavarian winter showed me just how much of a wimp I really was. (Of course, Thomas eventually wisened up, and started heading south for the winter.) "Man up," he told me, as I started whining about the frost accruing on my face.

It was an attitude he possessed and I lacked; a killer instinct to attack that which held us back, which wasn't the weather at all, but whether we had what it truly took to be our best: a drive inside that was affected by nothing the gods could challenge us with.

PS: As an athlete living in a cold climate, you must meet that challenge and slay those demons. Or move south. But even then there are no guarantees, as our weather here in sunny Solvang has proven ever since I wrote and posted my little camp idea/invite. My concern is that if I were to make this camp a go, the weather gods (and their lightning) would strike. While we could all pretend to be tough, the fact of the matter is that some of us simply are not (I am, especially when situated comfortably in a follow car with the radio, heater and cruise control each doing their thing). And since the weather may continue to turn south, I care not to extend an invite to those types, as they may conspire against those who are indeed tough. Or, worse yet, they may be mad at me for having done so.

The truth of the matter is that one must first be tough in order to tough it out (which in turn makes he or she that much tougher, though that's not the point here). It's a decision we make and it's a truth not all of us can handle. And so I shall deliberate a while longer. If it appears as though I'm being wishy-washy, it's only because the weather is too.

Over-Thinking Thought

Thought (-noun): the product of mental activity; that which one thinks.

"I think, therefore I am." -Descartes

"I think, but not often." -Veylupek

Thought is generally believed to be a good thing and it's assumed (by man, anyway) to be what separates mankind from those not-so-kind animals. Whereas animals can outrun us and outswim us, we, as humans, can kick their asses on a bicycle and can also make use of reason (in addition to high-tech gadgetry, like strain gauges) when doing so. Animals cannot reason, the noetic neophytes. Having said that, I know some very unreasonable people as well.

But before I forget my reason for this screed let me forget reason and get back to thought.

In most cases thought can be thought of as a pretty darn good thing. For example, thought brought us the space shuttle and the light bulb. (One must contemplate exactly how an idea was depicted before the advent of the light bulb; were there no ideas pre-Edison?) Thought also brought us the atomic bomb and the fly swatter, along with other notables like the anvil and cheese in a can. Thought is responsible for the microwave oven, pepper spray, the laptop computer and the toenail clipper. No doubt, thought has done a lot for mankind.

But thought also possesses a much darker side. For example, while thought has done a lot for mankind it has done very little for animal-kind, other than lay waste to one poor species after the other. What's more, thought has led many people straight behind bars (when said thoughts were acted out). Thought has also led others to suicide, which in turn put a stop to the thought process thereafter. Thought even leads the faithful to hedge their bets on a better life to come, sometime after this one, somewhere up in the sky. And thought has guided many athletes through a revolving door that has no exit. And that is the topic of today's, um, thought.

But first a little primer on the subject.

It is thought that thought is necessary to sustain life, though we've all known some pretty stupid people who seem to get along fine without any (e.g., the author of this blog). These types end up with the same fate as those who put more thought into their existence (unless the faithful are indeed right about their final destination; let's hope for the sake of the stupid that they're wrong) and so we must ponder just why we spend so much time thinking. If we can assume that thought doesn't change our fate---our final destination—we must posit: does it get us anywhere? Does it make us happier? Smarter? Wealthier? Faster?

With regards to the last one, I'm inclined to think (though not much, being me and all) that there is a thought process necessary in becoming faster, however slight it may be. But (speaking of faster) I'm getting ahead of myself, and I'll get to that in a minute. Maybe.

While thought may or may not alter our final destination (we won't know until we're dead, though it's my guess we won't even know then) it can change the quality of the life we're currently experiencing. As per the opening definition of thought, we know it (thought) to be an actual authentic action, tangible in every way, and one that can (and indeed does) lead to subsequent action. Our thinking is not just where our thoughts begin to take thought, but where our actions start to take action.

But where does the line get drawn when one drifts over from thinking and into over-thinking? What happens then? And why is it that one man's supposedly uncomplicated thought may be another man's overload?

Paying no heed to the last question for now (or even from here forth), I like to think (there I go again) that if we can just narrow things down to the fundamentals, our performance, no matter the activity, will improve as a consequence. And when performance improves we are generally thought to be happier. But as humans, and in particular as triathletes, we rarely do this. Why, I'm not so sure. Perhaps just as commonsense ain't so common, maybe it's not so simple to do things simply.

Instead of being wise we act otherwise, making a mess of the process and over-thinking what may not even require thinking in the first place. And, as they say, when we overanalyze we're more apt to suffer from analysis paralysis, assuring ourselves that body and mind won't find ever accord, raising our doubts. ("They", by the way, must be some serious thinkers themselves, as they come up with some pretty thought-provoking thoughts.) Moreover, when we overanalyze and think about everything all the time we simply cannot find that seemingly elusive peace of mind. And then, when we can't uncover it, we dutifully dig for it even deeper, reducing our chances of finding it that much more. Persistently pertinacious, we people.

Years ago someone---they, presumably---thought up what's known as the KISS principle, or 'Keep It Simple, Stupid'. By and large, I like this scheme, but for one thing: if you're stupid, maybe things aren't so simple. And so maybe, just maybe, those of us who cannot keep things simple are not just incapable of doing so but are, quite simply, just stupid. That's all I have to say about that, I think.

PS: Before I leave you I want to leave you with one last thought. If only I could think of one.

Art: the Truth Behind Science

Okay, after finishing another overly scientific training book last night, this time about training for bicycle road racing (a sport that is every bit as much artful and tactical as it is physiological), I need to do my best Little Engine That Could impression and blow off some steam. No offense to all the scientists out there, especially you AC! I value exercise science greatly, and I continue to learn from it, gently tweaking my craft as I go.

But!

Despite its meaningful and quasi-necessary search for "TRUTH", science does not---and cannot---weigh or measure the human spirit. You want truth? Here's the truth: science will never be able to take human emotion into account. This is because human spirit goes beyond boundaries. Science simply cannot measure emotion. And emotion is what runs human life. Hunger and emotion.

Unlike the insipid scientist's lab rats, human emotion cannot be poked or prodded or predicted; nor can it be squeezed or squashed. So while science seeks the truth, we, as humans, must respect that we'll never come to the whole truth but only a means in which to seek a sliver of it. After all, science seeks facts, not truth, not absolutes. Beware those in sport (even coaches) who take absolute stances; they're absolutely wrong.

Take science with a grain of salt when applying it to you (except when applying it on top of any open wounds of course, because that really stings). Use it (science, not salt) and the equipment that allows you to use it, but be sure to learn more from YOU than from it. Although you may generate numbers, you yourself are not a number. Just as the heart rate monitor cannot measure heart, a power meter cannot measure willpower. Regardless of its technological advancement or how scientifically sound it may be, NO device can ever tell you what you are capable of. Only one person can. And that individual is far more advanced than modern science. Don't ever lose sight of that. The space shuttle has nothing on you!

To reiterate from an earlier blog of mine: training is not about science. It is not about precision. There is no perfect recipe. You must 'eyeball' it. Respect the adaptive artistry. (Art, after all, is an Adaptive Response Taken.)

The athlete who knows "how" will always compete.
The athlete who knows "why" will always perform.
The athlete who doesn't worry "how" or "why" but does what's needed will always win.

Winning is NOT a science. It is an art that uses science. And there are very few artists who understand that. And those who do generally kick ass.

SlowTwitch: The Movie

Hard Swimmin': a Man & Two Women

Well I'll be damned if I didn't have to make a side-trip straight after today's swim workout. I needed to pick up a few Carlos V candy bars (since I had long ago inhaled the stash sent to me by Nestle) to reward Trevor, Heather and Angela for their performances in the pool. It was a job well done for each of them.

We did a "power workout" today, one designed to awaken the fast-twitch muscle fibers as well as the nervous system and the brain (what important people in lab coats now call the "central governor").

I've posted the workout below.

After a 1,000-yard warm-up, I had them do a hard 300-yard kick set, to remind the legs that they were going to be called into duty today. Next came what I like to call a "Coffee Equivalent" Set: 4 x 25s ALL-OUT on :45 (approximately 30-seconds rest for these guys). If that doesn't wake you up, you better skip coffee or the hard swimming and move straight onto injecting crack.

Finally, after a little more hard swimming and some blathering on by yours truly (about swim form and effort and how cool I wish I was) the "Main Set" arrived, a short but highly intense one consisting of 8 x "broken" 150s on 3:00 as (75 MAX on 1:00 / 50 Moderately Hard on 1:00 / 25 MAX on 1:00), without the use of any pulling paraphernalia. It is a pure power set and for these three there's just enough rest to keep it that way, unless they're swimming sh!tty. Today, they were not swimming sh!tty.

As has been typical Chuckie fashion of late, I was dumb enough to try my hand at swimming with them. In fact, I was dumb enough to try both my hands at swimming with them. Regardless of the number of hands I tried, I failed. Hell, I could've had ten hands, each attached to their own arm, and I still wouldn't have kept pace.

As a coach, I love to witness performances like these. It proves that hard work still counts for something...and that particular something is everything. Hard work rules. And applying yourself 100%, regardless of outcome, always ensures a better outcome later. And later is always sooner than it sounds. Work hard, rest hard, be hard.

"Remember," I told Angela, who was bringing up the rear throughout the set and growing frustrated because of it, "Improvement demands that you seek improvement...100% means 100%, regardless of what the pace clock says."

Trevor was in a different league throughout practice (different than even his own), but Heather joined that league by the middle of the 24-minute set. They were absolutely annihilating the poor unsuspecting water, hitting the wall (literally!) in 47-seconds during each 75. And ours is a pathetically slow pool, heated nearly to the mid-80s, so that the old ladies doing their aqua-aerobics will quit their griping. It also has loosely-taught lane-lines that love to find their way immediately in front of the arm closest to them. It is shallow and has no spill-less gutters. Even its walls are tiled and slippery, to the point that every flip-turn is like pushing off from buttered ice. Even if you were an all-American collegiate swimmer, consistent 47-second 75s are not easy in such a setting.

I knew right then I had to leave the pool early and head to the store to pick up some Carlos V chocolate bars. Not only because I'd eaten my entire stash, but also because the bar had been raised (...speaking of bars). Old standards would no longer apply.

And while old standards may still be tough to attain during future workouts, we now know where our performances belong on those good days in the pool (or this pool, anyway). Naturally, this does not mean to avoid pushing on those days where it's "just not there" (note to Angela) but to understand that when it is there, you need to continue to strive to re-establish new boundaries. The comfort zone is now that much wider.

But back to the Carlos V bars for a minute.

Before I pulled them out to reward the gang, I told them that such an effort would have had the old school crowd (who actually possessed the audacity to believe they were 'new school' at the time, the idiots!) smiling from ear to ear: "It was one they would fully condone...hard work, pure and simple." I also told them I was very proud of them, because there was no hiding the fact.

Finally, when I pulled the candy out and handed each of them theirs, Trevor mentioned that it was a lot smaller than he had imagined. "They looked a lot bigger in the picture in your blog."

I joked that I didn't think they'd earned the king-sized version just yet. Had they done 16 x 150s on these same send-off intervals, well then, maybe.

With bar in hand Angela balked for a second, suggesting that she didn't deserve one since she wasn't fast today. I reminded her that her best was good enough. I also noted for a second that Heather looked to be debating whether she should eat the one I'd given her. Meanwhile, Trevor's was already being processed at a molecular level deep inside the dark confines of his insatiable stomach.

++++++++++++++++++++++

Tuesday's Power Swim for Heather, Angela & Trevor…
a) 1K w-up, minimum.
b) Kick set (300)...3 x 25max/50mod/25max
c) Coffee Equivalent: 4 x 25s all-out FLY on :45
d) Kick set (200)...2 x 25max/50mod/25max
e) Coffee Equivalent: 4 x 25s all-out on :45
f) Main Set: 8 x "broken" 150s (75max /50mod / 25max or fly) all on a 1-minute send-off interval; if you cannot maintain a 1-minute send-off on the 75, you're done.
g) Extended cool-down…no paddles.

My pool pain scale...

• Mellow (mel) = easy
• Moderate (mod) = moderately hard
• Mad = very hard
• Max = maximal

"We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence is not an act but a habit." -Aristotle

I Choose Solvang

I am hereby announcing a FREE OF CHARGE offer (the offer is free; the camp is not) about an upcoming camp I am thinking of hosting. It would be primarily for those of you I coach and for those stuck in climes much worse than Solvang's who are (or will be) in desperate need of an escape. (Never mind that almost all climates are worse than Solvang's.)

The camp is just a brain fart of mine at this point and there is nothing "officially" planned as of yet. I am simply thinking about it and would like to see if there is any interest. I'm interested in giving those interested a chance to see this beautiful area and come out and train for four or five days sometime this February or April. It would be in one of those two months, possibly both.

You would need to house yourself and pay for your food and YMCA visitor's membership and every other expense you might incur while here (and in getting here, obviously) but the camp itself will be free*, contrary to what I wrote in my opening sentence. If you wanted to drive here and sleep in your car, that would be fine too, if you can find a decent enough place to park (there are plenty, and I speak with experience).

If this might be of interest to you, please leave a comment here and let me know. We would ride a few hours or more every day and swim and jog around those miles, all the meanwhile talking training and then heading to dinner on your dime. Yes, *you'd pay for my meal, though you'd divide the cost with the number of camp participants. Warning! I eat a lot and if Trevor were to join us (as he may if he decides to help with this; I haven't even mentioned it to him, so we'll see), you will end up having to take out a second mortgage on your home, as *anyone who were to help me with this (Heather, Trevor, Angela, etc) would need their meals paid! (*That's the small print!) At any rate, it would be a cheap way for you to train with some fast pros and learn a great deal from a good coach (that is if we can find one).

All told, it would essentially be an escape for you from Mother Nature, as She tends to be a bit of a bitch this time of year...unless you live here, that is. Not a day goes by that I don't want to pucker up and kiss the sky. The picture from yesterday's ride sort of clarifies that. That's Angela riding right down the middle of the road without a care in the world. A nice way to live, eh? So come out and play.

Commitment

Though the clock has never meant much to me (except, of course, on race day), today I looked at it and saw digits I don't usually see. I'm up early and my brain is firing. Pardon me for that. You see, I am not normally a morning person. Nor am I normal, but none of us really are, and so I write. Anyway, I'm currently in the midst of what I like to call "athlete negotiations" and it's what has the few neurons left in my noggin firing at full-tilt. When I woke up at 3:45am this morning, sans alarm clock, I realized what these negotiations were all about:

COMMITMENT

Commitment is something we often hear about in sport, and in life. I'm not talking about committing ourselves to one another or to a god that may or may not exist, but rather committing ourselves to ourselves. This, as far as I'm concerned, has always been far more imperative than any other commitment we could ever, um, commit to.

"Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, the providence moves too. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favour all manner of unforeseen incidents, meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamt would have come his way." ~William Murray

When we commit to something, and we really mean it, the shit basically hits the fan. Of course, as it is with life, with all its hecticness and whatnot, that fan is running. So many athletes, it seems, don't understand this process, or how to use the shit as fertilizer. Instead, they add a clause to all their commitments: "...as long as it's not too uncomfortable."

What so many athletes fail to understand is that this discomfort is one of the keystones of commitment, and one of the biggest reasons for making a commitment in the first place.

As humanoids, each of us possesses an automatic goal-fulfillment apparatus, one that has evolved almost as long as mankind himself has. (Yes, goals were a part of mankind from the beginning, and the goal to survive was a much harsher reality than what any modern day triathlete faces.) When we commit to something, we are telling this mechanism, "This is what I want." The goal-fulfillment apparatus (found somewhere between your heart and your brain) responds and arranges for it, by performing various functions---individually and collectively:

• It looks to see what lessons we need to learn in order to achieve our goal; then it sets up those lessons. Sometimes, these lessons come in pleasant ways (the pace clock tells us we're getting faster), while other times, the lessons are anything but pleasant (someone we should listen to---a competent coach, for example---tells us "in no uncertain terms" what we need to know, and what we need to do.
• The goal-fulfillment apparatus also sees what holds us back from achieving what we want and helps us remove it. Again, sometimes this can be pleasant or unpleasant. Sometimes it can be both at once.
• Most of all, this internal apparatus gives us numerous opportunities to expand our comfort zone.

In order to achieve something new or difficult, we must expand our comfort zone to include that achievement. The bigger the goal, the more the comfort zone must expand. And comfort zones are most often expanded through discomfort. As they say, "No pain, no gain."

Swimming endless laps may seem like a terrible waste of time, a lot of work, and an unnecessary pain for what amounts to very little of our overall time on race day, but swimming those laps makes you strong enough to fulfill the goals you care to achieve. The same is true with expanding the comfort zone.

Some athletes don't understand that being uncomfortable is part of the process of achievement, so they use the discomfort as a reason not to go about it all. Naturally, they then don't get what they want. (Or they don't get what they tell themselves they want, anyway.) We must learn to tolerate discomfort in order to grow!

If we fail to see this, we're essentially training ourselves to ignore our own promise. (My apologies for the play on words here within, but I meant it both ways.) Commitment then means nothing. Just as there is no partially pregnant, there is no "partially committed."

Commitment ain't a one-time occurrence. It occurs daily, hourly, continually. We must choose to commit to our goals and dreams, over and over and over.

The test of this commitment, of course, is action.

If I tell myself, "I'm committed to get to the big dance in Kona this October," and then don't train for it, there's really no commitment there; it's just talk. Conversely, if I'm training hard, I don't need to tell myself how committed I am. My action is my commitment.

When we commit and act, we're confronted by our comfort zone. Naturally, we're tempted to quit and we're very much encouraged by ourselves and others (but never mind them) to do so. If we forge ahead regardless, we expand our comfort zone and learn a valuable (and necessary) lesson, and the commitment grows stronger. Of course, that just repeats the whole cycle and we're forced to push our boundaries a little further once more.

Always more.

October Already?

To those of you I coach whose cross-hairs are locked upon the big island of Hawaii, whether you've qualified yet or not (and rest assured, you will, if you do as I ask), the countdown begins.

Remember: success isn't just sweet. Success is sweat.

PS: Lazy is as lazy does…not do.