Starting to run for all the good reasons

Why can I not resist a worthy challenge, no matter how unsure I may be of my ability to successfully complete it? First, when the goal seems worthy to me, the pain and potential “humiliation” I might have to endure in the process seem insignificant by comparison. Then, I know from experience I had always gained at least some valuable lessons. To top it all, if I do succeed, I feel exhilarated and reinforced in my determination to continue to accept good challenges. This time my challenge was indeed related to participating in a 5K “fun run”. I had good reasons to accept this challenge and to believe I had the stamina to complete it, but I did not know how to actually do it. The lessons I learned are widely transferable.

Sunrise on Lake Michigan

I was attending the annual meeting of the American Heart Association. In the spirit of the conference, the participants, professionals who work in the area of cardiovascular disease, are encouraged to “walk the talk” or rather, run it. My early career mentor, Peter, a dedicated runner, has been asking me on every eve of the run, for almost 20 yrs, if I was going to participate. I have been saying: “No, not this year… I am not a runner, I’ll need to prepare for it.” But that never happened. Not only do I not enjoy running, but by doctor’s orders after a bus accident that immobilized me for months in a hospital bed many years ago I am to avoid any physical activity pounding on my spine. Last year, my mentor finally wore me down. I thought: if I can compete in a 5K rowing race, I should have enough stamina to finish a 5K run, right? So, I ran it, felt good about finishing, but I was not sure I wanted to repeat the experience; however, it turns out that my mentor had asked the organizers to dedicate this year’s run to the memory of one of our colleagues who had been struck and killed by a car while running precisely during last year’s annual meeting. Peter enlisted all the runners who were current members or alumni of his institution, which included me, to wear a tee-shirt displaying the name of our lost colleague to honor his memory. How could I say no to running this year?

I got up really early and put on several layers as my iPhone indicated the temperature was 30 F. I was not sure what runners wear, I had put on a couple of layers, and now I got the extra tee-shirt, however while waiting for all the runners to show up, I was regretting being there so early (I was in the first bus that dropped people off at the site). In spite of the dark, we snapped pictures “before”, we heard some brief talk encouraging us to maintain healthy physical activities, then a couple of short speeches about the person we were commemorating and we held a moment of silence. We were then told to go to the start line by letting the competitive runners start first. In fact, I went around the crowd to snap some pictures of the competitive group, running in place impatient to catapult over the start line.  Only now, while writing this, did it occur to me that their puzzled looks may have been related to the fact that by walking over the start line to take the pictures, I had likely triggered my own timing device! Did I mention that I am “green?” Satisfied with the spectacle of their explosive start, I then walked to the back of the gathered crowd and started my own run from there.

So, here are the main learning points I selected from my (overall) experience of 2 x 5K runs, one year apart (with no training what so ever).

1. Accept a worthy challenge.

If the cause seems important to you, take a chance and do your very best. Worst case scenario, you will learn from it.

2. Seek and follow (some of the) advice.

I knew this would not be easy with no training, so I asked several experienced runners for some tips, “Should I try to touch down first with my toe or my heel? How should I pace a 5 K run?” Their face betrayed their amused incredulity: “You do not usually run??? Well, then… best just forget it!” Finally, Sonia, another of my mentors offered advice that unleashed for me the possibility of participating: “If you really, really want to do it, just take it easy and hang in there!” I decided to go with her advice.

3. Find a buddy (support system)

As I began to run at the end of the crowd, I was still getting passed by many! I felt very discouraged: I was slow even in the slow crowd… Judging by their toned and nice physiques, it seemed that the great majority of runners were fitter or younger, and many were both. Once more I doubted my decision to participate… Then, I finally spotted in front of me someone who was more like me, in fact she seemed heavier. I told myself, “If she can run I can run! I will just try to stick with her for as long as I can”. For a while, I only looked at her back and tried to keep up with her speed, ignoring all those passing us.

4. Enjoy your route, but don’t find excuses to give up/get off track.

The view was really amazing: the sun was beginning to rise over Lake Michigan, seemingly setting its calm waters on fire. If I did not come out here to run at this early hour, I would have not been able to see this remarkable scene from behind the tall city skyline. I kept thinking I may not be able to remember the splendid picture in its full glory. Besides, my legs were hurting, so I wanted really badly to stop, rest, and take some good pictures. I took my camera out of my pocket (I had thought I might need it), but realized that should I stop to take those good pictures, this might just turn into a photo safari. I was there for a different reason so, I stopped only long enough to snap several pictures in the low light. It turns out that many are not in focus, but I was still able to find a few that are good enough to jog my memory.

5. Learn, find ways to compensate for your shortcomings,adapt.

Since having my back injured in the bus accident many years ago, I have a deficit in my left leg that becomes noticeable (to me) with strenuous activity. I had learned over the years how to compensate for it while rowing: I decrease the force with which I push against the boat with my right (“good”) leg to match the weaker left leg. It is easy to tell if I am doing it right, any difference between left and right foot’s pressure makes my single boat veer… While running, I could not pound away with my left leg as vigorously as I could with my right. It took a while to figure out that I could not split differentially the gravitational pull on my two legs, so I resolved to run “softer” (and of course slower).

6. Hang in there.

 I was following the advice, running only up to where it felt hard but not uncomfortable, and keeping the hope that I will not run out of steam before the official finish line. I was making steady progress, albeit many had passed me by. At some point I began to notice people slowing down, and then I began to pass some, including the woman I had resolved to follow. A quick corner of the eye look when passing her revealed she was many years my junior.

7. Aim for a strong finish.

With the finish line in plain view, I tried to gather all my remaining energy to sprint. Someone decided that we needed encouragement and shouted in a megaphone: “Looking good! You need to smile for the finish.” I thought, how could I possibly smile, everything hurts. At the exact moment when my brain rebelled, I felt a violent cramp in my left leg. In a strange way it was reassuring as just moments ago I could not feel my leg anymore, and was wondering if it was still bending correctly or was about to buckle. I thought: “Oh no, I am not going to be able to finish!” My response was to run even faster to make sure I do make it across the finish line, so I pushed my chest forward and hoped my legs will rotate fast enough to keep up with it. I could not believe it, but here it was: the finish arch. After going under it, my first thought was: ”I did it!” Second thought: “Is this real or am I dreaming?” For one, the speakers were still blasting (appropriately?) "Forever young, I want to be forever young" as when I had started running, it felt like a "Groundhog day" type of situation. Then,  a couple of guys watching my finish exclaimed loudly: “Oh wow, that was really impressive!”

8. Pass it on: challenge/encourage someone else!

The reason I wrote about how I was able to overcome this challenge is because I hope that at least one other person will find it inspiring enough to tackle a challenge new to them (not necessarily taking up running), anything worthwhile they currently think they are not capable of achieving…

“If I can run, YOU can run!”  

Never too late...

I was recently prompted to consider what might have been one of my own most valuable lesson about learning at any age after watching a TED talk given by Tim Ferris recommended by my friend Vic. I agree: the talk is inspiring. Tim Ferris delivers with flair a message that rings true beyond whatever his own facts might be (I understand some people had questioned them). In addition, an interesting coincidence brought back memories of my own trials and tribulations, small victories and lessons about learning. In the video Ferris credits his swimming achievements to a new method called "Total Immersion" pioneered by Terry Laughlin. I had personally met Terry several years ago during one of my own most significant learning journeys while we both had attended the same… rowing camp. The participants, a group of like-minded adults of different ages and skill levels, came from all over US to improve upon their rowing. I was a true beginner and had signed up for the chance to dedicate one week to “crash learn” how to row a skinny scull (competition-style boat). I had previously rowed a few months in a recreational boat (those of you who row, please be tolerant, I was so “green” I didn’t even know what I didn’t know…). The rowing camp turned out to be one of my most telling experiences about learning as an adult.

I had arrived at the camp with so much enthusiasm that the first day I took advantage of all three extended rowing sessions (one was optional). This was way more than three times I had ever rowed in any single day…. yet, I felt no fatigue. However, within minutes I was made painfully aware of how much I needed to improve upon. Each of the many trainers stationed every 200 yds. on the lake pointed out yet another major issue with my technique. I would barely start working on something only to hear the next coach yelling about another huge mistake or simply making fun of my “style”. They made sure to leave me with no doubts: I was at the very bottom of the skill ladder. I was once again re-experiencing all of the frustrations and humility that come from being a complete novice critically assessed by experts, not an easy feeling for someone who had become accustomed to operate with great ease in her professional and everyday life.

They finally broke me down by the middle of the second day: "how could I ever possibly fix so many major things terribly wrong with my rowing technique???" So instead of the additional rowing session that day, I opted for the trip to the nearby ice cream factory. As I was drowning my sorrow in the biggest possible cone I was able to get, I was struck by a thought: “So what if my rowing ‘looked funny’ or I was possibly doing everything totally wrong?” Being out in the boat, pulling the oars through the crystal clear water in the middle of the woods gave me tremendous energy and joy! Who was going to watch me once I finished camp? And, if they did, should I worry about what they thought of my style? In that second I decided that I will not let the way my rowing looked prevent me from experiencing the happiness it was giving me. Thus I would go back on the water the next day and try my best to correct whatever possible (maybe not at the pace they wanted me to!) but I would not give up on rowing. The rest of the camp days continued pretty much the same: I rowed every single session, worked hard to correct various things, put up with a lot of criticism, including a lot of ridicule, and asked a lot of clarifying questions undaunted by the fun they seemed to engender. The coaches got to expect me to raise my hand at every Q&A session.

The camp’s final row was a “head race” in which all students, starting one by one like beads on a string, had to row the full length of the lake against the clock. The rowers were started in the reverse rank of their skill to give enough head start to the slow ones. I was called to start second, being assessed by coaches to only be possibly better than one other student from the group of 20+ with various skill levels. By this time it did not bother me (I knew how much I had to work on), I was just so happy I was still rowing in my white skinny scull! We then all gathered in the camp cafeteria where the head coach read in decreasing order our times, slowest first, regardless of student’s gender, age, or skill level, a nerve wrecking exercise… My heart jumped with anticipation every time they were about to call another name, but once they called out most students, my heart really started racing again! Soon I noticed that the only few not called yet were all guys, and the best rowers. I started to wonder if the coaches would play some last prank on me, they seemed to have particularly enjoyed making fun of my technique and even more so of my eagerness. With somewhat of a sheepish laugh the head coach called: “…and finally, the 'Fastest Woman on the Lake'...” It turned out to be… me!?! I was totally stunned (apparently they were too) and really happy - then, as I am now! -that I did not give up that second day. More, that small victory against great odds taught me that my enthusiasm could overcome my inexperience, and how “funny” I looked while I was learning it. I got a distinct feeling that the coaches also experienced some eye-opener that day…

I am now convinced that the ability to learn anything at any age depends in no small measure on our capacity to conquer our own fear of ridicule. Since my rowing camp days whenever I am confronted with the challenge of learning or trying something new, I have started asking myself the question: so what's the worst that could happen if I ’looked stupid?’ If the only danger is that others might think I looked goofy– then I’ll go ahead, it is well worth it! And I can have a good laugh about it too. As young children we learn new things while we are still not self-conscientious. Later, as the fear of peer judgment intensifies, we avoid trying things that might make us look ridiculous. Then, with age comes the wisdom that the “sacrifice” of looking funny is well worth the learning and we can return to being the child freely and fully embracing the fun of learning and experiencing new things that truly matter to us. At that point we become free to make choices based on gaining value, rather than on losing appearances. As a teacher of adults I try to encourage my students to fearlessly pursue their passions, even when they lay well beyond their previous/formal training. There is no substitute for really wanting to learn or do something. I don't care how "off" you might start at it! And, I make sure to reassure the first time I meet my students, and then remind them frequently, that "stupid question" is a misnomer. If someone can formulate a question about anything, than obviously there is something that needs clarification - which is the purpose of a question - thus asking any question simply can not be stupid. I learned from asking lots of "stupid" questions: if one is ever told or made feel that had just asked a "stupid question" is because the receiver had a hard time answering it and was ashamed to acknowledge it. Voila, the secret is out!

Kids, do try this at home: if you see older people, friends, parents or grandparents learning something new, do not laugh, but rather plan to continue to have the same curious and adventurous attitude… Truly, it’s never too late to learn new things!

p.s. My rowing technique has gotten better after all these years of learning, but I am still working on improving many things. Also, I still have to follow-up on my plan to someday (soon!) learn Terry’s "Total Immersion" fast, ultra-efficient swimming style. As for that rowing race, well, yes, my time was faster than Terry’s ;-)

"Get over yourself": be able to laugh at yourself

After learning to row and perfecting my technique and balance in a training single boat for almost a year, I finally decided it was time to graduate to a "skinny" style boat, the type normally used in competitions. Of course with this change came the next challenge, the realization that I should now begin working on getting good enough to race.

Finally, the day of my first novice race came. I had practiced for this day for the past few months and now I only had to put it to good use. We had travelled with my club to another city and I was now rowing a beautiful white skinny boat toward the starting dock. The boats in my race were called to align at the start line. Maneuvering in a tight space a skinny boat with its wide reaching oars is a task that can be daunting even for an experienced rower. Moreover, there were many referees and other competitors watching. I pulled all my power of concentration together and a few moments later I was happy to remark that I had a perfect alignment in the center of my lane. I rolled up my chair to the start position, a rather delicate balancing pose. It was time for me to calm down enough to hear the imminent cue that would unleash the explosive motion needed to the start the boat. The sky was blue, the water was calm, I could have not wished for any better conditions. I looked down the nicely buoy-aligned course, trying to visualize the finish line 1 K ahead, rapidly coming closer and closer to me. I felt the trepidation of the moment, like a race horse fidgeting before the gate opens, I had to close my eyes to calm down and get myself into 'the zone': "I can do this! I can do this!"

It seemed that it was taking way too long to hear the start signal. Instead, a voice booms through the loud speaker: "Atlanta Rowing club… we have a problem!" (?!?) That meant me! I opened my eyes, finally looking outside the zone I had put myself in. I noticed that all the referees on the shore were laughing… at me?!? The booming voice continued: "Atlanta Rowing club… you'll need to turn your boat… 180 degrees!" Taking another look at the other boats helped me finally realize that my boat was pointing in the wrong direction… If any rowers are reading this they had probably already understood my conundrum... for others it may not be evident, but one rows backward. I had aligned my boat at the start as if I was going to run, not row in the race! Yes, everybody was laughing, referees, competitors, I bet they all told the story about this novice rower who perfectly aligned her boat in the opposite direction that day, ready to crash it into the start dock. In fact, this was so stupid of me, that I started laughing about it myself! I laughed so hard that I completely relaxed. I turned the boat around quickly, I no longer worried about how competent I looked. There was nothing more stupid than what I had already done. I was still giggling when they finally called the start.

I rowed my first race laughing… at myself! The time seemed to fly away and I still remember the exhilaration I felt during that race as if it was yesterday. What was even more amazing is that I ended up winning that race!

Knowing what I know now after several years of rowing, I can pretty much attribute that first win to my ability to laugh at my naiveté. This allowed me to completely get over it and focus on rowing in the race. Making possibly the biggest, stupidest mistake right at the beginning, and then getting over it, freed me from worrying about any other possible inadequacies. This does not even take into account the fact that I had most likely disarmed my opponents: what competition could they possibly have expected from a novice who did not even know which way the boat was supposed to move?

If you are a novice, making mistakes is inevitable, but getting over it and over yourself, is up to you. Otherwise, if you are dealing with a novice, never discount one who feels that there is no face left to lose…