Rehabilitation Is For Quitters

Quitting. Most occasions the word has a negative connotation. Unless the thing we're quitting is destructive or wasteful. Quitting a job leaves a gap for someone to fill; quitting a race (if injured) replaces time training or racing with recovery and rehabilitation.

If you're a big-shot in an organization the announcement is usually tied up in a neat little package with the classic and often overused "...want to spend more time with my family..." alibi.

I'm not a big shot, so I don't have any good alibis. I'm not very good at neat, clean, well-structured goodbyes - the promises of the goodby-er always seemed hollow on the receiving end. Therefore, I've always tried to turn a "hurry out the door" into something which sounded more like a "hiatus"; you never know when you might need that old job, or to communicate with that person again.

When I no longer needed to do a collateral duty after four years, it seemed a good time to take stock of other activities which fill my schedule. Was it necessary? Was it of benefit to others around me? Most importantly, did I derive any sort of satisfaction from it?

There weren't many groups available for runners when I was appointed to coach a run training group. Some six-and-a-half years later, there is a social run or training activity most every day of the week, save for Friday.

I've handed out the occasional business card to runners who expressed interest in training and answered the occasional phone call or e-mail question. Sometimes the inquirer comes out, sometimes not. My wife told her girlfriend once, "...he used to get very excited about the prospect of someone new coming out, but when they didn't show it disappointed him. Now he has a 'wait and see' attitude, which keeps him on a more even keel." If coaching were my only way of making a living, or to get people to bring their money through the door of my running emporium, I might be more aggressive. For me, though, it's three-to-five hours a week.

I am not quitting the act of coaching. I'm not going to be the guy pushing workouts two nights a week to runners who may or may not buy in to what I'm (not) selling. Pushing workouts out that way is like shooting blindfolded at a moving target hoping to hit dead center. I would rather sit down over a cup of coffee, review a training log and take thirty minutes to ask the right questions (the answers won't matter if I ask the wrong ones); that form of coaching is more satisfying. Good coaches blend collaboration and domination. I'd rather be a good coach than a mediocre one. So, I think the focus (ideally) will be toward a one-on-one coach/athlete relationship in the future.

Besides, I need to continue my own rehabilitation. And we all know that rehab is for quitters.

Lost In Translation

Last night was the local triathlon club's general membership meeting, holiday party, eat, drink, merriment-a-thon, or drunken bacchanal, depending on your particular point of view. Coming two days following the swim group's (post-workout) holiday breakfast & five days following the local running group's mid-week run/social...there were ample opportunities for "translation." Well, more of opportunities to look at the similarities, differences & idiosyncracies of three completely different groups, some of which have intersecting membership sets.
First, swimmers can discuss almost any topic at a conversational tone in a group of people, because they are more likely talking to the closest three or four persons around them. The next lane, or the next four chairs on either side of them might as well be an entire world away, because it is. I'm only concerned about someone in the next lane if their kicking gets as strange as mine is once fatigue sets in...or if they're doing the backstroke (of course, my lane-mates are more scared of me during the backstroke section of a workout than they are any other lane).

Runners are going to speak at the top of their voice, especially because everyone else is. That's usually a side-effect of alcohol, I realize; give a runner a couple (or a couple too many) beers & they feel the irrational desire to announce all sorts of embarrassing stuff to the entire world. Most of the time they are fortunate & nobody hears a thing...once again, the rest of the room is all at a near-bellow to their closest companions. The only time anything really scandalous is revealed is if someone with the lack of impulse control hears it & passes it along to their group of fellow curiosity compulsives...that's how mass communication (and unearned reputations) happens. The only other time is when something is blurted out as the volume wanes in all the other groups. Happens every once in a while, with humorous (if you're the hearer) or disastrous (if you're the speaker) consequences.
If you're a leader, forget having announcements at the meetings of either one of these two groups. The former group wants to save their oxygen; the latter group would prefer you not shout & utilize more than your fair share of the same.

The announcement portion of last night's triathlon group meeting was done at a good time; all of the meeting participants had enough time to consume at least one adult beverage. But we weren't three sheets to the wind, nor in a room where we couldn't hear each other converse. Pragmatic conversation. Of course, there was also good food at hand, so we wanted to get our fill before the main portion of the meeting; the white elephant gift exchange. Probably the most civil game of "dirty Santa" I've ever experienced.
I guess when half of the white elephant items are alcoholic & the other half are practical items for the average triathlete (yep, a pragmatic bunch!) civility will abound. That's probably the joy of dealing with most triathletes...the drafting rule from most event bike legs often carries over into the other aspects of their lives. It would be interesting to see how a triathlete drives to the mall or deals with the struggle for a parking space. Bet they take the space nearest the exit.

World Dominance Thwarted By Lack Of Thumbs

(Editor's note: Lengthy period of silence placed here.)

There was an article about three months ago; some researcher had developed a means of understanding dog barks with a certain degree of accuracy. I am not buying it. If anyone tells me they can tell what my dog is saying when he barks, I'm going to offer them another beer and then kick them out the door. Well, edit that...I'm going to keep the beer.
There are days when I feel like I can tell exactly what my dog is thinking about...then there are days when I can narrow it down to three things: food, walks, and space on the couch. However, IMHO it's gazing through a glass darkly. If Rubin had opposable thumbs and human speech, however, the world would be a much more dangerous place...I know he's try to take over as supreme ruler and stern, unwavering-but-beneficient master of the world as soon as he could. I can see it in his eyes, especially when I've informed him there are no dog biscuits available and he will have to suck it up and drive on.

Res Ipsa Loquitur.

My American Express bill came in yesterday afternoon, or at least the dispute notification I lost. That's going to take care of my stimulus check. Well, I'll have enough left to buy a round of beer when we go to the Crescent City Classic in New Orleans. My friend mentioned the other weekend about beer mileage; I guess the average American beer, 12-ounces, has 82 calories...which is (at the least) equal to the number of calories an adult burns running a mile. So, she thinks, a 6.2-mile race warrants the consumption of a six-pack of beer. Wow, that means a marathon is worth (at least) a case.

Yeah, I know it's not a healthy point of view for an athlete. If you do something foolish once every six months it's not so bad. Just make certain one foolish thing (like a beer mile, or rehydrating with a beer for each mile you ran) is not compounded with another, like driving a car or operating heavy machinery. While there aren't many of us who will run a 5K, slug down too many beers and then think hey, perhaps I should cut down that dead tree in the backyard, there are folks who would do exactly that. I know. I usually get to read the synopsis of their accident report each Friday. Makes ya shudder to think.