No "Wrong" Weather

When I started running 12 years ago I learned a great mantra about winter training:

"There is no such thing as the WRONG weather, only the WRONG clothing. "

In other words,  if we only wait for sunny days to begin our training, we will never begin our training. 

In other words, don't wait for the weather to change.

WE must change to the weather.

I think this notion is a metphor for our non-running lives.

We wait to start that college degree.

We wait to start that business.

We wait to write that book.

We wait to start that diet.

We wait...

For so many reasons...

Until the weather changes.

Until the economy changes

Until our boss changes.
.
Until our amount of free-time changes.

The problem with waiting for these external things to change...

Is they may NEVER change.

Which means we'll never start the things we need to start.

When my running partner and I ran the Leadville 50 last Summer, we hoped for good weather.

But we also brought small backpacks--to carry our jackets, gloves, and hats.

Because when you are running for 13 hours at 12,000 feet, any, and I mean ANY kind of weather is possible.

So here is what I have found to be true:

Great living, like great running, is NOT about waiting for the weather or the economy or interest rates, or the politicians to change to begin the journey.

It's about putting on our "backpacks" and beginning the journey, and then mustering the strength and courage to continue DESPITE the weather, the interest rates, economy or whomever is in office.

Because, when you find the courage to take that first step forward...

And not first wait for OUTSIDE things to change.

Something really does begin to change.

You.

AMJ

Comrades in Pain

We hear the cliche that some people are so kind they would "give you their shirt off their back."

A few months ago, I encountered one of these people--and he really offered me the shirt off his back.

I was on my third and final iteration up Lookout Mountain on a July afternoon.

The clouds were rolling in.

The rain was coming. 

And the temperature was dropping.

Unfortunately, I had made the lousy decision to leave my shirt back at the car for the final trip.  It was July after all. What could be the problem?

Bad move.

Especially when it's wet and cold.

Amazingly, my guardian angel appeared.

He didn't appear with wings and a halo however.

But on a Trek 7-Series Carbon Triathlon with aerobars.

He tossed me a jersey and uttered "good work" as he passed me up the mountain.

Whoah.

In my 43 years on this planet I have never had a stranger offer me anything--no less an expensive race jersey--after a 15 second introduction.

It was a gift.

And a reminder.

A reminder that when it comes to conquering the biggest and baddest giants--especially the painful ones--human beings have an enormous capacity to work together.

To be comrades.

Comrades in pain.

Pain is a unifying force.

It is the one force that can truly bring people together and transcend almost any difference.

Republican versus Democrat.

Christian versus Buddhist.

Because when the monster is big, and I mean REALLY big, like when you are running in the middle of the night in freezing rain--things like party affiliation or religious preference begin to look small.

Perhaps even foolish.

It's funny, an hour earlier, this guy on Lookout Mountain and I may have been competing for the same job on Monster.com or speeding to the same parking space at the mall.

But on the mountain that day....

We were fighting a common enemy.

A big enemy.

We were comrades in pain.

So how about this for an idea...

Admittedly, a naive idea...

Instead of another Blue Ribbon panel to bring our leaders together to solve our nations woes, how about signing up our leaders for a RACE.

A big, gnarly race.

The Leadville 100 perhaps.

Where they will confront a daunting challenge far bigger than Republican or Democrat.

A challenge that will require the courage to work together.

And perhaps even require offering up their shirt for a comrade.

To get across the line.

Together.

As comrades in pain.

AMJ

"Why" is a Big Word

"He who has a WHY to live, can bear almost any HOW."
                                                     ---Friedrich Nietzsche

"Why" is a small word with a big meaning.

A word that can determine if you succeed—or quit.

Each person’s “why” is unique.

But what’s  not unique is the size of the “why.”

It has to be big—no room for sissies here!

Because each person’s “why” has to big enough to motivate when there’s no more motivation.

To provide that swift kick in the butt and get you to do what you said you would do---when it’s no longer fun.

And when it hurts.

Especially when it hurts.

A big “why” will get you out of bed to lace up in the middle of February when it’s cold, dark and an inch of snow on the ground.

A big “why” will force you to open your Accounting book instead of watching the Bronco game.

A big “why” will force you to press on with that fledgling business —even when it’s tough making payroll.

Especially when it’s tough making payroll.

A big “why” will force you to send out more resumes and continue the painful job search—despite the  rejection letters piling up on the kitchen counter.

I think a big “why” trumps brains and even talent.

Because brains and talent don’t provide the inner strength and mental toughness to keep going when it gets tough and you want to quit.

Because it will get tough.

And you WILL want to quit.

So here’s the deal: this week, before signing up for that marathon you have always wanted to run, or are about to quit your day job to launch that new business you have dreamed of opening, or are about to enroll in that degree you should have earned a long time ago.

I say wait.

That’s right, wait.

And don’t contemplate HOW you will achieve these goals—at least not yet.

Focus on the “why” first.

Make sure it’s big enough.

And strong enough.

To provide you the strength for when it gets tough--and it’s no longer fun.

Because it will get tough and no longer be “fun.”

Because you will want to quit.

But here’s the good news.

If your “why” is big enough.

And strong enough.

You WILL find the strength to keep going.

Even when it gets tough.

Especially when it gets tough.

Because a big enough “why” makes the impossible-looking how become possible.

Revealing the path to victory.

AMJ

Tested

Great running gear can only be considered "great" after it has been tested in the field.

And I mean tested.

A 31-mile round-trip hike up 14,000 foot Mt. Evans in pouring rain will let you know if that "water-proof" jacket is as waterproof as the fancy ad in the running magazine clams it is.

An 8-hour march up and down the stairs at Red Rocks Ampthitheater in the 90-degree July sun will test just how "breathable" that breathable shirt really is.

In other words...

Great equipment is only great if it performs when TESTED.

I think this is true of people.

The Roman poet Horace said: 

"adversity has the effect of eliciting talents which in prosperous circumstances may have lain dormant."

I agree.

Adversity often brings out the best in us.

I teach accounting at a community college.  When hiring new accounting faculty, the candidate is required to perform a 20-minute teaching demonstration to a NON-accounting search committee.

At the end of the teaching demo, if the committe is confused and unimpressed, the candidate is rejected--no matter how impressive the resume and interview.

The premise is that no matter how many ivy league degrees are on your resume or how slick your interview skills, you gotta be able to teach.

In other words...

Great teaching becomes TRULY apparent when TESTED.

I joke with my colleagues that the best pre-marital counselling for young prospective newlyweds may not be in a pastor's office.

I say have the smitten couple do a two-week, cross-country road-trip in an un-air-conditioned 1979 Chevy Chevette--with two small children!

Nothing like a family road-trip to strip away the thin facade of civilized humanity!

Because...

Great relationships are only great if they survive when TESTED.

Indeed it is human nature to avoid pain, yet, at Horace said, it IS often through adversity that we  discover our true talents.

This is why I agree with US Olympic psychologist, Dennis Waitely, that the biography section is the BEST place in the library.

For it is the biographies that hold the answers on how to survive any adversity the universe tosses our way.

Anything.

Cancer survivors, POW survivors, plane-crash survivors, bankrupt business men, couples lost at sea.

It is the biography section where you find the PRACTIONERS who survived such feats.

Those whose lives became defined by their heroism when they were TESTED.

And wrote how they did it.

Shackleton, Lincoln, Churchill.

Just three of literally thousands of surviors who penned guides on how they found strength when tested.

My wife and I celebrated out 19th wedding anniversary last week.

We have had a lot of great times and have seen a lot of wonderful places together.

We have also, metaphorically speaking, traversed some really tough roads...

In that metaphorical 1979 Chevy Chevette I just mentioned.

Some of those trips hurt.

Especially when the air conditioning failed...

And it got hot.

Really hot.

But we have survived.

Although I wouldn't want to repeat some of those trips, I am thankful for the strength we derived because of those journies.

Strength that I would not have been able to muster going solo.

So here's to 19 more years and beyond Honey!

And also a "thank you."

Thank you for the drive--especially when the road got rough.

And we were tested.

And for not getting out of the car.

Happy Anniversary.

AMJ

Leadville is a State of Mind

The Leadville Silver Rush 50 Mile Trail Race is a daunting mental and physical final exam.

A test with only two grades:

"Finish"

or

"Did Not Finish"....the capital letters "DNF" affixed to your name.

The founder of the the Leadville Series of races, Ken Chlouber, is a tough teacher.

And he doesn't grade on a curve.

Nor does he give you all day to finish.

You get 14 hours.

After 14 hours, you're free to cross the finish line.

But you will be disqualified.

I was almost the LAST qualified finisher.

But NOT last.

Finishing time:  13 hours, 51 minutes and 32 seconds.

Only 8 minutes to spare.

Missing that deadline would have meant for a long drive home from Leadville.

Heading back with no finisher's medal around my neck.

Just contemplating the "what-ifs" and wondering whether to face that monster again next year.

Nothing on the course came easy that day.

By mile 17, the nauseous stomach and self-doubt began knocking.

And never stopped.

At the mile-21 aid station, I grabbed some PBJs and watermelon slices despite the nauseousness.

I needed the fuel.

But the gag-reflex was the final arbiter of what would enter my stomach.

Must have been that blue-colored drink at the last aid station.

Damned power-drinks.

Twenty-nine miles to go.

The contrast of absolute beauty and searing pain were striking that day.

Especially at 12,000 feet.

There were the panoramic "Sound of Music" views...accompanied by relentless hills...

Hills meant to trash your quads.

Hills meant to demoralize.

Hills meant to crush your will.

Ball Mountain...I will never forgive you.

A fellow runner told me the contrasting beauty and pain was the "course's way of seducing you....

...while flipping her middle finger...right in your eye."

I couldn't have said it better.

By mile 34, there was a reckoning.

A reckoning that demanded I pull off the trail, puke it out, and DECIDE--and I mean REALLY DECIDE-- if I wanted to FINISH.

A reconciliation.

A reconciliation of the pain and months of training, with the reamining strength to finish what I started that day.

Training that included 3:30am start times running up and down stairs at Red Rocks Amphitheater.

Training that included multiple evolutions up Lookout Mountain Road with screws in my shoes so I could run in the snow and ice.

A reconciliation that I prayed would yield a ledger balance positive enough to endure.

To finish.

Even if it meant coming in last.

I knew finishing in 14 hours would be tough.

Because meeting the 14-hour deadline means you can't just walk.

You have to run.

Sometimes fast.

No easy A in this class.

That's how the course is designed.

Ken Chlouber, a former miner, started the Leadville Race Series beginning with the Leadville 100 in 1983 after the town lost 40% of it's population in 18 months after the molybdenum mine closed.

He wanted to make Leadville a destination.

He succeeded.

Because Leadville has become more than just a place.

It represents a state of mind...an attitude.

An attitude of people who have experienced hard times--at 10,200 feet.

A mentality that says "I WILL keep going...even when it hurts."

Especially when it hurts.

Ken's mantra is "you are better than you think you are, and can do more than you think you can."

That's Leadville.

I think everyone is running their own Leadville race in a metaphorical way.

Losing a job...but not giving up.

Losing a business...but not giving up.

Losing a loved one...but not giving up.

Not...giving...up.

Even when it hurts.

ESPECIALLY when it hurts.

That's the Leadville Silver Rush 50.

That's Leadville.

I don't plan on running the Silver Rush 50 again.

My bucket list only needs ONE check mark in the "ultra-marathon" category thank you very much.

So last night I asked my wife if she would be interested in running the Leadville 10k together next Summer.

She didn't say yes...

But she didn't say no either.

Thus I am optimistic.

I mean, hey, the only thing better than doing something you love...

...is doing something you love...with THOSE you love...right?

So perhaps...

...when we cross the Leadville 10k finish line next year...

We can stroll past the Leadville Trail 100 booth.

I hear they have still have a couple of open slots.

AMJ

Inch by Inch

Comebacks are almost always measured in inches.

Overcoming an illness.

Overcoming a bankruptcy.

Overcoming a business failure.

Overcoming a divorce.

Overcoming an addiction.

Overcoming an injury--while training for that big race.

These are recoveries that are seldom quick.

And never easy.

Brains and talent don't speed up the process.

Neither does hard work and dogged persistence.

They keep the process from stopping...or falling backwards.

Inch by inch.

I heard an interview with Jack Canfield, one of the authors of the Chicken Soup for the Soul series, discuss how he and his business partner kept pressing on with their Chicken Soup for the Soul book despite being rejected by over 140 publishers.

One Hundred and Forty.

He said that he and his partner promised each other to do five tasks (no matter how small) each day to reach their goal of writing and publishing their work.

He likened the process to cutting down a large redwood tree.  He said that the tallest redwood tree will fall to the smallest knife if that knife hacks a little bit away at the tree EACH DAY.

Each day.

In other words...inch by inch.

When trying to achieve a goal, we often question if we have the brains, the talent, or the time to achieve the goal we seek.  We look at the size of that metaphorical redwood tree Jack Canfield speaks about and become discouraged.

And stop.

Or never even start.

Perhaps we should stop focusing on the the size of the tree.

And the size of our axe.

And focus on our DIRECTION...forward.

Towards our goal.

Even if it's inch by inch.

AMJ

Changing Course

I’ll never forget that morning. 

It was 5am and my Blackberry was already convulsing with messages screaming for attention.  I laced up my Asics and headed out of my $49 motel room and into the darkness. It was February 2008 in Lakeland , Florida and it was cold. 

And the rain was pouring. 

But I needed to run. 

I thought the sprint in the darkness would numb the leftover pain from the hostile meetings yesterday and the "food-fight" meets ahead of me today.  On this morning, however, I was unable to outrun the demons that had been drafting me the past two years at this job.  As my stride increased, so did the rain.  I was drenched but didn't care.  As I approached the busy intersection I should have slowed but my stride only increased.  Despite the solid red “Do Not Walk” signal, I continued to run looking neither left nor right. Only straight.  It’s not that I wished to die but simply cared less about living.  It was only upon the return to my dingy motel room that I realized what I had done—or almost done.  It was at that moment, in that motel room, that I decided I had to change course.  

But inertia is a powerful force. 

Whether it’s squirreling cash in a Vanguard IRA, losing 10 pounds of flab to fit the size 32 pants, raising grateful kids, or deciding to quit that unhealthy job, life seems to blow a strong and steady headwind to discourage us from making the course changes we need to make, to arrive at the ports in life we were meant to arrive. 

Other times, however, fate forces our hand and provides a horse-pill sized dose of reality to force us to change course. 

After my run in the rain that February morning, I visited my doctor to obtain a THIRD round of antibiotics after a double dose of walking pneumonia.  On this visit however, my doctor’s prognosis included a word that left a tattoo on my memory:  depression. 

Reality check. 

Big time. 

It has been over four years since that morning run in the rain. 

My decision to change course in my career is a “story in process” so to speak, with, what looks like a  happily-ever-after ending. 

After leaving the big salary, big headache corporate accounting job to take an executive recruiting gig--only to get laid off one year later as the economy flew into a hurricane-- left the nerves and family finances in near ruin. 

But the sun came up again. 

And the dividends of deciding to change course slowly emerged. 

After graduating college over 20 years ago, I can proudly and LOUDLY say I love my job. 

I am at port I was meant to arrive at. 

As a faculty member in the Business Department for a community college in Denver, Colorado. 

I would be a liar if I said that I don’t occasionally feel the urge to turn back to my former life of comfortable misery and snag the big paycheck. 

But by the end of that second cup of Starbucks, I always remember that change requires courage. And am constantly reminded that the time off with the family that a teaching career provides is time I can NEVER buy back. 

Ever. 

I remember a question a friend of mine named Greg once asked: “ which life is fuller, maintaining a life of comfortable misery or pursuing a difficult and perhaps uncertain victory?”  

Two weeks later, Greg quit his job in Denver and joined the Navy to become a chaplain in Iraq. 

I say good luck Greg.   

And thanks for helping me find the courage. 


AMJ