Failing Fast (and Succeeding Slowly)

I’ve made a big mistake, and it’s going to cost me:  financially, emotionally, and pridefully.  Realizing my error seemed to come in a heartbeat, though in hindsight, there were clues along the way.  I ignored the clues for all the right reasons:  perseverance, tenacity, and a healthy dose of stubbornness – all traits that have served me well in the past.  But a behavioral economist would also tell me, gently I hope, that cognitive bias also played a role.  It seems that it’s hard for people to walk away from something they have committed to, and they tend to invest more time, money, and effort to avoid the psychological pain of realizing a sunk cost.

             Coming to grips with my mistake was hard enough; it was worse telling my long-suffering and patient husband.  In hindsight, I had to chuckle about his low-key response to the words, “I have to talk to you about something really important, and I don’t know how to tell you.”  That little speech would have scared the daylights out of me, but it didn’t seem to phase him much more than the Mariners losing a close game in the bottom of the ninth.  (God, I love that guy.  But I digress…)

             Now I have to swallow my pride and right the ship.  The financial piece is frustrating; the psychological toll is excruciating.  I’m not young and hip enough to fail fast like a millennial entrepreneur.  I won’t be shaking my head over a laptop in a coffee shop with smart-minded cohorts and chuckling about “failing fast so you can succeed sooner.”  And I am not mollified by the sentiment that failing is “an opportunity to begin again more intelligently.”  I just messed up.  Period.

             The good news is that there is no failing fast when it comes to working out.  Falling off the exercise bandwagon doesn’t significantly impact your overall fitness for quite a while.  Research shows it takes a couple of weeks of couch potato-ism before your fitness gains diminish:  14 days for decreased endurance and four weeks for decreased muscular strength.

             The other positive news is that fitness success happens immediately.  Exercise boosts metabolism right away, and the impacts last for several days.  The same is true for reduced blood pressure.  Exercise utilizes blood glucose without delay.  And aerobic exercise instantly improves your mood, reduces stress, and increases energy.

             I suspect I’ll survive this failure, and my relationships, financial bottom line, and ego will remain mostly intact.  But I’ll do a lot of whining and fretting in the meantime.  I suspect my hands will be too often firmly implanted in a bag of Tim’s potato chips; that is, until I need them to lace up my running shoes.

Clan Fan

            It’s Saturday morning, and my running group is straggling (and in some cases, staggering) into the coffee shop after running.  We’re a scruffy bunch, post-run.  We’re always shocked when we see each other at a non-running social event; who knew we cleaned up so well? 

             Our conversation has that easy flow of warm and familiar relationships.  A couple of people ask me how I’m feeling, as they (somehow) know I’ve been sick.  We commiserate with one member of the group who skipped the morning run because he tweaked a hamstring a couple of weeks ago.  The sub-group that took an alternative trail run regaled us with stories of woodsy beauty.  Jean has a son getting married next weekend; other group members are recently back from business travel.

             Andy is training to climb Mt. Rainer with his son in a couple of months, and we’re transfixed with his ambitious workout schedule.  The conversation drifts to other matters:  weekend plans, the ups and downs of the just-completed workweek, national news, and what our kids are up to. 

             I am struck by the sense of community and connection we share.  We’re drawn together by our love and commitment to outdoor exercise, but we celebrate and support each other’s non-fitness life events, as well.  A couple of people have kids who just graduated college.  Someone is contemplating tearing his house down and building a bigger home.  Several runners are in the middle of house remodels, while others have seriously ill friends or family strife. 

             All of us have other important tribes, as well:  families, church and volunteer groups, political associations, and travel buddy connections.  I have belonged to book clubs, female lawyer groups, and biking groups.  For years, the MOB (Mother of Boys) social group met periodically to celebrate, and commiserate, life with spirited young boys.  My law firm members and employees are close-knit; we know way too much about each other.  (If you think you can keep your upcoming colonoscopy appointment private at the office, you are mistaken!) 

             But intrinsic to every small community is a sense of acceptance and belonging.  We advocate for and support each other, bound by common pursuits or beliefs.  We don’t spend a lot of time talking about how much we value each other, but we’re there in a heartbeat if needed. 

             By about 9:00, we slowly and somewhat reluctantly part ways, wishing each other a happy and productive upcoming week.  Our modern-day tribe breaks up, and we re-enter our separate worlds filled with family, friends, and personal and professional commitments. 

             But come next Saturday, if I’m in town, I’ll be hanging out for just a while with my kindred-spirit running and walking buddies. We’ll pick up right where we left off: cajoling, teasing, connecting, and belonging.

Re-Entry and Renewal

            It’s 8:20 a.m., and the Amtrak train is pulling out of Union Station in Portland, headed north to Seattle.  I’m drinking drip coffee, which means my vacation is over.  It’s one of the ways I ease myself back into my structured and mostly disciplined life.

             While on our Oregon bike trip, I drank lattes instead of drip coffee.  I washed my hair and let it dry naturally, sans hair product and flat iron.  Sleeping was magic; for a full seven days, I slept like a log, and if I woke up, I simply rolled over and blissfully succumbed to the gentle tug of sleep.

             I ate whatever appealed to me:  grilled cheese sandwiches with potato chips, opulent caprese mini omelets at BNB’s, gorgeous multi-layer desserts with berries and ice cream.  One night, I even threw some Bailey’s Irish Crème into my after-dinner coffee.

             My husband and I walked through small towns with our arms around each other’s waists like a couple of teenagers.  Our conversation was almost completely devoid of domestic business chatter such as what to pick up at the grocery store, what time the pups had their last potty break, and whether the auto insurance premium had been paid.  We lolled, we rested, we ate, and we ambled each morning to find a new and charming coffee bar.

             And then there was the biking.  We pedaled past vineyards and orchards of hazelnuts, cherries, and apples.  We screamed down hills through dappled sunlight.  We slogged our way up tedious slopes that seemed to last forever.  We posed for pictures in the shadows of magnificent mountain peaks.  It was perfect.

             I didn’t plan anything.  I made game-time decisions about every aspect of our bike trip.  Heck, I even avoided looking at elevation maps; I didn’t want to anticipate anything.  I just waited and responded to whatever was before me:  terrain, routes, wind, scenery, and effort.

             Tomorrow I’ll be back at my desk with office coffee and Wheat Chex cereal for breakfast.  I’ll track my time in six-minute increments.  I’ll ambitiously plan my weekend schedule, which will be predominantly absent of fun or leisurely activities.  I’ve got big projects and deadlines looming in the not-too-distant future, all which mandate planning with meticulous specificity.

             The beauty of a vacation is the absence of required foresight:  impromptu meanderings into dinner cafes, spontaneous decisions to leave the bike group for some solitary cycling, and free-flowing conversations.  I shed adult responsibilities with child-like appreciation. 

             For the next three hours until the train drops me off into Seattle, the yoke of responsibility is off my shoulders.  Then I will be converted into a middle-aged, diminutive Atlas bearing what feels like the weight of the world.

             Time to plan the next vacation!

Cycling To and Fro

            On Sunday morning when this email goes out, I’ll be biking somewhere in Oregon.  I’m not exactly sure where.  It’s impossible to describe how busy I’ve been in the last couple of months -- physically and emotionally.  But suffice to say, I’ve been too busy to look at the five-day itinerary and the route.  I hope that the bike outfitters know where we’re going so that we don’t get lost!

             I can’t wait for the trip to start.  It’s a trip we’ve planned with family and friends almost a year ago.  A physically active vacation in a beautiful part of the country is just my thing.  I’ll be with people I love and trust, and we’ll have a great mix of heart-pumping hill biking and leisurely pedaling through scenic vistas.  Throw in a few stops at wineries and casual outdoor dining, and it’s the perfect escape.

             And escapism is just what I need right now.

             Vacations provide a respite from the intensity and demands of a life brimming with activity.  But this trip feels different.  I’m not just drawn to my vacation; I’m actively running away from a life that feels too complex now.  I’m in full-throttle retreat mode.

             My life feels too full and stuffy right now—just shy of suffocating.  Patiently trying to push my five-year-book project across the finish line and work management complexities are just the tip of the iceberg.  Lurking below the surface is much, much more.  The enormity of what lies underneath is something I can’t manage right now.  But I will – when I can find the time.

             The good news is that I have no major life catastrophes.  I’m not grappling with substance abuse, financial havoc, emotional dysfunction, or marital discord.  And yet, I have some mid-life stuff to deal with, and it’s going to take some work.

             I’m not just eagerly anticipating five days on a bicycle; I’m fleeing my Seattle life for just a bit.  The beauty of vigorous outdoor exercise is that it abolishes your ability to dwell on anything other than effort, the sound of your breathing, the tempo of your pedaling, and the exquisite environment around you. 

             When I come back, everything I ran away from, I mean, cycled away from, will still be there.  But I’ll feel whole and better equipped to handle it.