Circa 1987

September 26, 1987
Atlanta Track Club 24 Hour
Atlanta Water Works Reservoir #1, Atlanta, Georgia

Pursuing Exercise Diversity

Slowly but surely, I am learning the value of prioritizing different types of exercise.

Diversifying is a no-brainer in other realms of life: investments, nutrition, clothing, beverage selection, business enterprises, and the like. Diversity offers not only different types of pleasures—like the different tastes of cookie dough and french vanilla ice cream, but also offers reasonable protection should the figurative basket carrying all the eggs suddenly disappear.

For example, I'm currently employed as a product engineer for a company in the waterworks industry and, even though I still haven't reached the top on the learning curve, I quickly discovered that diversity is the cornerstone of our business philosophy in purchasing. For having a single supplier for castings or parts means that we as a company are only one issue away from being unable to deliver products to customers. And that issue wouldn't even have to be our fault. A machine breakdown, or supply chain breakdown (maybe the truck driver slept in), may be out of our control, but we can't build valves or hydrants without the parts. Multiple suppliers reduces this risk for us as a company. If one supplier has an issue, we have the ability to meet demand through other established sources. The potential loss in revenue and in market reputation makes diversifying a no-brainer.

But when it comes to exercise, I've always resisted anything and everything that is not running. And the reason is one-fold: I really like running. Why do anything else? The logic goes: every minute I do something other than running = one minute less that I could be enjoying running. The end.

And while I still understand this logic, I am starting to see a flaw. What happens when I experience an injury that keeps me from running? With the above logic (and personal experience from the last 4 months), I know that I'll basically do nothing until I can run again, unless groaning and complaining count as exercise activity. For there is no fallback plan. But not doing anything, especially for months on end, is not healthy.

So, to be clear, I think the flaw I am starting to see is the false assumption that doing nothing is better than doing something other than running. Or to put it positively, non-running activity is better than complete inactivity.

The coolest fat bike picture I could find.

Even if I train smarter in the future (which I am more motivated to do now than ever), the reality is that the kind of running I enjoy will always carry a high risk of injury. Fundamental to the joy of running for me is the self-discovery that comes when the body's limit is pressed, which requires high training volume and tough race exams, which carry risk on this side of the new heavens and new earth. So, given this reality, it is a no-brainer to have some fallback activities.

One of my resolutions for 2016 is to move towards what I'm calling exercise diversity. I hope to write more on this in the future, once I return to regular running and determine what is feasible given time constraints, but as of today (December 28th), it looks like it will involve a combination of daily strength training exercises (especially targeting those weak areas uncovered through the recent injury rehab) and maybe some occasional fat biking.

Time will tell. But one thing I do know: non-running activity is better than complete inactivity.

Check, in the mail.

December 23, 2015
@Home

Exploring the North Star State

I've traveled around enough in my brief life to know there is beauty everywhere, waiting to be discovered and explored. And the beauty God covered Minnesota with is not an exception, even if that beauty (at times) threatens frostbite.

I like living in Minnesota:

Originally found here: http://gearjunkie.com/minnesota-land-of-10000-adventures

"How are you?"

With a chiropractic appointment on the schedule for later this afternoon (my third in as many weeks) and physical therapy ahead in the coming weeks, my mind drifted during my morning commute to what questions I might be asked by the doctors—and what I should say.

Some form of "How are you?" inevitably begins the conversation. Sometimes it gets re-packaged as "Has anything changed since we last met?" or something slightly more fancy. But they're all essentially the same question. My chiropractor is the best at the talking to other people thing, obtaining the necessary verbal information in the least painful way possible.

And it's a fair question. I just never know how to answer: I'm doing alright. Still feeling the same tightness behind the left knee. Same spot. It doesn't feel any worse, but it also doesn't feel much better. And, of course: I've done everything you told me to do since we last met.

Toward the end of my rambling attempts at answers, I always feel this strong desire to communicate something new, something helpful, some previously overlooked detail that might make the decisive difference. But the pause is immediately filled. Some combination of words intended to communicate sympathy and understanding speed toward my ears, with proper bedside manner of course. And so we move on. The office is not the place for that sort of speculation, I've discovered.

Which is why I'm speculating in the car. As I join the rest of Minneapolis on the interstate, I finally have two realizations that immediately make me feel better. They relate not to the injury itself, but to why the injury is frustrating.

First, this injury is particularly frustrating because the healing process is so slow. Day to day, it basically feels the same: not worse, not better, just the same; always the same. Deep down, I think I believe that the injury is actually healing itself and that my two legs will one day explore freely again. But not being able to perceive improvement or mark progress somehow is difficult.

Second, this injury is particularly frustrating not because it's painful (it's probably a 3 on the 1-10 scale), but because of the separation it forces from things I love and enjoy.

Ah, there. Expressed. Now I feel better. Maybe that is progress.