SPINTASTIC. (formerly "Spiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin with me!")

Begin with a Purpose

2011-02-07T20:18:00.005-05:00

It's been a long time. I'm two weeks away from the start of my last year of medical school (HOW did this pass so quickly?), currently knee-deep in snow and waist-deep in Institutional Review Board paperwork to get my next HRM study approved (yes, yes, I'll write up the first one eventually -- just as soon as I get the next one up and running: it's way more important, way more useful). Immersed in writing up specifics of a project I've adored and invested in for the past two years, one would think I'd be overjoyed. After 10 hours of writing various sections in an illogical order, with only one paragraph remaining to write of my 20-page protocol, I do not feel satisfied or proud or rewarded. All I feel is stuck, counting down the seconds until it's over, and taking absolutely no steps toward making "over" happen.

You know what part's left? The "Purpose" paragraph. The first paragraph of the document. I left the "Purpose" for the end -- and in the end, I have no steam left to define it.

I'm training another group now for the 11th Annual Special Olympics Vermont "Ride for a Reason," the 6-hour charity indoor cycling marathon event I help organize. It's an event that has meant a lot to me over the past three years. It was the first way I really connected with my new community after moving here from NYC for medical school. It afforded me the opportunity to bringing mentors and colleagues who inspire me (from all the chapters of my life) together all on one stage to co-lead the event with me. And while the novelty has surprisingly worn off as an athlete after banging out a bunch of these 6-hour indoor rides and a handful of outdoor Centuries, it's been a most rewarding experience as a coach to guide so many young athletes through their first endurance conquest. Life really doesn't get better than watching someone get their first taste of profound and utter pride.

Each year, I charge a small fee for riders to join a training group for Saturday morning endurance rides on a Spinner for a few months leading up to the ride: we start at 60 mins, then progress to 75, 90, 2 hours (we do weekly 2 hour sessions for a month), 2.5 hours, and 3 hours. This year, I decided to do it for free to inspire folks who'd never been on a Spinner longer than a 45-50 min class to give it a shot. I SO believed that I could take a group of newbie aspiring endurance athletes and teach them what they need to know in order to bang out 6 hours on a Spinner. The more I train people to do it, the more I gather their feedback on what works/doesn't, and -- of course -- the more of these events I ride myself, the more confident I am in knowing specifically what I need to teach people in order for them to be successful on Game Day.

I held my first training session this weekend. I have 6 riders in the group. One rode this event last year (his first 6-hour ride -- I was so proud that I decided to ask him a few months afterwards to marry me; just kidding... I was going to do that anyway!); two have done two-hour endurance rides with me before; the remaining 5 have never been on a bike - stationary or outside - for more than an hour. But you know what? They're taking on their first indoor Century with confidence.

As they filtered in and set up their bikes, I scribbled an impromptu list on my whiteboard. I've decided to share it here.

Top 10 Things You Need to Know in Order to Conquer a 6-Hour Ride
1. Begin with a purpose.
Yes, like I didn't do with my IRB paperwork. You know what? Six hours sweating on a stationary bike surrounded by 100 people doesn't make a whole lot of sense. Most of the time, it sucks: it's hot, it's wet, it's humid, it's uncomfortable, it's boring. It's not something one just does. It has to mean something. It has to mean something specific.

Why are you committing to this challenge? When you finish, what will you be able to say about yourself? What will you learn in the process? What will you remember? What will you now be able to do? How will your life be changed in some way? What does it mean to you? Now is the time to start developing answers to those questions -- you're the only one who can. Your answers may change over time, and that's ok. But you have to have SOMETHING in mind. Otherwise, why bother?

2. Learn how to sit: protect your crotch and protect your wrists.
Technical imperative #1. Multi-hour rides are great for helping you detect subtle imperfections in your form . During this weekend's 90 min ride, we obsessed over one specific aspect of form: directing your weight on the saddle. We talk about "not leaning on the handlebars" ad nauseum - but we all do it. I learned that while training for my first outdoor Century, when I lost motor function in my left thumb. "Handlebar-leaner? Who, me?" After six hours, your wrists don't lie. The mantra I've been repeating for my riders is: "Keep your wrists lined up with your thumbs." That alignment, if observed, tends to reflect that there is not excessive pressure on the handlebars. The other part to that is driving one's weight through your butt (where we all have more padding, like it or not) instead of the anterior pelvis -- AKA "front part of the crotch." I describe to my riders about thinking of a stake being driven through their tailbones. It's kinda weird, but it seems to conceptually "work" for people.

I concluded the first training session by asking my riders to close their eyes in the first few minutes of the cool-down and direct their attention to anything that hurt or felt stiff or sore. THAT'S the part of their form they'd focus on in the next ride. We can learn a lot from our pain.

3. Learn how to protect your feet: keep your feet off the insoles of your shoes.
Have you personally ever experienced "hot feet?" It's quite possibly the worst pain on earth. That's nerve pain, or "neuropathy" -- the same thing that happens to folks with poorly controlled diabetes (except theirs is with them all day, every day and very very very difficult to treat). Cyclists' neuropathy is a temporary problem caused by compression of the nerves on the bottom of the feet. Stiff-soled cycling shoes help to reduce that pressure, but they're not sufficient to overcome subtle imperfections in pedal stroke form over the course of 6 hours.

Even if you think you're not "mashing" downwards, you're probably doing a little more downward pushing than you think. I tell my riders to imagine there are firey hot spikes in the insole of their shoe -- if their foot touches the insole, they're going to get hurt. Their job is to keep their foot towards the TOP of their shoe -- either pushing up against the toe strap (if they're in sneakers) or simply lifting their knees up if they're clipped in. We do drills focusing energy on the upstroke (hip flexor action) synchronized with downbeats of the music (vs. the temptation to mash down on the downbeat), as well as the backwards wiping portion of the pedal stroke. These drills are great to combat the mental tediousness of long rides, too.

4. Learn how to breathe.
Breathing is key for a) controlling heart rate/conserving energy, b) psychological management of challenge, c) combating boredom. The first part is self-explanatory; the latter two, perhaps not so much.

I teach my riders that there is no better feeling in the world than experiencing true mind-body connection, feeling completely in sync with their environment, their breath, the way their body is moving, etc. We practice synchronizing breaths with music, with pedal strokes, etc. We close our eyes. We give ourselves permission to pay attention to all these subtleties, to get lost in it -- and in so doing, to find something magical.

5. Eat every hour, and drink more than you're used to.
'Nough said. I'm not kidding. You need to replenish glucose; otherwise, your liver will think you're in a fasting state and start catabolizing muscle to free up raw material protein for it to manufacture its own glucose. Bad. If you keep a low level of constant glucose on these long endurance events, you've got enough of a base substrate for good ol' fat metabolism to continue.

6. Keep your heart rate wayyyyy lower that you're used to. Try to stay below 80% of LT for most of the ride.
Also 'nough said. Granted, there's a lot of energy/adrenaline pumping during these big time events -- and lots of instructors trying to feed that. I remind my riders to empower themselves NOT to follow every acceleration, position change, resistance load, switchback drill, etc. that comes their way. Heart rate control is the prime objective. We spend most of our hours together practicing progressive loading drills (i.e., "Increase and Breathe...") so that they learn how to load resistance and load speed without affecting heart rate, by modulating the challenge with their breathing. And we also practice breathing heart rate down by extending the exhalation extra-long, to bring HR down faster. This way, if they're tempted to surge to LT in the middle of hour 1 of 6 on Game Day (ill-advised), they can get right back down and recover. But I also remind them to take responsibility for making their own choices and pacing themselves according to what they need.

7. Get comfortable being uncomfortable. Own your discomfort.
For me, this was always my #1 reason for riding 6 (or 8, in the cases of my outdoor 100-mile rides) hours on a bike. The idea that when you're up against something horrible -- like 36 hour overnight surgery call, or stuck in an OR standing 15 hours sans eating, peeing, etc., or stuck in a snowstorm with your car stuck in a snowbank, or your job is too stressful to bear, or you're too anxious to do something you know you want to do, or WHATEVER it is that you find unbearably uncomfortable... you remember that you've been uncomfortable before. And that you survived. That you didn't need to resolve that discomfort in order to function -- that you just kept going. Thus, you will always know that you can do it again. So here during this training, during this event -- treat it as though it would be ok if it lasted forever.

It's a concept that doesn't naturally occur to people: the idea of seeking out something uncomfortable for the specific purpose of getting used to being uncomfortable. I've written a lot about the merits of this concept, the underpinning for basically most of how I live my life. I incorporate this into my coaching cues whenever possible.

8. Develop coping mechanisms for boredom.
Six hours on a stationary bike gets boring, dude. Seriously boring. So you have to do stuff. Give yourself pedal stroke drills, breathing drills, HR games, etc. Develop strategies to re-focus, entertain yourself, simply pass the time, etc. Don't rely on the instructor (including me) -- with few exceptions, you'll be disappointed at least some of the time. Rehearse a plan for "what you do when you get bored." It may mean closing your eyes, focusing on an aspect of your form, focusing on a particular part of your pedal stroke. Whatever it takes. Plan it in advance so that, when the time comes, you expect it and remain in control.

9. Coach yourself.
A six-hour ride is such a deeply personal matter. You might here glimpses of inspiring insight from the person up front guiding the group -- but where the real inspiration needs to come from is within. You must always be talking to yourself in your head. Tell yourself the story of how things are, the way they should be. Coach yourself through your form, your breathing, your pedal stroke. Coach yourself through every movement you make. Envision how you want to feel and look and be at any given moment, and describe that vision to yourself. I've written a ton about this concept here.

10. Remember your "reason."
When you're exhausted and tired and sore and stiff and bored out of your mind, what's going to keep you going? The instructor at the front of the room? No. It's the reason, the purpose, you started with. Remind yourself of that. It sounds like a silly, trivial point -- but you have no idea what kind of difference it makes. And if you're not finding that it makes a difference, there's a good chance that your "reason" isn't meaningful enough to you. Find the one that keeps you going.

That's all for now. I feel like somewhat less of a blog-delinquent. Sweet...

Pace Yourself (profile/music, too)

2010-12-11T12:53:00.005-05:00

It's not that I was "too busy" to write for the past seven months. It's that I had nothing to say. For all my talk of cycling/indoor cycling as a transformational process to build generalizable skills to conquer all of life's challenges, my present life (2 months from the end of my penultimate year of medical school) is now such that cycling is no longer enhancing my life to the extent that it once did. I rode outside 4x this year total, and rarely ride a Spinner except for when I'm teaching. When I watch people die, or have people tell me they want to die, or watch people go home from the hospital thinking they're "all better" when, really, they're just going to die, how much control I had over my heart rate during my last training session doesn't even occur to me - let alone be meaningful. When I've slept 13 hours a week, or spent 16 hours a day standing in an operating room, or realize that I spend most of a given day counting down the hours til it's over, riding a bike is nothing more than riding a bike - and I simply don't want to. Nor have I been in any way motivated to write about it, despite how much I've appreciated so many people's email/Facebook encouragements to do so.

I've ridden hundreds of miles just to prove various thing to myself over time. I've crafted hundreds of IDC training sessions for my classes themed on creating such opportunities for other people. Hundreds of people have told me that they "get" it - and in those moments, the return on investment is huge. But lately, I throw my profiles/music (essentially, an assortment of the same 25 songs in different orders/combinations x 4 months) together an hour before class, spend five minutes thinking about my theme/purpose/introductory lines, and entirely wing the rest of my cues. I never repeat an old ride because it takes me longer to recall what I initially intended with an old profile than it does to just make a new one. The profiles are deliberately simply structured such that a) people perceive that it passes quickly, since they have fewer "different things" that happen, and b) the medical student in me is pretty good at retaining [anything] for an hour, such that I don't have to bother writing out my profiles. I scribble stuff during the creation process, and then I throw it out. Yes, it helps to have years' worth of stock "things I say" that I can get away with this. And I mean a lot of different "things I say." Experience is kind-of like cheating. This is not a practice I recommend, as even if people somehow tap into strokes of inspiration from my stale cues, I certainly don't inspire myself (which makes it really hard to self-motivate to even show up to teach). My cues have been very technical lately +/- stock "greatest hits" cues that I could spit out in my sleep (and probably do, for all I know - my fiance is a heavy sleeper... yes, by the way, since going AWOL from the blogosphere, I've gotten engaged!). Point is, very rarely have I talked about riding a bike as being anything more than riding a bike lately. I just don't have it in me.

And you know what? nobody seemed to notice the difference. Was it because they already had the legitimately well-developed self-talk cues I'd taught them for years? Or was it really that they didn't care either?

Last night was to be my last class of the semester (I teach at a university, which structures its group fitness schedule around the undergraduate academic calendar despite 50% of my riders being graduate students or faculty). After 12 hours at the hospital, I came home 30 minutes before I'd have to leave to teach. I conceived of a profile on my 5 min commute home (a loop ride of long climb/6x accelerations x 2), and threw together selections of the aforementioned 25 songs + a few random additions. When I was done, I wasn't proud of it. It was boring, and I didn't even want to ride it myself.

But then I had an epiphany. What's, like, the most important technical skill I teach people? What's the foundation of pretty much all of my training profiles, including this boring 2-climb loop? What is the single-most important drill that improves my clients' fitness, and generalizes to the rest of life (even if I'm too burnt out to think to remind people of such)? Progessive loading, obviously. "Increase, and breathe." That is, loading resistance so gradually that one's body has time to adapt and accomodate the challenge. Building up a hill so subtly that one might still be at 80% LT at the top. Accepting and committi ng to a challenge in such a way that it can be sustained, indefinitely. Mastering the way one's body responds to challenge through breath modulation. Really, the only reason I'm able to pull off halfway decent rides despite no longer investing hours of preparation, is that this drill is so damned good.

So what would be the most meaningful contribution I could possibly make to whoever showed up for this class, on a Friday night in the middle of a snowstorm? If I could REALLY, truly make them "get" it.

I took my loops and broke them down. Each loop was ~ 18 minutes each. What if instead of guiding the class through random increments of "subtle adjustment," I gave them more structure? What if I gave them a starting point and an end point, and challenged them to create everything in between - thereby forcing them to internalize what it truly means to "load gradually." To pace themselves.

So, I did.

I explained the purpose of mastering the skill of progressive loading, and told them the mechanism by which we would attempt to do so. We would have two hills, where the steepness of each would be built up so gradually that they would be able to sustain their efforts without letting their heart rates get out of control/needing to take a break. Every minute for 18 minutes, they would load resistance. What that means is that it is up to them to decide how much they load (i.e., to define what "add a little bit of resistance" means to them). If they loaded a full turn or even a half-turn of the resistance knob, depending on the maintenance status of their bikes, that might be too much to count as "gradual," which is why I never coach resistance loading like that (and absolutely HATE when I hear other instructors coaching as such). In any event, their challenge was to load resistance so subtly that by the 18th increase, they'd be able to conquer two sets of 3x 30 second accelerations at the same level of resistance.

Intro Speech (one day, I'll write about how this is truly the most important part of a ride):
Last Dragon
Cues: See above

Warmup
Fade to Grey - Winman

Cues: Find your breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Try to make the breath on the way in slightly longer on the way out. When you inhale, HR increases slightly; when you exhale, HR decreases. So if the exhalation is longer than the inhalation, the net effect is that your HR comes down. This is a skill you'll use later. Intensity should feel like the work is beginning but you can literally sustain this forever - not just all day, but forever. Shoulders rolled back and down, loose, elbows point down towards the floor. Knees come up to the center of the chest. Especially if your hips are tight, your knees want to flare out to the side - make every effort to bring them into the midline.

LOOP 1
Climb:
Higher Love - Safri Duo
In My Head - Jason Derulo
Pump It - Black Eyed Peas
Womanizer (Remix) - Britney Spears
Left Outside Alone (Remix) - Anastacia

Cues:
I really, truly didn't talk much - and I think it made for a better ride.
Every minute x 18 minutes, load "a little bit more resistance."
Remember to pace yourself.
(Assorted reminders of breath, upper body form, lower body form, pedal stroke, etc.)
If your mind starts wandering, close your eyes.
If your legs are feeling heavy, slide your weight to back of the seat on the widest part of the seat, takes the pressure off the back and off the knees.
The more resistance you load, the looser your upper body needs to get. Give the momentum, the energy you create, somewhere to go... besides your joints.

After every 6th loading, I cued them that they were 1/3 and 2/3 of the way there. At the 17th increase, I reminded them that they had 2 sets of 3x 30 second accelerations coming after their 18th adjustment.

At the base of the hill, I told them that they should feel like they could carry on a perfectly normal conversation, like a light jog, "something they could sustain all day but not forever." For those with HRMs, 30 beats below LT.

1/3 of the way there, I told them that they should feel like they could carry on a conversation but that they would really need to pay attention to their breathing. Something they could hold most of the day, for several hours, but not all day. 20 beats below LT. "If you're past that, back off your resistance slightly, and find your breath again - in through the nose, out through the mouth."

2/3 of the way there, intensity should feel like you wouldn't want to have a conversation. You could get several words out, but you'd be distracted by how much attention you'd have to pay to your breathing. There should be no burning in the legs or tightness in the chest. 10 beats below LT. Breathing is still rhythmic. If you're past this, back off your resistance.

At the 17th loading, I remind them that even at the 18th adjustment, you're right below the point at which burning in your legs begins. Still no tightness in the chest, not gasping for hair. Still completely in control of that breathing rhythm. "In.... and out..." Breathing gets more purposeful, more deliberate. Forceful, long breath on the exhale, make room for a deeper breath on the next breath.

2 sets of 3x accelerations - 30 seconds each:
Place in Your Heart - Journey
Jukebox Hero - Foreigner

Recovery (4-5 mins):
All Eyes on Me - Goo Goo Dolls

LOOP 2:
Climb:
Sunglasses at night (Remix)
Since You've Been Gone - Remix - Kelly Clarkson
Club Can't Handle Me - Flo Rida (yeah, I play dance-rap now in my classes; it's ridiculously not me, yet I can't get enough)
In the Ayer - Remix - Flo Rida
Don't Stop Believin' (Remix)

2 sets of 3x accelerations:
We Weren't Born to Follow - Bon Jovi
Chasing Cars (Remix) - Tiesto

COOLDOWN/STRETCH:
Hold on Loosely - .38 Special
This Kind of Love - Sister Hazel (this is what will play when my wedding party walks down the aisle, as a point of useless trivia)
The Climb - Miley Cyrus

Afterword: This was, by far, one of the most rewarding classes I've EVER taught (including comparisons to my crazy, surreal days of NYC when people used to rave of their various Spinning-induced epic life changes - the kind of moments that almost made me want to withdraw my med school applications back in the day, because coaching IDC was rewarding enough!). Since I mostly shut up and let people rock out/groove to the steady beats and mark their steady mini-goals, I could look around the room and watch people totally "in their zone." All this time, I thought I wasn't connecting because I wasn't saying anything epic.

But, really, all I ever had to do was shut up and teach people a concrete skill. It didn't need to mean anything more than what it was at its most basic level. It was enough.

Knowing When -- and How -- to Push.

2010-05-29T13:15:00.002-04:00

I've been having syncopal (fainting) and pre-syncopal (near fainting) spells over the past two years, of yet-undetermined cause. I eat well, sleep well, hydrate well, train well, recover well, and all my labs are normal, as is a CT of my brain. Cardiovascular work-up has yielded a super-common congenital defect in my heart (25% of people have a patent foramen ovale) but it's unlikely that significant deoxygenated blood would start being shunted to my brain now -- there has to be something else also going on. It's most likely a problem with my autonomic nervous system, or an intermittent cardiac arrhythmia that is preventing adequate blood flow. To figure out which, though, is a horrifically expensive and inconvenient process (as is being whisked off by ambulance to a hospital in the middle of nowhere after having one of these spells whilst driving on the Interstate).

My episodes tend not to be exertional, though my doctor and I decided it would be important to do a "stress test" anyway. Stress tests, conventionally, involve jogging on a treadmill while hooked up to electrocardiogram (ECG, or more commonly known as EKG) leads. When the technician deems that the patient is working hard enough to represent a "maximum effort" (i.e., conditions where any electrical conduction abnormalities of the heart indicative of inadequate blood flow are most likely to be observed) the test is complete. For a well-trained athlete, it is easy to appreciate where this could go awry. My metabolically measured lactate threshold is 184 beats per minute. 106% of LT (i.e., something I can sustain for an entire 30 seconds where I do my regular weekly or bimonthly anaerobic interval training) is 196 bpm. If you want to see my heart at max effort, buddy, jogging on a treadmill isn't going to cut it. I decided, therefore, to do my own stress test. On the day that I had to wear a 24-hour continuous electrocardiogram monitor (Holter monitor), I decided I was going to go to a gym and push like I've never pushed before.

The mission was a total flop. But I learned a ton about myself as an athlete, and as a coach, in the process -- so I figured I'd blog about it...

Over time, I've gotten the endurance thing down pat. I've structured my world such that the people I train either specifically come to me because they already "get" it, or I enthusiastically convert them to "get" it. I've always made it a point to familiarize myself with the modus operandi of my colleagues wherever I'm teaching, and regularly reinforce to myself the importance of serving the unique role of giving people what they're not getting elsewhere. So it has become very important to me to deliver quality, aerobic training with the physical, psychological, and emotional tools to practice it.

I've written ad nauseum about various mechanisms for "self-coaching" through aerobic and even sub-max efforts, largely centered around themes of commitment, discipline, restraint, etc. etc. etc. But I don't write much about anaerobic work. Why? I'm not comfortable with it. I very rarely take large groups above LT. While working with a smaller group where I know everyone, I feel confident in explaining:
1) why we're doing it (to train Type II "explosive" muscle fibers)
2) how we're doing it (*BAM* push to 106% of LT for 30 seconds, then recover all the way back down to 70% of LT, then *BAM* hit it again)
3) how my coaching style is about to COMPLETELY change, reminding them that they have 100% permission to ignore me at all times.

I do this every two months or so (assuming they're getting high-intensity training elsewhere) so that they learn/remember how to do it effectively (i.e., an interval of sufficient intensity/length -- NOT overshooting, lest they set themselves up for failure and disappointment -- and corresponding recovery, so that they can actually reap the benefits of this kind of training), and remember how unpleasant they're supposed to be (i.e., how "can I go take a nap now?" is not the desired outcome of most training sessions). When I do it, I'm almost exclusively off the bike, and my cues are almost uncomfortably intense. They have to be. Pushing to 106% of LT is not natural. It's not something that people "fall into," and I find it really friggin' hard to take them there.

So here I was on the elliptical trainer with my Holter monitor, tasked with taking myself there.

I began by framing my purpose. I knew that when I felt uncomfortable, perhaps downright in pain, that I'd need to remind myself of the purpose with which I began. I was doing this for answers. This may be the only chance I have to "catch" whatever is wrong. This was my last chance, wearing the Holter monitor (which, thanks to my pathetic health insurance coverage common to most medical students, was costing me close to $1000); I couldn't afford to repeat the test. And because I couldn't afford to screw anything up, I decided not to even wear my HRM (the Holter consists of EKG leads hooked up to a recorder - there is no display of heart rhythms or rates, no feedback at all). For anyone who knows me, you'll understand how big a deal it is to take this on without a HRM: I'd have no idea how hard I was pushing, no idea if I were trying hard enough.

Armed with a playlist of my "greatest hits" of tunes with 30 second power choruses, I began. Warmed up for 10 minutes to an easy perceived exertion. Then, it was time. I closed my eyes, prepared to explode at the chorus. My self-coaching began.

You need to do this. You need answers.

I pushed. I pushed as hard and as fast as I could, until my legs felt like rubber and my chest became tight. You can do this. And when I felt my legs literally liquifying beneath me, I kept with it.

End of chorus. Recover. Breathe. Looooong exhales. Heart rate (by perceived exertion) comes way down.

Next interval. Ready... ready... NOW. I pushed. 5 seconds later, my legs slowed into a comfortable, steady cadence that in NO way approximated 106% of LT, HRM or not.

First, I made excuses. If I'd had my HRM, I'd have a concrete target to shoot for -- and immediate feedback to reinforce and direct my efforts. I'd know what I can safely sustain. I could assure myself. I'd know exactly what I need to do. Without that, I can't. I just can't.

"Can't?" That's not helpful. I launched a self-intervention immediately. I tried to reason with myself, to motivate myself to do this terrible, awful thing that I had absolutely no interest in doing.

This is your last chance for answers. Nothing.

You're spending $1000, make it count! A little bit faster.

You're going to remember this. That time you promised yourself you'd push through your doubts, your fears, no matter how much it hurt. When you let this stand for something you know you'd look back on forever. *BAM*

It was just what I'd told myself so many times before. At Mile 17 of my 2nd century, in the ridiculously miserable pouring rain in the middle of nowhere with a broken spring on my front tire. At Mile 85 of the same ride, at the bottom of a 10% grade hill. At Hour 6 of this year's Ride for a Reason, after my mentor told me he didn't like my ride the hour prior and I still had to get out there and coach again. At the bedside of a comatose man last week in the hospital, as I was tasked with assessing his brain function.

And so, for the next 30 minutes, this sort of dramatic self-dialogue continued. I called up the most potent memories I could muster -- some of them proud, some of them utterly painful. Flash to a snapshot on the side of the road after my massive bike accident last year, the sound of my head hitting concrete, helmet shattered -- along with my confidence -- swearing I'd never be able to ride again. What it felt like to be so truly afraid.

I defined each push somehow to serve as coping with whatever I called up to fight against. And you know what? It worked.

If I weren't in the middle of my 6 month Spinning hiatus, I'd totally have made a ride about it.

In the end, my fake stress test was probably a bust. I have no idea if I pushed hard enough to truly tax my heart sufficient to see "anything." I have no idea if there's even anything to see.

But I did learn that the stuff I so regularly advocate in endurance coaching has JUST as much power for anaerobic efforts. Letting it stand for something, letting it mean something.

Pushing for a purpose, as a mechanism for conquering whatever needs to be conquered.

Touching Lives?

2010-05-21T15:23:00.002-04:00

"We touch people's lives in ways we may never know."

For my first two years of medical school, I spent most of my free time at an inspiringly amazing family practice clinic in rural Vermont. The clinic's founder and director is a mind-blowingly brilliant physician who is one of the most globally impressive people I've ever met. Uniformly adored by patients, colleagues, politicians and the general public at large, every word out of his mouth is precise and utterly impactful. My interactions with him have been very carefully selected -- I've had to balance my propensity for stuttering/blabbering/otherwise embarrassing myself with how friggin' much I learn in a few minutes of conversation with him, most of which truly stays with me (assuming I have the presence of mind to "breathe my heart rate down" long enough to encode it). But the quote above, which he said to me on one of my very first days at clinic, that stayed with me for sure.

I remember being a kid and dreaming of "making a difference," "touching lives," blah blah blah, all that vague, generalized do-gooder stuff. Initially, that translated into local community service projects and general attempts not to be a jerk towards others. As I got older, I started seeking out professional opportunities to be involved with stuff that had lasting consequences, and found that I found the concept of being attached to those consequences rather rewarding. Doing stuff with consequences almost, in a sense, had a built-in feeling of purposefulness and meaning. I suppose that deciding to become a doctor is much of the same.

When I became a Spinning instructor in 2007, however, I had none such lofty ideals. I got certified purely "for the heck of it" - more curiousity than anything else; I didn't even plan to teach. When I did decide to audition to teach for a prominent nyc franchise, my expectations were quite concrete: plan training session reflective of scientific soundness --> play music that doesn't suck --> set a good example of projecting positivity and self-care --> done. I never imagined, 3 years later, that I'd have had unbelievably intense relationships through this program: people I've taught, people I've trained, people who have taught and trained me. I never thought I'd author a blog read by hundreds of people. I never thought I'd change the way I saw myself, how I saw the world. Or that, nearly exclusively through the course of my new role, that I'd carve out a way to balance my quest for "consequence" and meaning.

Simply put, I never thought I'd touch anyone. I wasn't trying to.

Yesterday, I got an email from a fellow fitness blogger who has impressed me over time with her upbeat, enthusiastic, soul-pouring posts, and with her generosity with her seemingly endless energy and creative ideas for fitness instruction. She told me a story of how something I'd written a year or so ago had inspired her to step outside her comfort zone and teach an endurance ride in a very risky setting (i.e., pressures to pack the room). To be honest, it took me a while to "register" what she was talking about. I'm on an away-rotation at a hospital in Maine, and have been so far removed from this part of my life. I haven't coached since February, haven't written for this blog (or ICI - I promise, 4 weeks til this rotation ends! My next medical column will be about use of blood pressure meds in exercise), haven't even been training myself (for medical reasons that I'll ultimately describe on ICI - it's a useful case study in how hard it is to provide good medical care for athletes). I've just been so completely disconnected from stuff that, prior to a few months ago, was such a hugely life-defining realm of my world. Somehow, I actually kind-of forgot about it. It's no wonder I've been feeling so useless, tagging along like a puppy in a white coat around a miserable, cold, chaotic place that would be the LAST place I'd want to be if I were really sick (i.e., The Hospital).

It's humbling to think that stuff you do has larger consequences than you intend, sometimes. My sidebar of my other blog, describing how its URL earned its name, says it all. Truth be told, what this person accomplished had very little to do with what she read here -- it's all about serving as the spark that "clicks" people into shifting their own paradigms.

You never know what's going to set people off, get them thinking. You never know what's going to truly speak to people at the very specific place where they're at, to inspire them to choose the direction they want to go. My boyfriend teases me about my redundancy - I speak the way I write, and I write the way I coach (both athletically and medically - and, yes, I do continue to see my role as a physician-in-training as such) -- delivering messages in multiple different ways, with the hope that one particular fragment of one of those messages will be the one that "carries the day" for someone. Because if it doesn't, then what's the point?

Of all the times and contexts in which I've suffered from burn-out, I can honestly say that I've never had this experience as a coach. Sure, there have been times when I'm tired or cranky or sad and want to stay home and nap instead of getting up in front of a room and kicking into "positive life presence mode." But that's not burn-out. Burn-out is being so drained that you temporarily forget your purpose. And if your purpose is to connect with people, to reach them, to share your expertise and passion for the things you believe in -- do it. Even if you don't think it's working.

You're always touching lives, even if you never know it.

The Dangers of Not "Training for SOMETHING"

2010-04-08T21:39:00.002-04:00

Sigh. (Again). I'm 6 weeks into my third year of medical school (i.e., inpatient rotations), living in a new city away from my home, my Spinner, my indoor cycling classes, and the life I've very deliberately carved out for myself. I wake up at 5AM, spend all day til after dark at the hospital, where I am treated to some of the gloomiest, most depressing scenes and stories, and feel absolutely helpless in contributing anything to the lives of the very very sick, very very lonely people who have very little choice in allowing me to learn from them. I do my best to stay out of the way of the medical team I follow around, who reward me by "pimping" me (asking me questions in front of a huge group of doctors, often for purposes of fulfilling a rite of passage under the guise of "teaching") on various topics. At night, I come home, "dump" a version of my crazy day to my boyfriend (4 hours away, back home in Burlington) by telephone while I eat frozen food, read for a few hours about arbitrary, self-selected vague medical concepts I think might potentially help me with the next day's "pimping," then sleep for a few hours, snuggled up with a heating pad for my aching neck that's been weighed down for 14 hours with my overloaded white coat and stethescope.

My usual coping mechanisms for navigating the challenges of my day seem not to apply here. I'm not blogging (occasionally, I splatter collections of inarticulate, partially processed stories onto my "life blog") -- not blogging meaningfully, at least. I'm not regularly exercising. I'm not reading anything that inspires me. I'm not "creating" anything - an experience, an example. I'm flat.

But there are moments that make all of "this" worth-it -- subtle moments that lend perspective, purpose, and meaning. A patient dying of renal failure tearfully telling me that I made her life better. Another patient getting out of bed for the first time in 3 weeks. An email from my mentor back in Vermont, validating the concerns and reflections I've shared about how cold and callous inpatient medicine turns out to be. A Facebook Wall post from someone who reads this blog, telling me that some verbose rant or another had somehow contributed to their ability to communicate with and guide other human beings. Traveling back to Vermont to co-lead a 6-hour charity endurance ride to benefit the Special Olympics, sharing the honor with Master Instructors who have mentored me (including Jennifer Sage, flying all the way out from Colorado -- no way!) I VERY regrettably cannot make time to write about this life-altering experience (at least for a few months til I get my first break) - but Jennifer wrote about it on ICI: click to read.

It's these moments where I remember that, only weeks ago, I was adaptive, fulfilled, and happy.

Why? I had an epiphany as to why. And, finally, I was motivated to write.

I used the word "exercise" above. I very rarely use that word. When I expend physical activity, I refer to it as "training." I am always training. I always have an overarching goal for which I am "in training": whether it be to prepare physically/mentally for my next Century ride, to increase my lactate threshold to x bpm, to lower my resting heart rate, to be able to climb x hill at y heart rate, to be a more "automated" breather, etc. etc. For every given training session, I have specific objectives to achieve these goals: specific heart rate parameters, a specific plan, and specific issues on which to focus with specific reasons for doing so (i.e., "today I am going to focus exclusively on perfecting my wrist alignment -- because when I ride outside, I re-injure my old wrist ligament injury even when I'm not grossly leaning on the handlebars"). When I get uncomfortable or tired or discouraged or otherwise tempted to quit, I remind myself of my goals.

I've written ad nauseum about the importance of "training for something," and of encouraging my riders to identify what their "something" is. When I train people, I educate them and empower them to make choices consistent with their values -- with their "something." They always know "why they're riding," because they set out with specific goals and priorities from the onset. It means something to them.

On my first rotation, nephrology, I didn't show up with any specific goals. I showed up "ready to learn how to become a doctor." That's kind-of like showing up to the gym "to exercise." I would never DO that. Armed with my uber-specific goals and sub-goals, not to mention my heart rate monitor, I'd have WAY more purpose than that -- merely walking into a gym. Why was I not approaching my career the same way? Had I had specific objectives and strategies, perhaps my days would have at least had the illusion of greater structure and purpose. When a patient on my service died every few days, maybe I could have remembered what I'd identified as my reason for being there. Maybe not. But maybe.

Last week, I started my psychiatry rotation. I'm on the dementia unit, which is truly as sad as end stage renal disease. I'll write on my other blog eventually about the important differences between these experiences -- but the one noteworthy for now is that I started with specific goals: 5 things about psychiatry that I wanted to see, understand and internalize to best enable me to serve people in primary care (I'm going into Family Medicine). I thoughtfully developed them, ran them by my mentor back in VT (a family doc), and hit the ground running.

This changed everything. I show up every day with purpose, move through my day with a specific agenda -- and in the process of so doing, actually end up being more useful to both my team and the patients for whom we care. It's still a largely discouraging experience being surrounded by so much brute hopelessness. But in defining a purpose, it's easier to restructure one's attitude and outlook. Having a specific goal allows one to experience those "moments" that make it all worth-it, moments one chooses to create and structure. I'm finally training for something, something of which I can remind myself every time it gets tough. And when I've learned what I've set out to experience, I won't merely feel like I "survived." I'll feel like I actually accomplished something.

As on the bike, as in life... as per usual.

"Game On": The Ride, The Mindset

2010-02-09T20:05:00.003-05:00

Sigh. I didn't mean to go this long without blogging, here or on my "life blog."

So much has happened in the past month that I was really supposed to capture, process, and "re-structure" in some sort of meaningful way. I testified before a state legislature (I now live in a state where one can just up and go talk to The Government). My classmates presented me with an award so overwhelmingly meaningful to me that I bawled in front of 100 people like a buffoon. I secured a "yes" from ICI Master Instructor Jennifer Sage to join our instructor team for the Special Olympics benefit endurance event I've helped organize and co-lead the past two years (Sunday, March 21: 6-hour "Ride for a Reason." If you're in New England or thereabouts, you should come!). I've led a bunch of two-hour Spinning classes, where I somehow pulled off keeping people engaged while entirely seated at 70-80% LT the entire time. I created a bunch of really quite creative Spinning classes that I reeeeeeeeeeally should have written up. I taught a bunch of really, truly lousy Spinning classes that I should have reflected on and shared, too. Wrapped up in gauze-like constraints of distraction, doubt, pride, joy, despair, and utter burn-out, I've learned a ton. Both concrete and not-so-concrete.

I didn't write about any of it. Instead, I sat at my kitchen table all day long eeeeeeeevery single day taking thousands of practice questions for Step 1 of my U.S. Medical License Exam (for which I sit a week from today), remembering a time where I had such a good system for documenting and reflecting the experiences of my day in the various realms of my world.

Until today.

Background: I've been training a group of new indoor cycling instructors, helping them develop and practice various stylistic skills above and beyond the technical stuff they learn through certification. Today while giving them critical feedback on demo rides, one young woman whom I've been mentoring for almost the past two years actually moved me to tears. Ours is a unique relationship: I've been training her since her very first indoor cycling class. I've been with her through her entire journey: first, cycling shoes -- then, a heart rate monitor (not to mention her first LT field test) -- then, her Spinning certification. Ever since she decided to 'pursue her calling' to share her passion and knowledge with others, she has spent hours developing herself and her craft -- reading, writing, practicing. The first time I observed her demoing a class, she was a total natural. But now just a few months later, she was an entirely different person "up there." Confident, poised, completely owning the room. Describing with great specificity the "experience" she was skillfully creating. And though there was no mistaking the source of many concepts that passed her lips, that's not why I cried. I cried because her presentation was unmistakenly, distinctively "hers." She owned every word of it. This woman is going to change lives.

The irony is that this profound moment of appreciation came at the start of my last week teaching Spinning for the next 6 months (with the exception of Ride for a Reason). After I take my Boards, I move to Portland, Maine to start my inpatient rotations. I'll be back to Vermont in the early summer, but won't re-pick up any classes until the Fall. But the thing is, though it's not by my design exactly, I'm ready for the break. From newbie cyclists riding six-hour rides, to people finding self-efficacy and confidence through heart rate training, to guiding now seven enthusiastic, empowered young women on their instructor development paths, I've done something with this chapter of this realm of my world. Now it's a matter of reapportioning my energy to the other realms of my life that, while not been neglected per se, have not been attended to as they need to be.

But not for another week.

This week, my last week here, is also my last week til this uber-important, life-altering exam. When I came up from my books for air, I asked my roommate (who also parks herself at the kitchen table all day) what my ride should be about tonight. She often responds with something completely absurd ("the enzyme ALA dehydrogenase"), but it's easier for me to re-structure her joke-contributions into a concept of relevance to the masses ("That enzyme may be irrelevant to me -- but not to the guy who's deficient in it and can't make red blood cells! This is a ride about defining what skills are important to you...") than to think from scratch these days. Today, she responded: "About how the Boards suck, and we hate our lives and everything is miserable."

That would quite possible be THE worst possible ever theme for a ride, ever. Game over.

Then, it hit me. "GAME ON!" Staking out a challenge, embracing it as opportunity, developing an arsenal of positive self-coaching, and committing to it til the finish line.

What this translated as was as follows: a 40 minute seated climb at 95% LT.
"Game on!" indeed.

"GAME ON"
Warmup - 4 minutes
"Preparation": 9 minutes - transition from 80% LT (4 mins) to 85% LT (3 mins) to 95% LT (2 mins)
Think about a challenge in your life that you've not yet taken action achieve. Identify the obstacles that have stood in your way, and continue to obstruct you. Connect with your breathing, with the way your body is moving. Feel at peace. Feel strong. Feel confident. Connect with the thoughts and images that empower you, that you can call upon when you need them.

"The Challenge" - 40 minutes
3 minutes: gradually transition (progressive resistance loading) from 80% LT to 85% LT to 95% LT. Find it and commit.
35 minutes: Seated climb at 95% LT
Last 5 minutes: 2x 1.25 min surges to LT

I unfortunately can't make time to write up eeeeeeeeeeverything I talked about (I only allotted myself 40 mis of writing time, then must get back to cramming.) But I'll mention a few concepts I covered with my class -- and this actually might be more helpful to just take the "buzz words" and expand them into something that's "you":
* Investing in yourself
* Establishing comfort with discomfort
* Using breath as fuel
* Choosing to suffer through adversity vs. re-frame your attitude - embracing opportunity to improve, to learn, to grow
* Improvement for the sake of improvement alone
* Patient, self-discipline, focus
* "Let every aspect of your experience contribute to your ability to do this -- your form, your pedal stroke, your breath, the way you're talking to yourself"
* "Perfecting your ability to husband all your resources upon this one task"
* Owning the challenge

Now it's time to husband all my resources upon my task, my challenge. My opportunity to demonstrate the insane number of synapses I've created over the past year and a half, some of which may actually prove to help human beings.

Game on.

2010: A Ride, and a Year, of Focus

2010-01-10T23:22:00.004-05:00

I've had grandiose visions of epic year-end blog posts - The Best Year-End Blog Post Ever, guaranteed to bring tears to the eyes of readers near and far. When that didn't happen, I consoled myself with a promise of The Best Year Kick-off Blog Post Ever, inspiring the masses to charge forward into 2010 -- and in so doing, re-focus myself. That's why I write anything, ever, after all. But that didn't happen either.

Life's not how it used to be. I'm 4 weeks away from Step 1 of my U.S. Medical Licensing Exam, 6 weeks away from moving to Portland, Maine to start my inpatient clerkship rotations as a (gasp) 3rd-year medical student. Hundreds of thousands of "factoids" rush into my consciousness day in and day out: Indistinguisable viruses, contextless drugs, obscure medical eponyms -- all of them a blur, encoding themselves in chalk into my memory. And I haven't been carving out time for all of my go-to brain-decluttering mechanisms (i.e., writing, mindfulness practice, training), and haven't been utilizing any of the skills I've developed over time -- through coaching Spinning, no less -- to give my world a sense of order. I used to, if anything, be "imbalanced towards balance" -- now I'm just so unbalanced, and so unmotivated to do anything to re-balance myself.

This came to a head two weeks ago, when I closed an important chapter of my life: I taught my last New York City Spinning classes (once I start inpatient rotations, I can no longer travel back/forth from Vermont to stay active on payroll). On this final visit to My Old Life over the holidays, I had two very opposite experiences. At the start of the week, I taught a double that was chock full of my old "regulars." I looked out at the crowd and took in the multicolored array of heart rate monitors and cycling shoes. I watched them close their eyes and feel something. And I got tearful. I did all that. I made that impact. What I'd done here mattered, it meant something. But a few days later, when I taught my very last class -- a double at a club where I rarely even subbed and never had any permanent classes -- to a room full of strangers. I'd prepared a ride themed on the concept to which I've dedicated my entire coaching career: "Increase and Breathe" (see description of the concept/training drill on the right-hand side of my other blog). I didn't use the phrase once; nobody would have recognized it. This momentous occasion for me, the final farewell to the final dangling piece that kept me in any way tied to My Old Life, meant nothing. It was empty. I guess it needed to feel empty in order to feel "over." It was so "over" that I wasn't even motivated to blog about it -- or about anything else, for that matter.

But a few days ago, I had an epiphany. What if I just changed the narrative? What if I told myself that the past 2 months were a "recovery" from my life -- as if had been scheduled, like a recovery block in a periodized training calendar (like I wrote about a year ago and, in so doing, kicked off the fluke popularity this blog now enjoys). Just as recoveries from athletic training, this break served the purpose of identifying the life activities/influences that are true requirements for my functioning.

That changed everything.

I taught my first Spinning class of 2010, themed on Committing to Focus (profile will follow).

2009, as you may know from following this blog and the other, was my Year of Commitment. I themed SO many Spinning classes on it, both technical (i.e., committing to specific heart rates by adjusting resistance, speed, position to accomodate continuous self-observation; committing to specific aspects of form and pedal stroke) and abstract (i.e., committing to analysis of self-talk and self-coaching; committing to short-term, specific goals). I inhabited commitment as a concept for myself outside of my Spinning classes: as a medical student, as an athlete (i.e., three Centuries for a first-time outdoor cyclist), and then created Spinning rides as a mechanism for processing the reflections I thought might make a useful structure for others to evaluate their own states of being. It was a great system: Live it, think about it, write about it, make a Spinning ride about it, have total strangers tell you how creative you are, and pat yourself on the head for being useful out there in the world.

Until the commitment-philia of 2009 reached a point where the commitments I made to myself outstripped my resources. So in 2010, that will change. As the demands on my brain and my time continue to pile up to unfathomable heights, I have to focus solely on the commitments that directly keep me functioning. 2010 will be all about identifying distractions, rehearsing coping mechanisms for reigning in attention, and husbanding all resources upon simple, concrete tasks.

So that was what my ride was about.

COMMITMENT TO FOCUS (90 min endurance ride)

Warm-Up (5 minutes)
I shared with my class that my brain is mush - that I'm so unbalanced and unfocused and unproductive, that I've forgotten to go back to the basics that I teach them about all the time: breathing through challenges, using breathing as a mechanism for focus, and identifying specific micro-details of their experiences to practice husbanding their resources upon a given task. After all, creating opportunities for themselves to demonstrate their ability to do this on the bike will give them the confidence that they can do it off the bike.

Part 1: Preparation (15 minute climb)
Connect with your breathing - in through the nose, out through the mouth. This is your base for focus. Any time you get distracted, close your eyes and again connect with your breath. Synchronize your breathing with your pedal strokes - create your own rhythm, perhaps breathing in for 2 strokes, out for 3-4 strokes.

10 minutes at 80% LT (RPE 5). Are you in complete control over your breath? Your form? Your thoughts?

5 minutes at 88% LT (RPE 6). How does this compare?

5 minutes at 95% LT (RPE 7). How does this compare?

What distracts you? What gets in your way? Inhabit those distractions. Ask yourself how they invade your consciousness. Ask yourself how they succeed. What would it take to get on top of them once for all?

Identify the intensity at which you have most control over your breathing, where you feel most in your element. Most alive, most at peace. Where you have the greatest clarity of mind to empower yourself to make important choices, choices that are going to mean something to you.

Part 2: Committment (60 minute climb -- no, I'm not a sadist)
Take the next 3 minutes to progressively load up to your chosen intensity. From there, commit to it for the next HOUR. Pay careful intention to how your body responds to changes in the rhythm, changes in your breath. How your form shifts over time without careful attention. Continue to make the micro-adjustments you need to maintain your consistent target intensity -- when you drop, load resistance; when you exceed, back it off. You have complete freedom to climb as you need to - in the seat, out of the seat - whatever you need (note: my riders know better; they know that this means "stay seated unless you absolutely have to, then sit back down immediately" -- I don't even need to say it anymore).

Your job is to apply the coping mechanisms you anticipated being able to use to combat distraction, that you spent time rehearsing during Part 1. What does it take to reign your attention back in? Appreciate the power in your ability to direct your thoughts, to take control over what you hold important. What can you learn? What will it mean for you?

Note: At the 40 min mark of Part 2 (which was the 60 minute mark of the ride), I encouraged them to take the next 3 minutes to eat their snack that they'd been encouraged to bring to replenish their glycogen; otherwise, they would be biochemically unable to continue to burn fat, even at aerobic intensities. We need a base-level of glycogen present at all times, since we are always burning it (at low intensities, we use mostly fat as fuel - but we still burn glycogen, too), but also as a pre-requisite for fat metabolism itself. So if we deplete it, our hormone cortisol begins to break down muscle to free up amino acids for the liver to use to create its own glucose. Want to prevent this? Consume glucose every 60 minutes during endurance training, and within the hour of training completion (ideally within 15-30 minutes). After the snack, back on the bike - re-load to target, hold another 17 minutes.

Part 3: Charging Forward with Focus (15 minutes)
Two sets of 3x surges (30s, 30s, 1 minute) --> (30s, 30s, 2 minutes)
It's probably been a while since I described how I use the word "surge" with my riders - it's a change in the music (i.e., a chorus) where I empower riders to set it to be the symbolic equivalent of some challenge in their lives off the bike. Thus, they choose how to meet the challenge -- with a change in resistance, in speed, in position, in intensity, or no change at all. The way they choose to meet the challenge is something that is personally meaningful to them -- something that is going to stay with them when they leave the room, something that they're going to think about long thereafter. Something that's going to make them feel strong, self-efficacious.

Each surge is an opportunity to build on the strength, the patience, the determination you've demonstrated to yourself for the past 75 minutes. What have you learned about yourself and your abilities? Where will you take it? For some of you, the challenge you need is that of self-discipline: holding true to your target, even if that's still 80% LT. For some of you, you might need to surge to LT and feel something different. For most of you, it's something in between. Make each surge stand for something you'll remember. Something that will remind you that, no matter what, you have complete control over your choices and your performance. Something that will etch in your mind that, yes, yes you can.

____________________

I rode this with my class, after 2 weeks of passive recovery (I didn't purposefully plan it like last year, even though I should have -- and when I remembered that I'd planned this last year and how many incredible benefits '2 weeks entirely off' had for me as an athlete, I again "changed the narrative" and re-defined my laziness as "responsible training." And turns out, yet again, I lost NOTHING cardiovascularly - LT was exactly the same, my resting heart rate dropped 7 beats, and I felt fantastic. Go back and read my old post on the rewards of recovery if you're a non-believer). But most significantly, presenting this ride put me back in a position of balance, focus, and confidence that everything in the world is as it should be.

All I have to do is keep my standards for "should" in check. I'm a medical student 4 weeks away from my Boards. It's ok that my Spinning life takes a back seat for a while. I'll still teach. I'll still write (both here, and for ICI/Pro -- read my latest article on exercise-induced headaches and listen to the podcast interview I did with John MacGowan and Jennifer Sage on how to psychologically train yourself to 'own your awkward' and effectively teach off the bike -- note: the latter requires ICI/Pro subscription -- sign up for free trial to listen, and then seriously consider maintaining it: it's such a phenomenal resource!). I just need to accept that mere mortals don't blog whilst cramming for their Boards, is all. And that's ok.

** EXTRA NOTE: ICI/Pro has extended the offer for a free 7-day trial subscription -- if you register by Jan 15, you can check it out and evaluate the value-added of the (special content, profiles and free music) to your life beyond all of the wonderful free content and podcasts at ICI). I have a feeling that once you see it, you'll stick with it...
Plus, you have access to 0.2 ACE continuing ed credits as an ICI/Pro subscriber. (Come to think of it, I should probably tend to that eventually, myself...)

A cycling video that made me think? No way.

2009-11-18T09:13:00.006-05:00

I could make plenty of excuses for going 6 weeks sans blog post. Battling H1N1, medical school, studying for my medical license Boards, new boyfriend, contributing to ICI/Pro. But instead, I'll just admit that I'm human.

Sure, it's swell that I can be a medical student and do all this extra "stuff" (coaching, training, sleeping, writing...) -- but what it also means is that I don't have a margin for flexibility. Now that I've thrown all this new "stuff" into the mix, I'm forced to reckon with my sub-superhuman status. Something has to give.

The trouble is that the coaching part of my life is undeniably affected by my new life demands. My Spinning classes are mediocre (though nobody would call me on it, or perhaps even notice...). I'm not making time for my own solo training (i.e., source of ALL coaching creativity). I'm still contributing to society. But it doesn't feel good. I feel guilty.

Guilt is a powerful mover. For all my talk of pursuing things that inspire me and detaching from things that drain me, I am a creature of obligation. When I make promises, both to myself and others, I guilt myself into upholding them by whatever means necessary. So when I break promises (i.e., not blogging about all the things I've been wanting to blog about -- neat class ideas, etc.), I feel quite distressed. I feel distressed because I should be able to make time for everything.

When Gene Nacey of Global Ride asked me to review his recent on-location cycling video, Speed & Power in Italy, I should TOTALLY have declined. I didn't have time, didn't have interest, didn't have ANY baseline quality that one would want in a reviewer. I hate cycling videos. I can appreciate their utility and appeal to many people -- but they just don't 'do it' for me.

But since another one of my rate-limiting character flaws is that when people I deeply admire attempt to include me in projects of great import to them, I get so excited that I forget to keep track of the life activities that I can’t stand (i.e., sitting on my Spinner with a laptop blocking my cyclometer’s report of everything I care about, looking and listening to stuff about which I could not care less). When I’m training indoors, I don’t try to pretend that I’m outdoors – I want to close my eyes, inhabit deafening, life-consuming rhythms, and forget that there even is an “outdoors.” I’ve ridden multiple Centuries outdoors – yet when I go to the end of bringing in outdoor footage to my indoor universe, I am insanely bored within literally 35 seconds. No wonder I’ve declined every review request I’ve received to date.

So when I came down with H1N1 after letting Speed & Power in Italy collect dust on my kitchen table for two weeks, I was relieved for a legitimate justification for further procrastination. Medical school? Insufficient. 104 fevers and breathing difficulties? Sweet.

I share this because I want to capture just how pessimistic and hostile a reviewer with whom you’re dealing. This way, you believe me when I describe how good this video is.

As it turns out: this video emphasized so many core priorities of my "agenda" as a coach, that it legitimately prompted me to spend time reconnecting with those priorities. It prompted me to evaluate whether or not, despite the challenges of time and energy resources, I was effectively conveying to my classes what I want to be conveying.

So I'm going to tell you about this video -- yes, because I promised; but also, because I think it might be helpful to many of you looking to be prompted for self-evaluation (i.e., probably why you read my blog) or even to pick up new ideas for cueing language on form and intensity.

Speed & Power in Italy is a 60 minute training session comprised of four shorter segments, each building in intensity towards a powerful finish. I could describe the masterful footage (this is the most realistic filming I’ve ever seen --capturing subtle changes in terrain, alignment for drafting the rider ahead, and aspects of the scenery that felt “real” enough to trigger appreciative memories of personal outdoor adventures). I could describe the effectiveness of the structured, graphical time-counters to mark one’s progress and pace one’s self. I could even describe my fascination with the narrating coach’s breathing patterns that are secretly audible through one audio track (if listening with headphones; unnoticeable if listening through speakers – as a coach, I would love if my riders could actually hear and learn from the specific way I breathe during various efforts. Too bad that’s creepy. Here, it’s creepy, too – if one can get over the “creepy” and attempt to learn from it, one will surely get a lot out of it. If not, just listen through regular speakers.)

But I have far more important things I’d like to describe. Things that distinguish this video as an outstanding resource for athletes and coaches alike.

INTENSITY MONITORING

During the warm-up, there were a few mentions of training at “60% of your max.” I groaned – grunted, actually. Once I stopped being overly dramatic, I was treated to an excellent discussion of the uselessness of age-based maximum heart rate formulas and the introduction of a 1-10 Rate of Perceived Exertion Scale. There was a brief mention of “threshold” (lactate threshold) as being the useful anchor for training parameters. From there on out, there were no more “x% of your max” references, at least – and the RPE scale was consistently applied throughout the training session. I was impressed by the specific attention that was paid to intensity. We are reminded to “stay true to (our) numbers,” and continuously self-monitor. Bravo! Indoor cycling instructors can learn a lot from the language our narrating coach uses to explain perceived exertion and why it matters.

FORM COACHING & DEMONSTRATION

This program went out of its way to cue excellent riding form – upper body carriage, pedal stroke, hip alignment, diaphragmatic breathing. After a particular cue was communicated, the specific film footage would shift perspectives (from first-person view to actually looking at a rider) to be able to best demonstrate the form issue in question. Frontal, side, and rear views contributed a great deal of value-added to the effective descriptors.

TRAINING FLEXIBILITY

While intensity parameters were suggested, there were frequent reminders to adjust one’s intensity to wherever one needed to train. I rode the entire training session at 65% of lactate threshold, for example; that’s what I needed. Consistent reminders to incorporate monitoring of intensity and cadence served to motivate and re-focus.

The options for coaching on/off (with additional options to choose from American, Australian, and German coaches, to boot!) and music on/off are ideal for accommodating individual preferences. If you’re a music snob like me (with a complete inability to self-motivate whilst being forced to endure displeasing tunes), the “no music” option will afford you the opportunity to play your own music while taking advantage of the features that are more meaningful to you. (For the record: the first track of the final segment, “Rockin’ to Rocca,” is incredible. Those three minutes weren’t just tolerable to this Cycling Video Non-Believer; they were genuinely AWESOME.)

In conclusion, Speed & Power in Italy is scientifically sound, technically excellent coaching captured in the context of exceptional cinematic talent. Whether you seek a resource to guide and complement your training, or whether you’re looking for an arsenal of ways to communicate training principles to your clients, Speed & Power will surely get you there.

________________________

Want more cueing ideas? I promise I'm going to write up two cool ride profiles this weekend, including my new 2-hour Endurance ride called "Own Your Awesome." Now that I've said the "p" word, that means that I actually have to do it.

In the meantime, check out ICI/Pro -- a fantastic resource for training/coaching tips geared to instructors and enthusiasts alike.

Medical Signs & Symptoms of Overtraining: How to Know When You're Working Too Hard

2009-10-10T11:32:00.004-04:00

You're tired. You're sluggish. You're sick all the time. Your sleep is screwed up. You snap at your kids, your coworkers. The only time you're generally motivated to do ANYTHING is your 45 minutes on your Spinning bike, when you push yourself to "give it your all" (groan - one of my least favorite cliche expressions in life), get your scheduled endorphin rush, then go back to the real world in all its glory.

Like pornography, overtraining is something wherein I "know it when I see it." I know it because I a) see it all the time; and b) experience it all the time. In my medical world, the phenomenon of overtraining is not on the radar of most doctors. As an athlete, I know that my own primary care doctors over time have had NO idea how my training impacts my body. They're content that I exercise regularly, and that's all they think they need to know about me. They have no idea how intensity affects fitness (i.e., the person who goes to the gym to lose weight inadvertently spending 95% of her time working anaerobically, yet is surprised when she feels lousy AND doesn't lose weight), and how certain approaches to exercise can be counterproductive. It's SO underappreciated, in fact, that we're actually not taught this in medical school. But because I am fortunate enough to know better, I consider it one of my person life missions to educate my colleagues, my riders, and even patients (who teach ME so much about from their experiences) about this overtraining phenomenon.

The medical consequences of training too hard with insufficient recovery are well-described, and appreciated in sports medicine circles. It's just a matter of translating this knowledge into a form that is meaningful to people outside that circle.

I wrote an article for IndoorCycleInstructor about recognizing overtraining and what to do about it that was published today.

CLICK here to read an excerpt. In order to read the full article, follow the easy directions to sign up for ICI's free weekly mailings (an incredible resource to help you translate technical content to your classes, develop your own trainings, and keep your classes/music/themes fresh!).

Building Confidence on a Spinner - with a 45 min profile, to boot

2009-10-03T14:57:00.006-04:00

I've never met anyone who believes that confidence ISN'T important. I'm not investing time to even look for literature to support my assertion because I'm CONFIDENT that you all believe me when I say that confidence is an important predictor of performance.

When I began my journey as a Spinning instructor, I didn't have any confidence. And I sucked -- not ONLY because I wasn't confident, of course, but that didn't help either. I mean, I REALLY sucked. I sucked so badly that I didn't even KNOW how badly I sucked. And that's the point. One can look at the endpoint of the trajectory from "sucking" to "not sucking," appreciate the powerful emotional transformations that occurred along the way, and call it a day. But I think it's more useful to analyze the fuel -- the motivation -- behind the process.

Was it the pursuit of "not sucking" -- that is, avoiding failure? Or was the pursuit of "being awesome?" Most certainly the latter. It meant something to me to learn enough, listen enough, think enough, and otherwise "be" enough to earn people's trust to help guide them through their own personally meaningful improvements.

Think about it. When you work hard at your job, do you do it primarily to avoid being fired -- or because you genuinely want to do excellent work? When you do something nice for your kids or your spouse, do you do it primarily to avoid pissing them off -- or because you genuinely want to do something nice for them? Extending the framework: Do you hold a 30 minute training interval at lactate threshold primarily because you'd feel weak/inadequate if you didn't finish it? Or because you appreciate that the difference between 29:00 and 30:00 is a moment you can hold onto as long as you want to, to represent your confidence, your self-efficacy, your belief that you have and are everything you need to conquer the challenges of your world?

Maybe you didn't think to make that interval mean more than that interval. Maybe you didn't have to. But if you framed it that way: would it have made a difference? Would equating an off-bike purpose to your on-bike task mean anything 'extra' to you? Would it have made the time pass more quickly, more enjoyably? Would you have been more likely to accomplish your specific, concrete physical goal? Would it have left you feeling any different when you did? Would you have taken that feeling with you?

Last weekend, I rode my third Century (yes, I'm done now...), which prompted me to ask myself why the hell I've made time to train for and ride three 100-mile epic conquests within an eight-week period. There are a lot of other ways that second-year medical students can spend their free time. I may now be someone who "does" Centuries -- but Centuries aren't something that people just "do." How I've always seen it was that training for a Century (or two, or three...) equated with Operation: Real Cyclist. I never saw myself as a real cyclist before; I saw myself as someone who only started trying to do this thing a year ago, who doesn't know how to do really important things (i.e., changing a flat), who has memorable episodes of failure (i.e., hitting her head on concrete), who despite knowing a shit ton of useful technical things about being a real cyclist has no useful construct with which to translate this knowledge into self-confidence and self-efficacy. Oh my gosh. That sounds exactly like... being a second-year medical student.

So, yes, training to be a Real Cyclist was meant to parallel training to be a Real Doctor. Except this seemed more manageable. I knew exactly HOW to accomplish this kind of training. I knew exactly what I needed to learn, what I needed to practice. I had complete control over my physiological response to challenge, I had immediate feedback on my skills and adaptations (i.e., from my heart rate monitor), and measurable, objective ways to evaluate my progress. So it paralleled my larger life challenge -- yet was more "masterable." When I finished my first Century, I felt awesome. I felt like I could take over the world. I got a tattoo to commemorate the joy and confidence that comes from continuous incremental improvement ("Kaizen"). When I then encountered stressful circumstances in my medical training, I called up that feeling. "If I can do X, I can do Y," if you will.

As Y got more demanding (i.e., helping to take care of real patients), I needed X to be more dramatic. So I did Centuries #2 and #3. But by the end of last weekend's undertaking (with shooting pain from my re-torn tibialis anterior tendon and my spasming hamstring), I wasn't riding for the pursuit of self-confidence to accomplish some unknown future Y anymore. I was riding because I thought I'd feel lousy/inadequate if I didn't finish. I envisioned myself, not triumphant at the finish line, but back at the hotel sulking or driving home 3 hours thinking about how I wasted my time. There was no doubt about it: I was riding to avoid failure.

At the end of the day, I finished. But it was a miserable ride -- and when it was all over, I wasn't even all that proud. "Good job, Self," I said. "Way to not fail." Is that what I'm going to remind myself when I'm standing at the foot of a man with crashing blood pressure whose acute pancreatitis was about to kill him (which is a situation in which I found myself a few days later)? "Come on, Self, you can do this. That time when you rode that bike 100 miles and... uh... didn't fail?" Will THAT calm me down, and empower me to take a step back and use my brain to confidently save a human being's life? Hell no it won't.

It matters. The way you frame it absolutely matters. "Avoid failure: Check" is not the same as "Conquer Challenge: Check." The former doesn't build confidence. It doesn't last, and it doesn't translate. So you know what? When I drove 3 hours to ride a bike 100 miles and drive 3 hours home, I really DID waste my time.

That's not to say that athletic feats, when framed appropriately, can't translate into non-athletic confidence. I will never, ever forget a particular moment in April 2009 during Spinning MI Caroline Dawson's class in NYC, looking down at my heart rate monitor and realizing that I was about to hit my 30th minute of sustaining a 184 bpm heart rate -- which, to my knowledge, was 10 beats above the last time I'd had lactate threshold measured. I will never, ever forget that moment of appreciating the efficacy of my training to increase LT that much in a year, and the global appreciation of my strength and power. I *think* about that moment literally ALL the time in my non-fitness life. Not because it was actually a big deal. But because I framed it in such a way to make it a big deal to me. I chose to make it mean something.

I use that moment as my gold standard by which to compare every Spinning class I ever coach. My personal life mission is to inspire a human being to feel like THAT, the way Caroline's class made me feel. That's the goal. My "formula" these days for achieving said goal is to take solid scientific training principles and fit them into a "theme" for some psychological/emotional concept that I'm exploring in the rest of my life -- something that I want to explore further by devising questions and thoughts and pathways for people to ponder, something that I believe other people will find useful to explore.

If you've been following this blog for a little while, you'll remember that I've had this grand-scale life-improvement mission to get comfortable with discomfort. The past few months have been all about that, with a reasonable level of success. I can screw up an interpretation of a chest film in front of 115 people and be awkward and inadequate in an emergency department, and breathe through a peaceful acceptance that I'm ok and that the world will continue to rotate. Mindful acceptance, devoid of negative, defeating self-talk, is SO much more helpful. I'm glad that I invested so much energy actively exposing myself to uncomfortable situations to be able to practice my responses to them. And I'm glad that I successfully used more than 15 Spinning training sessions based exclusively on key sub-subconcepts of this larger point (i.e., taking stock of physiological sensations of discomfort, equating on-bike discomfort with an off-bike purpose, etc. etc. etc.) to help other people work through these challenges.

But now it's time to build on acceptance of discomfort and self-compassion, and start building confidence. Confident PURSUIT of something, not mere avoidance of failure.

I coached a ride about this the other night that went REALLY well. Here goes...

Note: I'm going to write up the training parameters as a 0-10 RPE scale here (and going forward) to be most useful to most people. I've taught my riders with heart rate monitors to equate 8/10 with Lactate Threshold and 5/10 as 80% LT as their anchoring points.

MHR formulas do not work. And since can't accurately measure MHR in most people, using MHR as an anchor point from which to take percentages is inherently inaccurate. The way I have been using % MHR is to set 85% MHR = Lactate Threshold, and reverse-calculate a MHR to use for further calculations. But by doing that, we are effectively anchoring training parameters to Lactate Threshold ANYWAY. So why pretend otherwise? I use % LT parameters in my own training, and have started using it in my classes. This "note" is getting really long -- I eventually need to write a separate post about how I'm integrating % LT parameters into classes of mixed HRM- and non-HRM wearers. But for a truly well-written article about why MHR formulas (i.e., 220-age and 226-age) are inaccurate, I encourage you to read Gene Nacey's brilliant piece that also links to a full-text excellent, digestible account of the research behind these formulas' inadequacies that I liked so much that I disseminated it to the students taking the Intro to Heart Rate Training course I am teaching at UVM.

If you ARE going to assume that your measured LT = 85% MHR, solve the equation for a fake MHR, and use those numbers for Spinning Energy Zones, etc., here's a chart that helps to explain equating verbal descriptors with RPE, with these heart rate training parameters. I rewrote the intro (from July 2008, when I was underappreciative of RPE) - if you've seen this before, might be worth another peek.

Now, really, here goes:

"BUILDING CONFIDENCE"
Premise: Sometimes it's tempting to believe that there is only one way to build confidence. On the bike, sometimes we think that the only way to build confidence is to push as hard as we can, for as long as we can. But in reality, there are a lot of ways to build confidence. Sometimes the most confidence-inspiring training session can be the one where you discipline yourself to maintain 80% LT in the saddle, appreciating the strength of your rhythmic, controlled breathing to modulate your response to challenge. It's all about deciding WHAT is going to bring YOU confidence in that moment, and giving yourself permission to go for it.

Structure: Climb, 6 surges -- each surge will be a change in the rhythm, where you will choose to respond in a specific way that makes you confident. Based on that newfound confidence, climb again -- with 1 more surge to the finish line

WARMUP: 4 minutes
Cue breathing. Cue form. Describe ride and expectations.

EXPLORATORY CLIMB: 8 minutes
Progressive load seated to 80% LT ("5 out of 10"). Progressive load to "6 out of 10." Progressive load to "7 out of 10" (10 beats below LT). Pay attention to breathing, physiological sensations. Start to think about what brings you confidence, in various realms of your life. How do your physiological sensations reflect those experiences? Do they heighten your confidence? Distract? At what intensity do you feel most empowered, in control, alive? In the seat? Out? Where are you best focused and primed to meet your needs?

SURGES: 12 minutes
30 seconds x 3
1 minute x 3
90 seconds x 3

Let every surge equate with an opportunity to build confidence. When the rhythm changes, make a choice that will allow you to experience the specific conditions that you need in order to directly speak to your appreciation of your abiliities, strength, and power. Surge to the intensity you selected in the initial climb as your confidence-building zone.

POWER CLIMB: 8 minutes
Progressive load to chosen intensity, and your job is to sustain it. Empowered by your breathing, empowered by your belief that sustaining this effort directly translates to your enhanced belief in yourself for navigating the challenges of your world once you leave this room.

FINAL SURGE: 3 minutes
What's it going to take to translate your confidence on the bike to your world off the bike? Surge in such a way to structure an experience for yourself that will last, that you can call up when you need it most. A surge that reminds you that you are strong, that you are powerful. A moment you choose to mean something. A moment you choose to mean EXACTLY what you need it to mean.

COOLDOWN/STRETCH

It wasn't anything fancy -- it was plain and simple. And it worked. And you know what? Most of my class stayed seated, closed their eyes, and afterwards told me that they worked at their "5 out of 10" the whole time because that's what they decided that they needed.

Nothing could have made ME more confident to hear. It meant that they "got" that their purpose was to feel empowered to make their own choices to meet their own needs, and that those choices had no requirements other than to be deliberate, purposeful, and specific. They needed to mean something. And they did.

"Own Your Discomfort" - a 75 minute profile

2009-09-19T07:21:00.006-04:00

We all have uncomfortable moments in our worlds -- as athletes, as coaches, and human beings. As a second-year medical student who, despite knowing a ridiculous amount of useful, important medical things, knows really quite little about how to actually help really sick people in the clinic or the hospital where she spends time, I have a lot of them. I debuted a ride last night based on the past few months of my world, very specific efforts to ponder the concept of "discomfort" and what to do (or NOT do) about it. It turned out to be the most rewarding and successful ride I've ever presented. So clearly, I have to write about it.

Pardon the long background -- but I thought it was important to frame where this ride came from, so that you can inhabit it enough to devise your own personally meaningful cues if you use this training session for yourselves or your classes. Otherwise, it's not going to be any different from any other profile. This is a ride that comes from pain, self-doubt, and inadequacy. That's hard to describe in a paragraph.

Background
As a med student, I spend 70% of my clinical training feeling anxious, useless, and awkward. When I experience these emotions, my sympathetic nervous system fires off a crazy storm of catecholemines. I'm tachycardic, sweaty, stuttery, and a big ol' mess. When I try to "squash" these uncomfortable sensations by reasoning myself out of them, however, I find that I get all the more awkward. I'm consumed by "my awkward." My brain shuts down, and I am distracted from soaking up the important subtleties of the world around me -- not to mention unable to remember any useful content once encoded into the archives of my memory, which is what typically triggers these episodes in the first place. While I acknowledge that this discomfort is normal/common/expected, that doesn't make it less uncomfortable.

As an athlete preparing for my first Century ride this summer, I knew that "discomfort" was my #1 challenge. I knew how to keep my heart rate low under exertion. I knew how to eat and hydrate effectively. I knew that my rate-limiting factor was going to be how COMFORTABLE I could train myself to be with being INSANELY UNCOMFORTABLE. So I trained for it. In addition to long rides outdoors, I included regular 3 hour, 4 hour, 5 hour training sessions on a Spinner (more tedious than spending the same length of time outdoors). I did not attempt to convince myself that I wasn't uncomfortable. I was completely miserable. Could I have reasoned my way through it -- that I wasn't ACTUALLY miserable, that I was doing so much of what I loved? Could I have done a pros/cons analysis to conclude that there was more evidence to suggest that I was actually happy? Maybe. But I didn't. I talked myself through every minute of those AWFUL trainings while explicitly acknowledging how miserable I was, and why I was doing it. What purpose would serve? What did I want to learn? What did I want to master? What would I be uniquely qualified to do for having completed this? What would the difference be between 4:59 and 5:00? I knew that if I could get through those 5 hours, there would be NOTHING that could ever possibly arise on my Century that I couldn't handle. On The Big Day, I reminded myself of that over and over and over again. "Remember your discomfort. Re-experience it. Re-inhabit it. You lived through THAT. Are you as uncomfortable as that moment? No. There is no evidence to suggest that you cannot conquer this moment."

One of the ways we treat patients suffering from panic disorder and others on the anxiety spectrum is to gradually expose them to known triggers, under safe conditions where they can experience their uncomfortable, undesirable symptoms in such a way that they learn that these experiences aren't the "worst thing that could ever possibly happen" to them. I've extended this theme to my medical school life now. I'm training myself to be comfortable with discomfort. I've started using the phrase "OWN YOUR AWKWARD," which I apply not only to awkwardness but perceived incompetency, inadequacy, and all sorts of horribly uncomfortable, negative emotions. I specifically seek out experiences that will trigger discomfort: interpreting an EKG in front of 114 people (despite knowing that I was terrible at this), giving a patient medical advice about chest pain in front of the specific attending physician (whose opinion of me matters to me more than most people in the world), asking the same character if I could accompany him to the hospital in the middle of the night JUST because it made me anxious to be there (he found this endearing). Through all of these experiences, I was awkward, anxious and inadequate. I didn't attempt to convince myself otherwise. "You are awkward. Yes, you are awkward. Roll with it. Own your awkward."

Over time, I'm actually a little bit more comfortable with being uncomfortable. So when I have these moments, my brain doesn't shut down. I acknowledge that I am uncomfortable, give myself permission to be uncomfortable, and keep on with my life. When I say something stupid/wrong/embarassing in front of 115 people, I feel the same catecholemine storm -- and I don't try to breathe it away. It's not "Shit! Panic attack starting. Breathe. Don't be anxious. STOP being anxious." Instead it's more like: "Look, catecholemines! There they are. Own them." And then they pass, pseudo-instantly. Fascinating.

Last Sunday, I rode my 2nd Century. I dedicated it to the concept that it was the ULTIMATE discomfort immersion. That somehow it would represent every aspect of discomfort that could exist -- and that, looking back on it over the next weeks and months, it would remind me that I could indeed accept discomfort and endure whatever came my way.

I wanted discomfort, and I got it. 1 mile in, my chain started squeaking and I was riding on false flats in my lowest gear (I didn't see anything visibly wrong with it, so I kept going -- miserably). At the 5 mile mark, it started pouring. By mile 10, I was soaked and freezing. At the 20 mile mark, my injured tibialis anterior tendon started spasming. I'd forgotten my sunglasses, which didn't occur to me until mud-slicked gravel started flying up into my face. I intentionally started out at 7:30AM in the middle of nowhere (50 miles from home -- I'd ridden out the day before and stayed overnight at the cottage where I lived for the summer near the clinic) so that I would be less tempted to give up and call for "rescue." At the 60 mile mark (see also: civilization), I went to a bike shop and got Triumph fixed (a spring had popped -- I didn't even think to LOOK there!) and had a hot meal (life-altering). I bought a dry shirt, new sunglasses, and a big ol' tube of chamois cream. Life was good -- for another 10 miles at least. Miles 71-85 were some of the most MISERABLE moments of my life. They never ended. It occurred to me that I was in some parallel universe where time and distance simply did not coincide. I couldn't get my HR up past 70% MHR. The friction rub on my left thigh (from my rain-soaked shorts) was getting unbearable. I hated my bike. I hated my mission. I hated EVERYTHING about this moment.

"You wanted this. You wanted to be so uncomfortable that you couldn't bear it, so that it can apply to situations that are far less uncomfortable than this one. You wanted to demonstrate your strength and patience. You wanted to learn that this "concept" you've taken on as a life theme really will carry you through every challenge of your day. This is precisely the unique condition that will best allow you to train for what you need."

Then suddenly, I saw it. A sign that, for all intents and purposes, said "HOME: 12 miles."
It was a moment I will never forget for the rest of my life. I have the chills as I write this, in fact.
A rush of warmth and gushing energy surged throughout my entire body, and I started BAWLING. I mean literally, bawling. For the first time in the ride, it was 100% undeniable that I would actually complete my second 100-mile conquest. For the first time in the ride, I justified EVERYTHING I'd been through: my emotional outpour demonstrated that this hasn't been "all talk." I'd wondered how "real" my belief that a bike ride symbolized some sort of great life truth, or whether that was just a gimmick I'd brainwashed myself to perpetuate to get myself and others to ride their bikes. No. Every tear came directly from my reality.

I was so close to realizing my goal that, suddenly, the discomfort was transformed. It became my "new comfort zone." From there on, it wasn't self-talk about how present discomfort would translate into comfort in the rest of my life. I didn't notice the discomfort. I was so comfortable with my discomfort, that it no longer inhibited my ability to achieve my goals. I owned it.

The Ride
When one of my regulars as a birthday, I invite them to select a "life theme" they want to process mindfully on a Spin bike. (This sounds nuts, I know -- but in the parallel universe in which I am fortunate to coach, I've trained people to actually enjoy this "life training through Spinning" construct I employ). So with a 75 minute session scheduled on the day of one woman's birthday, it was her turn. "How about self-acceptance?" she asked me.

A ride about the specific concept over which I've been obsessing for the past 3 months? Uhh, YES.

So here goes:

Overview
We all have situations and moments where we are uncomfortable. We all have various strategies to minimize discomfort, with various levels of success. Sometimes we invest so much time trying to deny our discomfort -- to talk ourselves out of it -- that we allow our discomfort to distract us from accomplishing the things we want in life. So today, we're going to practice another approach. Instead of talking ourselves out of discomfort, we're going to acknowledge that discomfort.

(Before class, I'd had each participant write on an index card "something that makes them uncomfortable that they're willing to invest time exploring during this ride." They taped the cards to their water bottles, for them alone to see. I do this index card auto-cueing move for every training session I coach that is longer than an hour. People LOVE it. For riders new to my long training sessions, I acknowledge its cheesiness up-front before they have a chance to write me off as "un-relatable" and tell them that this "surprisingly" REALLY helps people by the end of the ride when they're exhausted. "Surprisingly," my ass. It's enforcing that they set goals! Of COURSE this helps.)

This ride has 3 blocks:
1) Dabbling in Discomfort
2) Commiting to Discomfort
3) Owning Your Discomfort

WARMUP (5 minutes)
* Progressive loading to "4 out of 10" on RPE scale. Shoulder rolls/stretches. Cue mindful orientation to breathing, upper/lower body form, and pedal stroke.
Think about what you wrote on your index card. Why did you choose it? What is it keeping you from doing? What does it mean to you?

BLOCK 1: DABBING IN DISCOMFORT (18 minutes)
* Progressive loading to 80% LT ("5 out of 10"). When you reach it, maintain it -- subtle bits of resistance, lengthened exhalations, keeping the heart rate exactly where it is. When you reach the point that this place feels completely and utterly comfortable despite adding more resistance at the same level of intensity, that you are willing to entertain the concept that you can hold this all day and be perfectly happy to do it, then keep going.
* Progressive loading to 20 beats below LT ("6 out of 10")-- same.
By loading the intensity so gradually, you are training your body to allow you to get more work done without working harder. You are accepting each new challenge, adapting to it, establishing it as your "new comfort zone," and readying yourself for your next choice.

Focus on your deliberate, fluid breathing. In through the nose, long and concentrated out the mouth. Synchronize your breathing with your pedal strokes -- maybe breathing in for 2 strokes, breathing out for 3 or 4 strokes.

* Surges to 10 beats below LT ("7 out of 10"): 4x (30 seconds), 1x (60 seconds).
From the baseline of 20 beats below LT, 5 "surges" -- your choice of challenge: change in speed, resistance, or position. Recover "20 below" in between.

Focus on breathing more deliberately when you surge. FORCEFUL breaths out the mouth to keep the heart rate from exceeding 10 beats below LT. It's uncomfortable but it's a challenge that you choose to accept, and can conquer confidently.

BLOCK 2: COMMITTING TO DISCOMFORT (21 minutes)
* Recover to 80% LT. Progressive loading - subtle bits of resistance added but heart rate stays the same. When you're confident that this is your new comfort zone, progressive loading to 20 beats below LT. When you're confident that THIS is your new comfort zone, keep going.
* Find 10 beats below LT and commit to it, no matter what. If you're dropping, progressively load the resistance. If you exceed, back it off. If you need to stand up out of the saddle to accomodate a new load or new pace, do it. Drop back in when you can.
Demonstrate your patience, your willingness to make decisions to honor your commitments to yourself.

Surge: 1 minute (LT - "8 out of 10")
Your choice of the challenge that means something to you: speed, resistance, position, or no change at all. When you surge, surge with confidence. With pride. With the genuine belief that you will conquer what you decide to conquer.

BLOCK 3: OWN YOUR DISCOMFORT -- combining the two (30 minutes)
You have learned that your previous discomfort -- 10 beats below LT -- isn't actually all that bad if you a) accept it gradually (i.e., hitting all the heart beats in between); b) monitor your breathing to fuel your efforts. You've also learned that you are in complete control over defining your comfort zone. 10 beats below LT didn't feel so bad by the end of Block 2 as it did when you surged there in Block 1. (People nodded across the board, thank goodness!) So now we will build upon the skills you've developed, and apply your commitment and focus to re-define your comfort.

* Same progressive loading from 80% LT ("5 out of 10") through 10 beats below LT ("7 out of 10")
Take your time over the next 5 minutes to gradually accept the challenge at hand. Spend time at each stop along the way, mindfully acknowledging your physiological sensations at each level of intensity. Does your breathing change? Does your pedal stroke change? How is your upper body? Is every aspect of your experience contributing to your ability to commit to this challenge?

* 5 surges to LT ("8 out of 10") -- recovering to 10 beats below LT ("7 out of 10") in between
Efforts: 90 seconds, 2 minutes, 90 seconds, 2 minutes, 3 minutes
Recoveries: 5 minutes, 4 minutes, 3 minutes, 2 minutes
Technical purpose: lactate clearance intervals. By spending time in incomplete recovery just below LT, your body is learning to clear lactic acid more efficiently -- because it has to!
Larger purpose: You are uncomfortable. You are SO uncomfortable. But your active "recovery" is a comfort zone you defined yourself. You believe in your ability to be successful there. When you choose to accept a new challenge, breathing your way through it, you know that you can and WILL achieve it.
You're uncomfortable, but you lack not in confidence and determination.

We alternated 90 seconds/ 2 minutes/ 90 seconds/ 2 minutes for the LT intervals because I knew that half my class didn't have HRMs, and I wanted quality control over how hard they were pushing. I described that at 90 seconds of "8 out of 10," they should NOT feel spent. Burning in the legs might have started but they should feel like they can still get a few words out, no chest discomfort, NO inability to control their breathing, and a clear appreciation that they could have kept going. At 2 minutes, they should experience close to the same -- still NOT spent.

I talked about the scientific process of modifying lactate threshold, to increase the point at which they are still using mostly fat for fuel. Reminding them of the technical purpose for their discomfort, I felt, was important. But then I also cued them to look at the index cards on their water bottles and re-affirm their commitment to spend time making peace with where they are.

Own your discomfort. Own your self-doubts, your perceived inadequacy. Own your potential.
3 minutes - LT - OWN it.

And, daaaaaaaaaaaaamn, did they ever.

"To Intervene or Not Intervene: That is the Question. See also: The Perils & Pleasures of Correcting Form

2009-09-06T11:43:00.004-04:00

Could my title have been more obnoxiously complicated? Maybe. But it's fitting for the topic at hand: thoughts on when/how to correct form in Spinning classes.

In the interim since I've last written, I've been spending less time training for epic bike feats (my race did go well, exactly according to my training plan in my last post, despite wiping out 100' from the finish line and bloodily dragging my bike and its broken chain the rest of the way -- I was actually SO pleased with the way I landed) and more time training for that whole "being a doctor" thing. I did, however, resume teaching Spinning classes for the first time in 2 months (the longest I've ever been away in my coaching career -- and to be honest, I'm a little stale. Ick.)

The weekend before my Burlington classes started for the semester (I teach on a college campus, so group fitness classes go according to the academic calendar), I *drove* to NYC for 14 hours and taught my old Sunday AM class. (Yes, I drove into Manhattan proper. I was SO proud.) The aesthetics of NYC Spinning studios (lighting, sound, general ambiance) can be quite powerful, if maximized to their potential. I happen to be good at that, which hid my staleness until I psychologically/emotionally warmed up to the task at hand. But as a sub (I moved a year ago -- though some regulars flocked when I announced my return, most of my "old class" isn't really my class), I was mindful of how stuck I was about correcting form.

Though I cued general form tips, there were more extensive interventions that I would have liked to pursue. But didn't. Were they dire safety issues? No. But could they have improved someone's efficiency and/or comfort? Absolutely. Did I feel like, as a sub, I had enough "street cred" to effect change? No. Hence my silence.

On the morning of my first class back in Burlington, the New York Times ran a pseudo-interesting article about trainer and participant perceptions of feedback on form. It didn't say anything ground-breaking. It's common sense that there is a continuum of effective feedback, and a continuum of how people perceive feedback. But there were a couple of comments that reminded me of a theme I try to bring to my coaching all the time -- that is, gauging people's goals and expectations -- yet often forget to apply to the issue of form.

A few months ago, I wrote on my other blog about an experience I had (as a sub, no less) in intervening into what I deemed a safety issue in a Spinning class I was teaching. Though I felt intimidated and ineffective, I reminded myself of my commitment to this theme of identifying people's values and educating them about framing various choices in the context of those values. Choosing a medication, a surgery, a heart rate training zone, a handlebar height, an angle of an SPD cleat, a pelvic tilt, a knee alignment -- they're all the same. That's always what every choice is about.

I feel strongly enough sharing the above-linked post (which presents this story as part of a larger point about synergy between my "medical student" and "coach" worlds) that I'll excerpt part of it:

The other day, a woman in an NYC class I subbed was executing all kinds of safety-contraindicated stuff: mashing her legs, cranking the resistance too heavy to even turn the flywheel, letting go of the handlebars. As a life policy, my interventions begin with general guidance to the group. This is usually sufficient; "offenders" often hear what I say, appreciate the inconsistency between what they hear and what they are doing, and make the appropriate adjustments. If this fails, I describe my corrections in alternate ways. If this still fails AND I think this is a major safety risk, I mute my mic and approach this person individually. As a sub, my threshold for individual intervention is pretty high -- I'm more concerned with pissing people off and inspiring them to cause a scene. So after 6 or 7 "group" interventions and very unambiguous "this pertains to you" signaling, I gave up. I knew that speaking to her privately during class would likely alienate her, and wouldn't actually have an impact on her training practices once I walked out of the room and out of her world.

I couldn't make a difference, so why bother? I gave up on her.

Then I remembered that I wasn't wearing a particular "hat." I was just ME, the cycling coach who knows what the hell she's talking about, who also just so happens to be training as a physician. Time to start acting like one.

I'd given up on this rider who ignored my educational pleas for health and safety. Just like a doctor giving up on an obese, hypertensive patient with Type II diabetes who eats terrible, drinks too much alcohol, smokes, and doesn't take his or her meds. That's what I just did. I didn't find a way to connect, so I blamed this woman as "refractory to cues." No. I just didn't find the right cues. Yet.

At the clinic where I'm working this summer, I'm running a survey that examines patient attitudes towards medications, taking medications, their involvement in their treatment plans, etc. I included an open-ended question that probes patients' reasons for skipping doses of meds. It was my goal to demonstrate that mismatches between patients' goals/values and the regimens prescribed by their providers, or misunderstandings/miscommunications mattered. That calling this phenomenon "non-compliance" is a cop-out -- and that by asking people a really basic question about their obstacles to a desired outcome, we can learn from this and improve said outcome.

Could I apply what comes so naturally to me in medicine... here?

After class, I approached her.
"Hey, I notice you have really strong legs and a great pedal stroke," I said to the woman.
Her eyes perked up.
"But let me ask you something. I notice that you often let go of the handlebar. I'm always interested in the thought process of the people who take my classes -- when you do that, what goes through your mind?"
"Oh, well, I'm pregnant -- and I don't like reaching over. It's uncomfortable."

Really? That's all this was about? Turns out, "non-compliance" doesn't exist on a Spin bike either.

Now I understood her obstacles to heeding the information I presented; now I knew how to frame my message in a way that was consistent with her values. I showed her how to raise the handlebars so that she could hold on without hinging forward too far, and educated her about how riding without holding on places undue strain on her lower and middle back. We then had a lovely conversation about exercise intensity and pregnancy and... get this... heart rate monitoring. By the end of those 5 minutes, she really would not ONLY always hold onto the handlebar (my goal) -- but would be investing in a heart rate monitor, and thus investing in her health and that of her future child.

It was an important reminder on what can happen with a commitment to not giving up on people. It's tempting to detach, to focus one's energy on causes more likely to yield the greatest impact. But the likelihood of impact is also inextricably linked to one's belief in one's ability to have that impact. Like anything else, it's all in the way one talks to oneself.

Take-home points?
1) Believe that fine-tuning form is important.
I will refer to you two previous posts:
"Do Your Riders Know Why They're Riding?" -- details the merits of explaining each and every form cue, and includes a ride profile based on educating people about why various aspects of their form matter. I forgot this exists, and I'm going to use it in my class on Tuesday. Sweet: one less new ride to make.

"Practical Applications of Life on a Spin Bike" -- where I described super-subtle changes I made to my form (pelvic tilt, wrist rotation, seat adjustment) that made LIFE-ALTERING changes in my ability to comfortably ride my first 70-mile and 107-mile rides outside. Just want to demonstrate that subtleties in form TOTALLY matter.

2) Believe that you are a useful and knowledgeable resource.
As a medical student, I struggle with this issue every day of my life. I spend so much time mindfully acknowledging that I know very little in the big scheme of things, and that I haven't actively earned many of the privileges bestowed upon me to learn them (i.e., the generosity of patients allowing me to practice rectal and vaginal exams) that it often distracts me from learning. But as a coach, 99% of the time I genuinely believe that what comes out of my mouth is informed, precise, and useful. When I am in that 1% mentality, that's when I don't speak up about form.

I refer you to a really long/verbose/annoying but probably one of the best posts I've ever written:
Trust Your Judgment: Evaluating Yourself... and Evaluating Others - describes my evolution from an unconfident "newbie" to a more confident, more effective (though, of course, always still evolving) coach, and suggests a few parameters for evaluating influences to which you are exposed.

3) Find multiple different ways of describing the same form cue
I took a FABULOUS, FABULOUS workshop at WSSC 2008 with Luciana Marcial-Vinson about identifying your most frequently (over)used cues and brainstorming alternatives to them. At that time, I hadn't realized how stale my cues were. Going through the process of physically writing down the things I said all the time was scary and occasionally horrifying. But by forcing myself to own my staleness, I could commit to improvement.

Common sense suggests that people respond to different things -- one way might "click" for someone and mean nothing to something else. So when we say the same thing all the time, there may be people falling through the cracks. If we deliver the same concept in multiple different ways, we have an increased likelihood of "reaching" more people. So where do you get your cues? The creative process can be accomplished in SO many different ways: Take continuing ed workshops. Take other instructors' classes. Read blogs and books and websites. Ride by yourself and think about the subtleties of what you're doing. Spend 10 minutes just being THOUGHTFUL, and you will come up with beyond-useful material.

4) Ask the questions.
I'm taught in medical school that 95% of diagnoses come from the patient's history. Not fancy lab or imaging tests -- just by asking subtle questions, and listening to what a patient tells you (and does not tell you). I think about that as a coach, too. The story I cited above in asking the "cue-refractory" woman who would NOT hold onto the handlebar about how she came to make that decision, I learned that she thought she was accomplishing x goal (i.e., avoiding discomfort in pregnancy). When I learned that, I could educate her about different means to accomplish x goal safely (i.e., raising her handlebars) AND how what she was doing wasn't actually having the desired effect she intended. Had I never asked the question, I would never have been prompted to educate her about those specific points. By asking the question, I made my feedback relevant.

Putting this all together:
Basic Cue: "Keep your feet nice and flat. Drop your heel as you pull back on the pedal, keeping your toes straight ahead."

Improvement #1: Tell Them Why
"By dropping your heel, you engage the muscles in the back of your leg for a more powerful pedal stroke."

Improvement #2: Make It Relevant
"Here's why we care about a powerful and efficient pedal stroke..." -- be sure to include relevancy for both outdoor and non-outdoor riders

Improvement #3: Alternate Description
"Think about a magnet on your heel. The floor is metal. Allow your heel to be drawn towards the floor, and pull up against that force to bring your heel towards your butt."

Improvement #4: "Intervention"
"I notice that [insert some sort of positive, empowering feedback]. That's awesome. I notice that you're pointing your toes a bit -- does it feel that way to you/are you aware that that's happening? If yes: What were you hoping to achieve by doing that, so that I can help you find a way to think about it. If no: Yeah, most people can't tell. I figured it was accidental. Here are some ways you can think about it instead, and here's why it matters..."

I need to stop writing massive blog novels when I'm supposed to be studying. I think *I* need an intervention.

Operation: Improvement (and training to get rid of lactic acid)

2009-08-18T20:26:00.007-04:00

25 year old female with no relevant previous medical history presents 2 weeks status-post Century, tattoo to commemorate said Century ("Kaizen" in Japanese, the philosophy of continuous, incremental improvement -- a theme I adopted as a "life policy" about a year ago), and the start of her second year of medical school. Experiencing symptoms of "ridiculously painful" semitendinosis tendon, sleep/training deprivation, and writing/coaching withdrawal. Exacerbated by studying. Improves with blogging.

And so, I write.

While I have more balanced a life than many medical students, resuming school last week indeed represents a significant change to my lifestyle and priorities. Farewell, 5-hour training sessions and blog novels. Hello, incoming flood of cognitive stimuli. The start of my second year, however, already feels drastically different than when I left this realm eight weeks ago. I feel totally prepared to filter, absorb, and integrate the stimuli around me. Legitimately useful. Purposeful. Everything happening the way it ought to be. It's a nice 'place' to be in -- and a place that exists as a result of the deliberate cognitive, emotional, and physical efforts I've invested to "make it so." The opportunities I've sought and experienced, the "fuel" I've accumulated, the confidence I've built. The continous, incremental improvement.

And so it is with athletic training, too.

Despite 12-14 hour days working at my rural "dream clinic" this summer, being away from my Spinning classes afforded me the rare opportunity to focus on my own specific training goals (with specific purposes, and specific plans to accomplish them). Though my free time is now DRASTICALLY diminished, I still have another 2 weeks before I resume my Spinning classes (I'm teaching 4/week now, including integrating my "Mindfulness/Cycling Fusion" into the mainstream schedule; plus, a"Intro to HR Training" course and monthly progressively long endurance trainings. Stoked to have so much regular contact with the same groups of riders!). So I'm determined to use these 2 weeks wisely. To train with a purpose -- to train "for something."

Months ago, I wrote about the essential importance of "training for something," and in inspiring the people we train to identify their "somethings," the reasons behind those "somethings," and to understand the processes to reach those "somethings." I introduced the concept with a story about how I structured my own winter training on a Spinner specifically to get better at riding a specific false flat near my home in Burlington that used to torture me last summer. We improve our ability to accomplish specific tasks by DOING those specific tasks. And perhaps even more importantly, we increase our self-efficacy for that task -- our belief in our ability to accomplish it.

When I wanted to climb monster hills at 70% MHR, I trained for it. I practiced "progressive loading" (i.e., my "Increase and Breathe" drill) for 1.5 years. When I wanted to increase my lactate threshold, I trained for it. I practiced sustaining 5-10 beats below LT for 60-minute intervals (as a component of a more balanced training plan, of course -- but that's the part that increased my LT by 10 beats this year). When I wanted to get awesome at taking blood pressure and performing fundoscopic exams, I created opportunities to practice them almost every day for my two months at the clinic this summer.

As I prepare for my next Century (Sat. September 26 -- an organized one, this time), I have a specific thing to train for: I will finish it faster. Why? Because if I don't finish sub-8 hours, the "support" goes home for the day. Because I'll have quantifiable improvement for 6 weeks of specific work.

How am I going to do it? Get good at working at higher, still aerobic (still nowhere near LT) HRs.
I've gotten so "comfortable" at getting routine tasks done at 80% LT that it's painfully fatiguing to come anywhere near LT - let alone exceed it. I've been doing all these long, slow distances for MONTHS that I forgot how to surge and sustain sub-LT efforts that in any way approximate "effort."

Essentially, I "can't get it up." My heart rate, that is. I've gotten so good at accomplishing my routine tasks (long, slow distances) and progressively loaded moderate intensities, that my fast-twitch fibers have gone on vacation. We talk about lag/inability to increase heart rate as a sign of overtraining (along with lag/inability to decrease heart rate)-- and, yes, those are tell-tale giveaways -- but an alternate explanation for not being able to elevate HR is being out of practice. Remember, we get good at the tasks we practice DOING. I stopped "doing."

It's Goal #3 where I am concentrating my efforts now: lactate clearance/tolerance. By training 5-10 beats below LT, one improves one's ability to clear lactic acid WHILE working -- and thus prolongs muscular fatigue.

Here's what I've been up to over the past 2 weeks -- and, already, I experience a total difference in my performance. I should also state for the record that I've been taking passive recovery days after each of these.

Training #1: "Surges" to 10 beats below LT.
5 sets (3 surges per set) of 30 seconds apiece, recovering to 85% LT in between.

Later, I varied the surge length: 60s, 90s, 2 mins, 5 mins. It was pretty absurd to remember that, just 4 months ago before my immersion in long slow distance training, I was holding LT for a half hour. (Again, we get good at doing what we practice doing. I used to practice THAT.)

I also varied the intensity (surging to 5 beats below LT), as well as the activity -- Spinner, Arc trainer.

Training #2: Continuous lactate clearance -- sustained work at 10 beats below LT.
Warmed up for 10 minutes (working up to 80% LT), then held 10 beats below LT for 30 minutes. Later, that became 40 minutes. Then, 50 minutes.

Also, varied the activity. Arc trainer and, ultimately, 15 miles on my real bike indeed sustained at that "10 beats below LT mark." That was fun -- flat, traffic-free bike path (i.e., complete control over my intensity). Pretty sweet.

Training #3: "LT surges" with incomplete recovery
To force myself to get good at this, I'm doing a 15.6 mile bike relay leg of a triathlon on Saturday. I'm not a racer. I just want to get good at picking up mileage during my Century without crossing LT, is all -- so I needed something to inspire me to train for it.

A few days ago, I did a pretty neat outdoor training that parallels how I plan to attack this race: 10 beats below LT as my default pace (I'm not looking to win anything: I'm just looking to get good at riding a select 15 miles at THAT intensity), littered with LT surges (30-60 seconds) and "recoveries" to 89% LT.

Training #4: Establishing "My New Comfort Zone"
Yet again, because we get good at doing the things we do all the time, we can determine our comfort zones. When we train for long periods of time at x heart rates, we get good at it -- comfortable with it. This is why people who overtrain at super-intense anaerobic HRs too frequently (often as a result of misguided instructors "kicking their ass" in every Spinning class, in efforts to curry favor from those who don't know better!) don't actually perceive that their exertion is all that high; they get used to it! They suffer the adverse effects of overtraining, they're not making efficient use of fuel, and they're NOT going to accomplish their goals -- but they don't think that they're working all that hard. When they slap on a HRM and attempt to stay, say, below 70% MHR, they feel like they're asleep. Their PERCEPTION acclimated; the initial goal of HR training is to build a legit aerobic base wherein their heart PHYSIOLOGICALLY acclimates to getting more work done without working harder.
My point is: When we train at x heart rate, x heart rate starts to feel comfortable. So long as x heart rate is a sub-LT intensity at which our skeletal muscles have acquired sufficient cellular adaptation (i.e., can burn the right % of fuel from the right sources), we can sustain x heart rate for a really damned long time. (We can then progressively load the amount of work we can get done without working harder -- focusing on breathing techniques to moderate our physiological response to change, so that x heart rate stays right where it is... even with additional speed or load).

I got so good at sustaining 80% LT that I trained myself to get enough done there that I could be comfortable all the time. I want to be able to feel THAT comfortable at a higher intensity. Still sub-LT, still using mostly fat for fuel (though likely not as high a % of fat)-- just able to get even MORE done, and still be comfortable. 89% LT is my new target "comfort zone" -- something that feels easy and refreshing.

Today's 60 minute training on the Arc trainer was pretty neat.
10 minute warmup at 80% LT.
Load to 89% LT and sustain for 50 minutes.
Along the way, I threw in:
2 surges (60 seconds) to that "magic" 10 beats below LT (my prescribed "race pace" for Sat)
1 surge (60 seconds) to 5 beats below LT (something I could hold longer if I had to)
1 surge (60 seconds) to LT

Wow, I did NOT intend to write this much. So much for that whole "responsible medical student" thing.

Allow me to conclude by introducing you to a phenomenal resource that explains, with far greater precision and far greater detail the background knowledge behind the concepts I touched upon here. Spinning MI Jennifer Sage launched an E-book last year called "Keep It Real," a 177-page bible that details close to EVERYTHING an indoor cycling instructor OR enthusiast could ever want to know (or know how to explain to others) about how to optimize indoor cycling training to accomplish indoor and outdoor training goals. You might know the basics of the relationship between road cycling and indoor cycling, and you might indeed know even the most advanced, subtle points covered. But what I find particularly striking is the language Jennifer uses, masterfully speaking to both sophisticated trainers and lay recreational "exercisers" alike.
She gracefully articulates concepts that I've struggled for years finding the right ways to describe -- particularly as it relates to the science of lactate threshold, VO2 max, why they matter, and how to train to impact both.

Moreover, "Keep It Real" features an entire section about intensity training -- how to measure, how to structure training sessions to accomplish x training goals, and then an addendum of various training profiles (to use for your classes, or yourselves). It's fantastic. I cannot recommend this book more highly.

On the continuum of improvement, both as a coach and as an athlete, this book most certainly contributed to mine.

My 1st Century: Check.

2009-08-06T22:36:00.002-04:00

Last weekend, I made a cameo in Burlington (I haven't been home for more than 12 hours in two months!). Upon cleaning off my ridiculously frightening desk, I found the scrap of paper that I'd scribbled my Summer 2009 Master Goals List months and months ago as a medical school procrastination tactic, after which I promptly stuffed the paper in my desk. Turns out, there were five things I was "supposed" to do. I actually did two of them so far. Neat. One of them, I think I could pull off if I extend my deadline a little bit (it's a creative way of framing a leg press goal). The other two? Not so much.

"#4) Wrap up data collection for your Psychological Effects of Heart Rate Monitor Use study
#5) Work up to riding 75 miles outdoors."

Uh-oh. Summer 2009 ends for me this weekend (I resume school on Monday). Better get crackin'.

So today, I did both of those things (PS. if you still want to take the survey, go 'head: I'm not looking at data til tomorrow night...). And then some.

Yours truly, the woman who couldn't touch her bike without crying at the start of summer, rode 107 miles.

It was an accident, really. I was ticked off at myself for not remembering this goal when I rode a 70 miler two weeks ago -- I'd felt fine, I could have kept going. But I didn't. So it doesn't count. I'd said 75, and it made sense that I'd have said 75 -- with 6 weeks til my September 26 Century, having knocked off 75 miles would provide infinitely different psychological fuel than 70 would. (I've written a bunch of blog posts about my deliberate, obsessive and insanely purposeful outdoor/indoor training this summer - micromanaging various physical and psychological weaknesses over time. These mind games are key; those 5 miles totally mattered).

But who the hell has time for a 75 mile ride? Wait, you do. You're on vacation, idiot - you just forget, and work 14 hours a day. So I took the day off from the clinic. I was open about it, too. I told my preceptor that I had to work on my HRM study and ride 75 miles on a bike. He finds my ridiculum endearing, I think.

Great. But where to ride? My "rule" post-accident is that I only take on routes I've seen before. It's a long-term solution but it works for now. I figured I'd do a modified version of the 70 mile route I did two weeks ago. I packed accordingly. As I started to ride, I was antsy. I started calculating a bunch of different mileage combinations of different sub-routes I'd been on since I moved to Central VT for the summer -- trying to figure out alternative routes that could add up to a 75 or 80 mile loop. I kept changing my mind about where I wanted to go -- how hard I wanted to work, how scenic I wanted to view, how far I knew things were. I may have mentioned my junky cyclocomputer before: the cadence clip works fine; the mileage gauge keeps shifting and shorting out (so I never know how fast I'm going, how far I've traveled, ANYTHING like that...). So it was important to me to make SURE I was getting my full 75 in; else, I'd be disappointed in not accomplishing my goal.

Then I saw a sign at what I surmised to be the 12-15ish mile mark: Newport 35 miles. My mission was clear. Forget the loop; I'd make this an out-and-back. 35 miles to Newport (plus the 15 I'd already done), and back. A Century. Today would be my day. How sweet would THAT be?
What a great story it would make. What a great capstone to the best summer of my life. How could I NOT do it? How could I come so close, and not do it?

So I did it. And, upon coming home and mapping it out, turns out I MORE than did it. And I'm not going to lie: I feel on top of the friggin' world.

As always when I do something I wasn't supposed to be able to do, I want to share what I learned:

1) A specific plan with a specific route and specific markers along the way is key.
ALL of my training sessions have these. ALL of the Spinning classes I coach have these. This ride did NOT have this. I didn't REALLY know how far anything really was. My cyclocomputer didn't work, so the vague town mileage signs weren't always accurate. In my mind, there was actually a huge possibility that I wasn't clearing 100 miles. I rehearsed how to cope with that disappointment. I rehearsed being proud of myself for a 90 mile ride; I even rehearsed what I'd tell myself if I found out to have done 98 or 99 miles. The point is: If I knew, definitively, that I was 100% on track to accomplish x goal, I could have used that goal as fuel. I didn't dare. Note to self: I need to bring my cyclocomputer in to get fixed, yet again.

2) Giving myself permission to do anti-cyclist things has contributed to my self-concept as a cyclist.
I stopped clipping in after I hit my head on concrete. Can't wrap my brain around it; just can't do it. I tried. I should try again - but I haven't. I've been riding with my cycling shoes with the cleats screwed off - just to look and feel like a cyclist, even though it's incredibly uncomfortable and contributes NOTHING to the efficiency of my pedal stroke. I have super-tiny pedal surfaces (it's just the SPD clip), so the rigidity of the sole does NOTHING for power -- or "hot feet," for that matter. So today I wore sneakers. Yes, 107 miles in friggin' sneakers. And my feet felt fantastic for the first time all summer. (This weekend, I'm going back to clipless and that's final.)

I've also taken up riding with a larger Camelback, to pack enough food to eat every hour. The light one I've been using for more than a year doesn't hold enough for these distances I've been riding as of late. So I have this pseudo-bulky, pseudo-heavy (when the water pouch is full) thing on my back, kind-of compressing my anterior triangle of my neck (where the roots of the brachial plexus, the nerve network for the arm, neck, and back). But I LOVE this damned bag. I've had to learn to carry my shoulder differently -- contracting the rhomboid (imagine doing a press to the mid-chest) and posterior deltoid, to make sure that I'm not compressing my nerve. It's FINE. I look absurd but I feel fantastic to have everything I need with me at all times.

I also took three separate dosings of 800 mg of ibuprofen, every 3.75 hours. I never do that. I hate taking anti-inflammatories for muscular soreness because they interfere with muscular strength-building (in order to grow muscle, you need to overload it enough to cause a micro-tear and inflammation in the muscle fiber; then, that tear is repaired over the next 24 hours). If you block the tear/inflammation part, the repair never takes place. But today I didn't want to deal with a heat headache or any twinges in my gracilis tendon (which has been inflammed since my post-70 mile hike two weeks ago). So I didn't deal with them.

Perhaps the most anti-cyclist thing that I've taken up doing is BLOCKING wind and slowing down on crazy downhills. Downhill makes me anxious. So I've taken up sitting upright and gently coasting down as slow as I can. See #5, as a consequence. But at least I don't have panic attacks. For now, this will do. I eased up on the brakes FAR more today than any other ride post-accident -- I felt confident, knowing how good I was at slowing down during the 70 miler (previously, I've freaked out when I've felt like I couldn't sufficiently slow down to meet my comfort level). So, a work in progress.

3) I'll say it again: FUEL FUEL FUEL.
I spent time last week with a competitive cyclist who decided it was a good idea to consume only his BMR's worth of calories while he trained, in efforts to lose weight. As a doctor in training, let alone a cycling coach, I simply could not stand back and let this continue. I staged an intervention and tried my darnedest to educate him to the fact that a) BMR fuels a sedentary person's sleep; an athlete burns more calories than BMR by opening his eyes in bed; b) BMR slows down in caloric deprivation due to thyroid compensation (which is why restrictive diets don't work); c) whatever BMR formula he was using was probably wrong, and didn't take into account his lean muscle mass; d) Ready-access glycogen (replenished by eating every hour during training) is permissive for fat-burning; if your glycogen dips past a certain point, your muscles CANNOT use fat for fuel regardless of heart rate. Cortisol will break down muscle for raw protein material for the liver to convert to sugar. I repeat: If you do not regularly replenish your sugar during long endurance training, your body will break down muscle and you will not burn fat.

I used to have a life policy of eating every hour. During my 70 miler and today, I extended that to every 90 minutes, for convenience of stopping. Bad. What that meant was that I was eating too much at breaks (I like to keep my breaks < 2 minutes, which makes it NOT practical and NOT comfortable to eat a whole sandwich at once then get back on the bike), because I was hungry for it. It is better to eat BEFORE you get hungry, and to drink BEFORE you get thirsty. I will do this differently in September.

I also set out today with just plain water in my Camelback (which I NEVER do if I plan to train for more than 3 hours). I started to notice how salty my sweat was - saltier than usual. I was 'wasting salt' because my electrolytes were thrown off. When I stopped at the general store, I poured a whole bottle of Vitamin Water and another bottle of regular water into my pouch. Life-altering. My sweat composition changed within the hour - it was pretty amazing. The kidney's cool like that.

4) The way I talk to myself while I'm riding is BEYOND important.
I'm not going to lie: I could have done a MUCH better job of monitoring my self-dialogue today. Every "F*&$" and "This is never going to end!" and "This f&*%ing sucks!" was ABSOLUTELY not helpful. The last 20 miles were nearly unbearable, thanks to stuff like this. Again, see Lesson #1. I would have been far more positive had I been able to remind myself what I was doing, and why it was important. I didn't actually know that I was DOING anything huge, enough to coach myself through it. All I knew was that I was tired, sore, hot, and frustrated. But you better believe that "Hey, you rode 107 miles. X is nothing!" is going to aaaaaaaaaaaaaaabsolutely me my new favorite self-coaching technique.

5) I'm pretty set on the concept that what I did today was awesome. But I'm already dead-set on what I need to get more awesome at.
Speed. I train to keep my heart rate down despite challenge -- I've gotten so good at slogging along at super-low HRs at 64-74 rpm. So that's the rhythm towards which I gravitate, and I've forgotten how to power it home. I was at 70% MHR (which, for me, is 80% LT) for most of the ride, even when I was really pushing. I didn't even come CLOSE to LT at any point today, even on some pretty ridiculous hills. I find my comfort zone (80% LT, where I spend the majority of my time during any activity) and pleasantly exist there. I sat in that saddle for 8 hours at 15 minutes today. I CANNOT do that, ever again. Yes, I took a ton of breaks. Yes, I physically went into stores to buy stuff. Yes, I may or may not have stopped for an icecream cone at the 85 mile mark (I was SO discouraged around mile 80 -- this was the deal I made with myself to NOT stop and call someone to come retrieve me and Triumph prematurely). But that's a damned long time. I'm going to start training for this on a Spinner, first. I've got 6 weeks to make this happen.

And in the meantime:
"#4) Ride 75 miles" -- check. Been there, done that. Blew it out of the water.

I need 16 more responses for my Psychological Effects of HR Training Study

2009-08-05T07:21:00.003-04:00

I try to discipline myself to never post anything anywhere unless it's specifically and deliberately contributing to other people's worlds. But I'd be kicking myself if I didn't take this opportunity.

As many of you know, I am conducting a worldwide study of the psychological effects of Heart Rate Monitor use - sampling the perspectives of recreational and competitive athletes and non-athletes who use HRMs during exercise. This study will identify not only practical applications of HRMs beyond convention but help us, as athletes and coaches like, appreciate effective ways of communicating HR training science (based on what people are anonymously reporting that they perceive).

I am 16 responses shy of my target sample size. Can you help? If you or anyone you know (your students, friends, ANYONE in your life) who has ever exercised with a Heart Rate Monitor, I would be most grateful if you could participate in this 5-minute anonymous survey.

I aim to close down data collection TOMORROW so that I can do data analysis (by hand!!) before I resume my second year of medical school, so that this project doesn't sit on a shelf for months. I know that many of you are eager for results -- nobody is more eager than me!

Spinning MI Jennifer Sage did a far better job of explaining my effort than I am, actually:
Read her post here.

Many thanks in advance for your help!

Practical Applications of Life on a Spin Bike

2009-07-26T17:10:00.004-04:00

One of my "life themes" centers around the synergy between my "Spinning instructor life" and my "physician-in-training life." For better or for worse (and I'll argue passionately for the former), my coaching life isn't just a side gig. I invest a TON of cognitive and emotional resources into this realm of my life, not only for the rewards that come from empowering people through fitness -- but because I see INCREDIBLE parallels between the opportunities that I have as a coach that directly translate to the skills I need to develop as a doctor.

Note: I try to keep the scope of THIS blog to cycling/Spinning, given my perceived audience -- but if you're interested, here are two kinda-neat accounts on the Spinning/medicine interface from my 'med school life' blog: how I figured out how to reach a woman who was ignoring my efforts to correct her Spinning form by kicking into "doctor/patient mode"and how I figured out how to reach a woman with seveeeeeeeeeere, treatment-refractory depression by kicking into "Spinning instructor" mode.

But back to cycling. I rode my first 70 mile outdoor ride yesterday, and credit my performance ENTIRELY to my experiences on a Spinner. That's a pretty bold statement, so I figured I should write about it.

As many of you know, I am training for my first Century ride. In theory, I should feel confident on the basis of having completed several indoor equivalents AND my belief that, with adequate heart rate control and fueling, one can do ANYTHING forever. As many of you know, however, my self-concept as an outdoor cyclist is ENTIRELY different than my self-concept on a Spinner. I've trained myself and others to ride a Spinner pretty damned well, for pretty damned long periods of time. I have moments of clarity on a Spinner where I genuinely believe that I can do ANYTHING (cure cancer, take over a small country -- literally anything). When I take to my outdoor bike, I believe that I'm going to fall and land on my head. Slight difference, see?

So, I decided to ride 100 miles on a bike that scares the hell out of me as a mechanism for 'practicing commitment' to my self-efficacy as an outdoor cyclist -- that is, my belief in my ability to navigate the challenges of my world. I reasoned that, if I were to ride 100 miles, I'd have no choice but to conceptualize myself as a "real cyclist" -- and that, if that frameshift were to happen, that this would have major ramifications for my confidence in my ability to have direct control over the specific ways I see the world. When I talk about the importance of "training for something," THAT is my 'something.' BTW - if you've not read my "Training for Something" post linked in the previous sentence, it has a pretty sweet ride profile with a description of its theme/coaching language. And the "why" of that 'something' is pretty clear. If I truly believed that I have 100% control over my thoughts (i.e., my responses to situational adversity), think about the applications of that to, uh, EVERYTHING.

Most Spinning classes I teach center around opportunities to invest in this construct -- that is, to apply a certain skill on a Spin bike more globally, to other aspects of people's lives. "If I can do X here, I can do X 'out there.'" That's how Spinning fits into MY life -- and, accordingly, that's the overarching theme I find rewarding to share with groups of people.

"At the end of the day, we're riding a stationary bike. But, since we're here -- and since we've taken the rare opportunity for time that is completely ours, where we have to answer to nobody but ourselves -- not our boss, our spouse, our kids; nobody but ourselves -- why not see if we can make it more than that?

Why not see if we can create an experience for ourselves that stays with us a little while longer? To use this time to improve the way we think, the way we organize our thoughts, the way we process the world around us. To learn to coach ourselves through challenges. To moderate the way our body responds to adversity, through our breathing. To practice skills that are fundamental not only to the way we ride a bike, but that we can apply to the rest of our lives?

Why not see if we can do that? Who's game?"

That's how I talk through a warm-up with a group that's chock full of people who have never ridden with me before. That's also how I describe my coaching approach to new people outside the Spinning realm of my world. Despite my propensity for uber-cheesiness, the concept behind "my schtick" when presented in the context of "these are things we should be doing ANYWAY; why not do them on a bike?" doesn't actually come across as all that hokey).

When people who train with me give me feedback about how "life on the Spinner" indeed translates into how they approach the rest of their lives, I can't fully describe how much that means to me. It makes sense, of course -- that's what I present as the WHOLE POINT -- but to hear that my desired outcomes actually happen is a special, humbling, and enormously rewarding experience that I am most privileged to have on regular occasions.

When I apply my schtick to my own life -- on the bike, and off -- I a) see results, and b) expand my creativity in communicating "how I see the world" to my riders. The stuff that comes out of my mouth during Spinning classes is the direct result of the things I tell myself when I'm training, and when I'm going about the rest of my life. I'm never "out of ideas" for ride themes or coaching language simply because I never stop talking myself through the events of my day. It works, and I'm lucky to have carved out an existence where I have the opportunity to walk groups of people through my own coping mechanisms amidst a backdrop of holistic wellness and life-altering, all-consuming rhythms. What a life.

Training for this Century, symbolically, has been a test of these very coping mechanisms.

When I rode my first 50 miler outdoors, I called upon my experiences on the Spinner to coach myself through it. When I identified specific areas where I needed to improve, I went right back to the Spinner to tackle them.

Each of my solo training sessions on a Spinner had a specific sub-subobjective. I micromanaged specific sub-sub details of my form (the specific angle of the bend of my elbows, the angle of my right hand on the handlebars, the tilt of my left hip), and literally dedicated entire training sessions to each of those super-subtle details. I got really damned good at sustaining my adjustments for 3 hours, 4 hours, even 5 hours (imagine 5 hours on a Spinner centered entirely around the angle of my pelvic tilt?!). I got good at enduring uncomfortable, wet clothing. Got good at coping with "hot feet." Got good at knowing exactly how frequently to eat and drink, and WHAT to eat and drink. I learned to see myself as an endurance athlete -- not just somebody who can DO sporadic endurance events. It's a subtle distinction, but an important one.

When I rode my next 50 miler and had the opportunity to test the tweaks I'd made indoors? Rocked it.

Yesterday I dropped a bunch of money on an organized 110K ride to enforce that I continue to improve without bailing early ("oh, looks like rain..." or "oh, I could definitely do more - but let's go home"), and every cent was worth it.

68 miles (+ 2 round-trip to commute to base) = my first 70 mile ride. Stayed ENTIRELY below LT (even on some pretty ridiculous climbs), and felt like I at least another 5-10 miles in me. With two more months of training, this Century is in the bag. Not a bad shift in self-concept for the woman who thinks she's going to land on her head every time she touches her bike.

Like I did with my post on my first 50 miler, here's what I learned:

1. Invest in your psychological fuel.
If one is responsible about one's intensity (i.e., not going out too hard, too early), endurance efforts are NOT about physical resilience. So I applied my own go-to coaching language about the merits of rehearsing (in advance) coping mechanisms for adversity. I invested time at the front end collecting "thoughts" to fuel my self-dialogue. I asked experienced cyclists what they tell themselves when they're flying down steep hills at the speed of sound and feel themselves tensing up. ("Sit up!" "Check your shoulders!" "Where are your hips?") That's the stuff I told myself when I got scared.

I also posted a status update on Facebook the morning of the event, announcing that I was doing this craziness, knowing that 50-something comments would flood in RIGHT before the ride started (which absolutely happened). Some of those comments were really quite specifically meaningful, and I absolutely tapped into their sentiments. I knew that would happen.

The most meaningful were a couple from people I train who threw expressions that I recognized as my own go-to "isms" from Spinning classes, right back at me. I got tearful -- and you'd better believe I thought about that when my feet were numb and my crotch was on fire.

2. TRAIN for adversity.
When I do these 3 hour, 4 hour, and 5 hour Spinning rides -- I tell myself that I'm going to be proud of myself for finishing, of course. But more importantly, I tell myself that completing this particular training session will uniquely entitle me to feel a certain way.

I KNEW that I wanted to be able to reason with myself, which is why I bothered last week to spend 5 hours on a Spinner in the same pair of soaking wet bike shorts (despite having two extra pairs in my bag), eating ricecakes/PB/bananas while vacationing in the Restaurant Capital of the World. Seriously?

Yes. Because I was uniquely preparing myself for that very specific moment yesterday at mile 53, where I had NO desire to keep going -- but could tell myself, "Hey Self, remember when you rode the equivalent of 75 miles last week? Then you were SOAKED, dripping all over the place, with heinous saddle sores on your thighs. You lived through that -- THIS is no way as bad as what you just did. So why the hell can't you keep going now?"

Good point, Self. You win. Ride on.

I conceived of how well I respond to "discomfort training" when I was preparing for the 6-hour Spinathon I co-led in April. I knew that 'hot feet' were my Achilles heel -- so I did ALL of my endurace training on the elliptical trainer, knowing how much more opportunity I'd have to practice curling my toes and shifting my weight around to relieve compression "on the go." You'd better believe that the stuff I learned how to do those hours on the elliptical ABSOLUTELY reared their head yesterday.

3. Subtleties matter.
I made two major changes in my form. When I describe them, I will appear completely neurotic and ridiculous. But I cannot tell you how much of a difference they made.

My wrists are turned outwards at a 10 degree angle at the ends of the handlebar. THAT subtle. I used to ride my bike (a hybrid with a horizontal handlebar) just like I rode my Spinner. So I changed the way I hold my Spinner; in Hand Position 2, I rotated my wrists entirely indistinguishably to an observer. And that change alone kept me from median nerve compression. FASCINATING.

I made the tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniest tweak of my pelvic tilt. The tilt I use indoors, when outdoors (i.e., actually moving forwards and subject to momentum), was forcing me to lean on the handlebars when that hasn't been a problem for me EVER. So I changed it indoors, translated it outdoors -- and BAM: I have complete control over turning my wrists outwards (as described above).

4. It's ok if this lasts forever.
For my first two years of Spinning instruction, my favorite compliment was when people told me that they thought a particular ride "flew by." To me, that meant that I'd done a good job planning the training session, framing it with a good intro context and "skeleton" of what to expect (by which to mark progression towards a goal). More recently, as I've become increasingly into all this 'mindfulness' stuff, I'm no longer striving to present stuff that 'flies by.' Instead, I want time to not matter. It's the ONLY time during most people's days where time can POSSIBLY not matter. I even took the clock off the wall during that special mindfulness course I taught. I wanted everything to be a moment-specific phenomenon, completely inhabited moment-by-moment present tense. It made people anxious at first -- but over time, it came together.

That said, in my classes it is NOT unheard of to climb a steady hill for 40 minutes. You talk yourself through the process of commiting to it, question what it means to you to honor your commitment, and analyze what it's going to take to follow through.

Yet when I ride outside, I want every hill to FLY by. I pick up my pace and power through. I used to suck and dismount midway through much of Vermont's "routine" hills, but I got my pace/gear/balance/steering schtick a bit better coordinated over time. I don't ride cliplessly outdoors (UGH; in major need of a life upgrade) so I can't use my hamstrings. I don't stand up, ever. So all that's left is my speed. I trained for it all winter -- surging up to LT, holding it a minute, then recovering. So that's how I climb hills outdoors.

Then I met a hill that wasn't receptive to this approach. Towne Hill Road in Montpelier, VT. My arch-nemesis. It comes out of nowhere, even though I drive up it every day. Every day, it gets steeper - I swear. An unrelenting banked curve, a mile pure insanity. No shoulder. Rocks everywhere. Cars everywhere. The first time I rode it, I approached it in my usual fashion -- and seriously thought I was going to die (though my HRM assured me that I was just a few beats above LT, and would thus be fine). Faster faster faster -- are you STILL not at the end? -- faster faster faster -- When is it going to end? -- Faster faster ohhh, tired tired tired. Nooooo, end end end, you need to end! I'm a medical student -- free time is hard to come by; this is no way to spend free time.

When I climb hills, I forget that I like to climb. I rush through them and gauge my success by how quickly I can climb them. I'm NOT a racer; if I were, that'd be different. So Towne Hill Rd and I had a face-off a few days ago, and I approached it entirely differently -- symbolically, even. I'll eventually make a ride about it. I just settled into a comfortable pace (64 rpm is something I train for indoors, ALL the time) in a low gear and just CLIMBED. 10 minutes, same pace in my lowest front and back gears. There I was on this AWFUL hill -- just BEING, moving, soaking up the views of the mountains the the pines and the fluffy clouds. I hadn't seen how beautiful Towne Hill Rd. was when I was busy fighting it. I was sub-LT, to boot. Relaxed my shoulders, my grip. In that moment, I was "ok" if Towne Hill Rd. lasted forever. (It lasted 12 minutes; that was probably "forever" enough.)

And it occurred to me that Towne Hill Rd was a great metaphor for medical school. Instead of rushing through it as quickly as possible, worrying about when the end is going to come, I really try to enjoy every day of it -- to be aware and attentive, soaking it all up, learning from everything around me.

There were some pretty epic hills yesterday -- hills that literally did seem that would last forever. And in those moments, I truly was OK if that were true. Because I'd trained to be ok with it. And I was.

Streeetching for Success, Sanity, and Sanctity

2009-07-11T11:53:00.006-04:00

My life as an NYC nomad hit an all-time low last night. I've felt FINE throughout my week of couch-crashing whilst logging 350 miles (indoor/outdoor) and schlepping the most wretchedly heavy suitcase and backpack known to mankind. But last night, I slept on a (carpeted) floor. Now? I'm hobbling all over the place.

As many of you know, when I actually lived here, I hobbled quite a bit. After suffering a third-degree strain (tear) of my iliopsoas tendon in April 2008 and re-injuring it too many times to count (after prematurely returning to the saddle, and delaying physical therapy WAY too long), it was pretty uncomfortable to be me for a while. The iliopsoas is our prime hip flexor, after all: forget cycling; basic walking was a big ordeal.

But I don't regret a minute of it. Why? Because this experience taught me the importance of stretching to prevent injury and to promote muscular repair/growth. This happened to me because I used to teach 5 Spinning classes a day -- and even though I was super-responsible about my heart rate control and recovery time, I simply did not stretch sufficiently. I'd always be scurrying about from one club to another, and largely did not attend to my stretching beyond that which I was incorporating into my own classes. I paid the price for that. Now I consider it an important part of my role as a coach to share this message, and to teach people how to incorporate adequate stretching into their fitness regimens.

In NYC, I had a lot of constraints. 45 min classes attended by riders under a lot of pressure to rush back to the rest of their lives. I used to do a 5 minute combined on-bike (cool-down/light upper body stretching)/off-bike (lower-body stretching). So inadequate. I'd then explain why these stretches were inadequate, and encourage people to join me on the mats outside the Spinning studio for another 5-10 minutes of extra stretching. I'd never get more than 1-3 people take me up on that; sometimes none at all.

In VT, I had the advantage to walking into a new place and declaring that "this is the way I do things," and just... doing them. Anxiety-provoking, yes. Somewhat ballsy, yes. Successful? Absolutely.

So in my 60 minute classes, I spend 5 minutes leading a cool-down on the bike with light upper body stretching. Then another 5 minutes off-bike lower body stretching. Then 5-7 minutes on mats at the back of the room, focusing on lower body, upper/lower back, neck, and even breathing techniques.

I've received a few emails from instructors and riders asking about the specifics of what I actually do. I've meant to write this up forever ago, and I apologize for taking so long. Here goes. I'll include a little bit of cueing, in case anyone will find that helpful.

With the exception of the shoulder rolls/overhead extensions (shorter), I coach to be held 20-30 seconds. Hamstring stretches, longer.

COOL-DOWN
1-3 minutes
Back off the resistance a bit, still supporting some resistance. Breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Lengthen the breath a bit longer on the way out, to bring your heart rate down. Back off the resistance a little bit more. Flushing it out, still breathing. [I'll then say something to summarize whatever the ride had been about]. If you've got any resistance left on the flywheel, back it off.

ON-BIKE
Shoulder rolls (front/back x 4-8)

Overhead stretch x 3 --> Back --> Chest
>> Let abdomen expand as you inhale, bring arms up. Contract as you exhale, bring arms down. [On third inhalation]: lock your fingers up. Press your palms towards the ceiling. Exhale, reach out forward and round out the back. Reach behind you up tall, open up the chest.

Deltoid
>> Drop your shoulder, support with the opposite hand. Reach across and downards. *The key is the shoulder drop before the extension. Switch.

Triceps
>> Reach up for a tricep stretch. Try to keep your head straight as you pull your elbow down, extending your hand down your back. Switch.

Neck
>> Let your head fall gently towards your shoulder. Option: hold the stretch as you are, or gently assist the hold (same hand as shoulder). Option: take your opposite index finger, point down towards the floor to gently lengthen the stretch in the neck. Switch.

Lower Back
>> If your heart rate has returned all the way back down to where you started, press down hard on your red knob and come to a complete stop with one knee up. If your heart rate is still accelerated, keep pedaling. Hold onto the back of the seat and twist the lower back, looking over the back shoulder. Switch.

OFF-BIKE
Quadriceps
>> Holding onto the bike, take the inside of one foot. Tuck your knee under your hip, tuck in your tailbone. Squeeze the quadriceps. Hold.
>> Next, to deepen this stretch: inhale and as you exhale, pull the knee back an extra bit and push out forward through the hip flexor in the front of your leg.
>> Next, for an extra challenge to your balance: take your opposite hand and grab your heel. Pull the shoulders back and push out through the chest. Think about your core muscles to keep you steady. Not sucking them in, just paying attention to them. Hold. Don't be afraid to grab onto the bike if you find yourself unsteady.
>> Repeat for opposite leg.

Hamstring
>> Take the heel of your shoe to the lowest part of the bike frame, right there in the center.
>> First step: flex your foot as far as you can, toe up towards the ceiling. When you've got that flexion, hinge forward at your hip -- keeping your back as straight as you can. Reach for the ankle and hold without bouncing. The key to this stretch is the flexion in your ankle, not how high you have your leg -- the lower the better [that usually corrects people who attempt contraindicated positions].
>> Next, to deepen this stretch: Inhale - and as you exhale, flex your foot a little bit more -- toe towards you.
>> Next, for a bit more intensity: Take your opposite hand, turn away from the midline of your body and align your shoulders. Targets the top of your hamstrings as they adjoin your lower back, and even gently stretches the inner thigh a bit.
>> Repeat for opposite side.

Glutes/Piriformis
>> Cross one shin over the opposite thigh, sit all the way back as though sitting in a chair.
>> To deepen this stretch: inhale -- as you exhale, sit back deeper.
>> Switch

Calves
>> Step up to the front or back of your bike, press the ball of your foot up against the flat part. Step in and hold. Switch.

FLOOR (ON MATS) -- if you have access to this in the room, fabulous. Otherwise, skip to the end and then encourage your students to join you in the gym's stretch area for this stuff. THIS is the stuff that makes a huge difference.

Here, I do a lot of combination stretches -- movements that work multiple muscle groups simultaneously. Repeatedly cue to remain oriented to breathing, in through the nose and out through the mouth. People forget to breathe when they exert themselves, as we know.

Start on lower back. Bring knees to chest. Takes tension off the lower back. Rock side to side, massaging the spine.

Iliopsoas
>> Extend both legs ahead of you. Squeeze one knee to your chest, sliding the opposite heel out along the floor -- extending the leg even further. Feel a gentle pull in the EXTENDED hip.

Hamstrings/Lower Leg (anterior tibialis, fibularis brevis, fibularis longus, gastrocnemius -- I don't think you're getting the soleus much here when the knee is extended, but maybe)
>> Extend your full leg, heel up towards the ceiling. Support your leg either behind your knee, behind your thigh, or walk your hands up your calf. Try to keep the leg straight, wherever you're supporting
>> Gently start to roll your ankle in one direction, slowly. Focus on making the motion a complete circle. If you start to detect that you are making ellipses or other fake circles, slow it down and really focus on making the motion circular. As your muscles fatigue, they don't want to contribute equally to this motion -- which makes the motion fall apart, and contributes to muscular imbalances. Slow it down until you can make it a circle.
>> Switch directions.
>> Flex the ankle up and down a few times to flush it out
>> One more time. One direction circles. Switch directions.

** I tell people that this exercise will not only help to prevent calf/hamstring soreness but will make them better cyclists. By giving the ankle more range of motion, you are better able to drop your heel in the 5 o'clock --> 7 o'clock portion of the pedal stroke. More power on that backstroke is HUGE. I tell people that I do ankle rolls all day long -- under my desk, waiting in line, in NYC when I used to spend hours on subways. Definitely NOT while driving everywhere now, though ;-)

Glutes/Piriformis
>> Cross one shin over the opposite thigh. Reach through between your legs, pull that opposite thigh to your chest. Feel this pull in the outside of the glute on the crossed leg.
>> To deepen this stretch, inhale - as you exhale, pull the thigh closer to your chest.
>> Switch.

Back
>> Turn over onto your abdomen, face down towards the mat. Align your hands with your chest. Push up through the chest, giving a nice stretch to the lower back. Look straight ahead or up at the ceiling, whatever makes you happy.
>> Sit back over your heels, broadening the shoulder blades. Feel the stretch across the upper back.

More Hip Flexor Fun
>> Sit up into a kneeling position. Lunge out forward with one bent leg. Place all your body weight on the opposite hip flexor.
>> To deepen, inhale - as you exhale, press out forward a bit more.

Trapezius
>> Find a comfortable seated position of your choice
>> [I then explain how the trapezius is a muscle where many of us carry a lot of tension, and is the source of a great deal of neck pain and headaches. I mention that my trapezius ruins my life all day long, except for the moments in which I engage in the stretch we are about to attempt. I describe the anatomy of the trapezius - anchoring at the nuchal line (ie, "middle of the back of your head") and extending down most of the back.
>> Find a spot where you carry tension in that muscle. Apply firm pressure with the opposite hand. Not enough to cause pain. "Comfortably uncomfortable." Maintaining that pressure, raise the shoulder up as high as it goes. Hold. Lower as low as it goes. Hold. Repeat x10, then switch sides.

Closing
>> Return to kneeling position. Push off the knee, come up to a standing position
>> Reach up for our final stretch. Inhale up at center, exhale out to the side. Inhale back up center, exhale out to the other side. Inhale back up one more time, reach up as tall as you can - right through the core. And pull it down. Give yourself a round of applause!

Wow, I didn't realize how completely automatically scripted my cooldown/stretch cues were. This post has been quite strange to write.

BEYOND STRETCHING
Time to talk about my most important personal life upgrade in the past 5 years (only because my cycling shoes and heart rate monitor entered my life before then). Self-myofascial release -- aka "foam-rolling."

You've seen them around. They look like "noodles" on which to float in a pool, and you either see them laying around with nobody paying attention to them (because nobody has ever shown them how to use them) or people doing funky things with them. Foam rollers are dense cyllinders of styrofoam -- and the premise is that we use our own body weight against gravity to give our dense connective tissue (fascia) more flexibility/pliability. Connective tissue can become tight, knotted, and thick over time (especially after repetitive movements) -- which restricts our movement (i.e., with "tight hip flexors," it's hard to keep our knees from flaring out to the sides when we ride), and can cause pain/soreness (i.e., just ask anyone with a tight IT band to tell you how they enjoy their connective tissue immobility).

You can foam-roll ANYTHING. Your IT band, hamstrings, iliopsoas, quads, arms, chest, neck, back -- ANYTHING. I could describe a few positions but photos will be more helpful. Just Google "self myofascial release" and your body part of question, and you'll find illustrative photos all over the place.

There are multiple ways to use foam rollers to do this (i.e., rolling vs. holding a single spot). I recommend the latter, as it keeps the distribution of force even. Find a spot where you feel tight, line it up on top of the roller and stack as much body weight as possible onto that one spot. Hold 10-20 seconds, then move to another spot in the same area. Keep going.

When one first begins incorporating self-myofascial release, it hurts -- I'm not going to lie. The tighter you are, the more it hurts. The corollary to that is that, the more you do this --> the less tight you'll be --> the less it will hurt. Performing self-myofascial release 1-2x per DAY (even if you do not feel especially tight) is a solid preventative measure to keep the tissue that supports all of your muscles and bones in optimal conditioning.

Whew. No wonder I've been procrastinating writing this post for months. Hope it's helpful!

Let me know if you have any questions/comments, as always.

The Brazen, Ballsy Things I've Done in NYC: On the bike, and off.

2009-07-05T20:56:00.003-04:00

It's funny how things evolve sometimes. Just six months ago, I was lamenting how I didn't feel that I'd ever be able to truly express the coaching realm of my identity in Vermont -- how my true sense of connectedness could ONLY take place in NYC, and that nothing would ever be the same.

Now I'm NYC, teaching all these old classes of mine (and other random sub gigs), and I feel like someone has tied my hands behind my back and muzzled me. Fascinating.

And frustrating.

When I get frustrated, my go-to coping mechanism is to do something drastic and dramatic to shake me out of my frustration/anxiety. The night before a troublesome med school exam a few months ago, for example, I spontaneously gave myself a pretty dramatic hair cut. Some of my boldest declared "life policies" are borne under conditions of excessive anxiety.

Uh-oh.

So, behold the Top 5 Brazen, Ballsy Things I've Done This Week in NYC.
1) Had the confidence to "do my thing" independent of eagerness to please
2) Led 10 minute cool-downs/stretches (this does NOT happen in NYC, ever -- people complain if instructors end early, and even start fights over it. It's a major trigger for melodrama in my crazy homeland.)
3) Presented nonstop Endurance rides (I don't call them that -- I just talk about fat-burning and the idea of rationing fuel to be able to last longer without fatigue; people go for that).
4) Started making rides about all the egregious things I see in NYC Spin studios
5) Went through 80+ Itunes playlists of old rides and deleted 70 of them. No joke. And in the process, got enough creative fuel for new rides to last me the next 6 months.

I'll tell you about each of them.

1) Had the confidence to "do my thing" independent of eagerness to please
An instructor colleague of mine took my class a few mornings ago and observed that, since she last rode with me (January), I am an entirely different instructor -- almost an entirely different person, even. "Unrecognizable" was the word she used. Fascinating. The specific aspects of the class and my style that she cited as enjoyable were precisely what I was going for, precisely what's important to me -- and yet, I was shocked when she noted how dramatically my style had evolved. I knew I'd changed -- as I write all the time, I evolve so rapidly that I literally permanently delete rides older than a few months (excepting some self-declared "classics"). But "unrecognizable?" Really?

My last few months in NYC before I moved to start medical school (Summer 2008) was when I started getting really into the psychology of training, started incorporating global "life themes" as ride themes. That really took off as I was departing, and took on a life of its own in my new setting. Were there aspects of mindfulness training, exploration of self-concept, self-efficacy, and the like? For sure. But never as "in your face" as now, and I'm proud of these changes.

As I wrote in my last post, this Mindfulness/Cycling Fusion course I just ran in Burlington was life-altering for me. As I predicted, it's really hard to "regress" to life before coaching as I gave myself permission to coach for the past few months. Because I really do see it as a regression. The concept of using a Spinning training session as a forum for mindfulness training -- that is, practicing the art of paying attention on purpose without interpretation or judgment, as a mechanism for focus, clarity and empowerment -- is hardly rocket science, and hardly unique. But my former population doesn't get exposed to this -- it's new, and new is scary. It's been an intellectual challenge to "sell" it from scratch -- and, by and large, I've done a pretty good job the past few days.

Close your eyes. Raise your hand if you've ever been distracted.
Giggles erupt. 35+ hands go up, theoretically from unique end users.
Thought so. Well, research shows that mindfulness training -- that is, training one's self to pay attention on purpose to external stimuli and one's physiological responses to those stimuli - combats stress and anxiety, lowers blood pressure, and all sorts of things that we, in theory, want to accomplish. The problem, though, in our crazy NYC lifestyle, is that we rarely take the time to sit still and invest in this known effective strategy. So we're here on a Spin bike. Is it possible that we can use this time -- that is, time that is entirely OURS -- to invest in ourselves this way? Who's game?

I don't know if that intro was effective or not, but I found myself using it for a few different rides that had nothing in common theme-wise but had many elements of "Vermont Melissa" of which I'd have felt lousy for depriving them, and for depriving myself of coaching that way. And, yes, I did ask 35 sleep-deprived, concentration-deprived, sanity-deprived New Yorkers to close their eyes and just "be." This is distinguished from closing their eyes and asking themselves questions, or thinking. People who rode with me were used to being asked to think. But to just "be"? Whole new ballgame.

In Burlington, I trained my riders to work up to 20 minutes of a steady pace to a steady beat, synchronized with steady breath at a steady HR with a steady flow of self-dialogue. They rode without my coaching. They rode without music. This was huge -- and I got spoiled by my own success.

In New York, I aimed far lower. 2 minutes without me talking. 2 minutes with their eyes closed. 5 minutes before a song changed (I didn't realize how my music style has evolved! No wonder; I never thought New Yorkers had the attention span for anything that lasts longer than 5 minutes, apparently -- and apparently, I continue to believe that. A lot of my recent go-to favorites, I don't have the balls to play here. It used to be the other way around -- how a Vermont crowd was "limiting" to my style. Go friggin' figure.)

Some people loved it. Some people loved ME but didn't love the ride. Some people walked out. And you know what? I was completely fine with ALL of those outcomes -- because I was confident that the style I've developed is "me," and is EXACTLY how I want to be at this point in my life. Not bad for the self-proclaimed External Validation Junkie.

2) Led 12 minute cool-downs/stretches (this does NOT happen in NYC, ever -- people complain if instructors end early, and even start fights over it. It's a major trigger for melodrama in my crazy homeland.)
As many of you know, I make a BIG deal about cool-downs and stretching. As a physician in training, I value the importance of safely redirecting blood flow back to the organs that so generously went without it at the expense of skeletal muscle's fuel-hoarding -- and of avoiding the negative consequences that come from skipping cool-downs (sudden drop in BP leading to dizziness, nausea, fainting; blood vessels remaining dilated can lead to pooling of blood in legs/feet -- static pools of blood can lead to clots). As a trainer and an often-injured athlete, I value the importance of stretching in preventing injury and promoting recovery.

The "jump off the bike and run back to work" phenomenon is SO widespread in NYC. It's insane. I used to always wrap up my 45 min classes earlier than many other instructors to limit the "excuses" for leaving without it. In VT, I'm spoiled -- my classes are 60 minutes, yet I unapologetically cut off the "work" at 42-45 minutes with the rest reserved for cool-down, on-bike, and off-bike stretching (even full-out mat stretching).

My first 12 min cool-down/stretch in NYC was an accident. My riders' shortened attention span to a couple of long-ish tracks inspired me to advance the tracks early. A ton of tracks. 30 seconds here, 1 minute there -- that all adds up. Oh shit, I think when I see the clock at the start of what I know is my last piece. Wait, no oh shit. Let's actually do a legit cool-down and stretch. Yeah. Make it look purposeful, not like you screwed up. Awesome.

Turns out, it was so fluid that I actually went a few minutes OVER the class' end time. Nice.

So I kept doing this, legitimately purposefully. After one class, one of my former regulars came up to me and thanked me for paying so much attention to stretching. It was one of my favorite moments of the day.

Three cheers for promoting safety AND preventing my own injury/soreness.

Since I promised one reader a thorough account of my cool-down/stretch approach, it seemed fitting to do it here. But this post is getting super-long -- so next one, for sure. I have my laptop with me as I'm playing nomad this week, so I'll be writing a ton.

3) Presented nonstop Endurance rides
'Nough said. I've always conceptualized my role within the particular NYC Spinning community in which I've operated to be to offer what my riders are NOT getting elsewhere. They're getting anaerobic intervals; they don't need more. Earlier in my career, I used to approach Endurance rides as a specific type of training session that is SO important, SO essential, SO (everything good in the world) -- even though they're not fun and require tremendous commitment and restraint. I'm over that; I really am. Now I'm all about how GRADUAL resistance/speed are loaded -- if one makes gradual changes, the idea is to train one's self to get more work done without working harder (ie, at lower, aerobic heart rates). In my book, there's nothing more rewarding then conquering an ABSURD hill and looking down and seeing a sub-LT heart rate.
Why? Because it's not a fluke. It's because one TRAINED for that experience.

4) Started making rides about all the egregious things I see in NYC Spin studios
Want a quick, easy idea to come up with ride themes? Think about all the specific aspects of riding that people struggle with. Aspects of form, breathing, pedal stroke, whatever. I've been doing that for years, and it works out quite well.

But now I'm on a mission. I have 2 weeks to make a meaningful dent in the crap I know that my former regulars are being exposed to -- how I know this is because I've observed ridiculous form lapses that didn't exist 6 months ago in specific people, and because I've observed sub-ideal instruction.

a) How to do LEGITIMATE anaerobic intervals (I made this ride in Vermont -- it's deliberately painful, and only comes out monthly. One of my greatest accomplishments is that this ride really IS awesome, and yet my Vermonters do NOT prefer it over the aerobic stock. "Ugh! Not a sprint!" -- ha, imagine? That's my new world, and it's fantastic.

I'll post the profile later in the week after I present it to my old class Wed night. I *need* to do it here. People don't "get" it, because the average instructor doesn't "get" it.

b) A tour of basic aspects of form -- pedal stroke, center of gravity, upper body, pelvic tilt, etc. and the WHY of each. Will be talking minimally, with the challenge of carving out language they'll keep with them when some jackass tells them to lead on the handlebars, run upright with fingertips, ride seated in "aero," etc.

5) Went through 80+ Itunes playlists of old rides and deleted 70 of them. No joke. And in the process, got enough creative fuel for new rides to last me the next 6 months.
No, really. I did that. I sat myself for 4 hours in my former favorite cafe and just started cleaning house, according to the following criteria:
a) Did you use this ride recently?
b) Do you even remember what you were trying to demonstrate, conceptually?
c) Is this devoid of your go-to music that you already overplay?
d) Does this ride have any value-added in its current form, or would you need to edit it?

I'm not allowed to edit. When I edit, I end up "melding" a ride to look like whatever the last few rides I made. I swap out song after song, until the initial framework is gone -- so I may as well start from scratch.

So if any ride failed the above criteria, I dragged any "oooh, I forgot about you!" songs to a "FOR EVALUATION" playlist and then just plum deleted it. Bye.

Crazy. Shedding of my amateur works of yesteryear (if by "yesteryear" I mean "last month").

What I DID do, however, was write down the titles of what I deleted, if they reflected a particular theme/concept that I'd like to revisit. Because of this effort, I am literally all set with ideas for new rides for at least the next 6 months -- even if I never had another remotely creative impulse ever again.

Just a few:
* "Empowerment by Restraint" (about control of HR, discipline to stay at an aerobic target)
* "Coach Yourself" (about self-dialogue -- form, goals, self-concept)
* "Operation: Anti-Mash" (concept was simple: "hear a beat, lift your knee" -- to try to address the too-common phenomenon of heavy beats breeding heavy quad-mashers. When *I* ride, I go for upstrokes on the downbeats -- so I taught my classes to do that. ABSOLUTELY time to revisit that.)
* "Squeeze & Release" (a Strength ride built entirely around the concept that by contracting then relaxing a muscle, one's heart rate drops. I use that often in my own training but somehow stopped talking about it in my classes)

Sure is stimulating to revisit the past, in the context of the present -- and of the future.

Whirlwind NYC Tour: 7/1-15

2009-06-29T21:57:00.005-04:00

Oh my goodness. It's time for another whirlwind immersion in My Former Life.

In less than 48 hours, I'll be driving to New York (leaving Kai, my shiny blue Impreza, who REALLY needs to not score me another shiny speeding ticket) for a 2-week trip to fit in as many people, coffees, and Spinning classes as possible.

If you're in town and you want to ride, here's where I'll be. All various NYSC locations around Manhattan (and one in Brooklyn). If you're not a NYSC member and you want to ride, email me at melspin@gmail.com (easier to respond via Crackberry than to blog comments; I'll be playing nomad, crashing on random friends' couches, so legit Internet access may be scant).

WEEK 1
Wed 7/1: 6:30PM (86th/Lex)
Thurs 7/2: 12:30PM (City Hall) & 6:15/7:15PM (36th/Mad)
Fri 7/3: 6:30AM (86th/Lex)
Sat 7/4: 9:30 & 10:30AM (23rd/Park)
Sun 7/5: 9:30AM (41st/3rd) *

WEEK 2
Mon 7/6 6/7PM (23rd/Park)
Tues 7/7 12:15PM (Union Sq - 14th bw 5th/6th) & 7PM (Park Slope)
Wed 7/8 6:30PM (86th/Lex)
Thurs 7/9 6PM (59th/Park)
Fri 7/10 6:30AM (23rd/Park)
Sun 7/12 9:30AM (41st/3rd)*

WEEK 3
Wed 7/15 6:30PM (86th/Lex)

*Note: Sundays have become my "50 mile training days" (ok, so maybe I've only done this twice -- and maybe only once outside; yesterday was a 3 hour ride on my Spinner - last hour was pretty tedious, not going to lie. But not exhausted at ALL -- maintained 60-65% with occasional surges to 70% and 75%.). So I'm going to keep this up in New York. Since I'll be on a Spin bike anyway (an NXT with good mirrors around, at that), I'll be riding another 2.5 hours after I wrap up my class (with a full cool-down/stretch/"goodbye"). If anyone wants to incorporate some endurance training into their lives, I'll actually plan a legit training session (instead of winging it solo). Email me.

I'm actually a bit nervous to return to my old world, as it were. Absence makes the ridiculously inflated, overhyped expectations grow fonder. And my style has tooooooooooootally changed drastically, even in the 6 weeks since I've last been in town. For the better, but tooooooooooootally different. After the mindfulness course I just taught, I can't ever go back to a world where I'm NOT orienting a training session that way. But it's ok; it'll be an interesting intellectual challenge to pull it off with a population that hasn't been "mine" in a long time (I come to town and play "rock star" in this insane parallel universe where teaching Spinning classes somehow earns that kind of ridiculous, unearned hype, reconnecting with a few regulars -- but most of these classes are people I don't know, who don't know me). It's going to be ALL about the introductions -- framing it, giving it context. I wrote about this concept once, though I can't find the link. Those first 30 seconds make or break a class -- for me, at least.

If you've been reading Spintastic for a while, you've likely abstracted the sense that I'm big on goals and sub-goals. Two trips ago, my goal was to jumpstart my new 2009 training regimen -- my sub-goal was to lay the groundwork for avoiding overtraining. Last trip, my goal was to stop teaching 5 classes a day every time I'm in town like I used to do for a living (i.e., forgetting that I don't have the same cognitive/physical resources that I did pre-medical school and thus running myself into the ground). I taught 5 for the week, and had a LOVELY time reconnecting with the non-Spinning aspects of my old world (which I was in danger of forgetting I even had!).

This time? Goal = teach as many classes as humanly possible. My brokeness is more important than my sanity/social life. Sub-goal = prevent overtraining (maintain 65% MHR for as much of the week as possible, and seize the opportunity to perfect coaching off-the-bike for ENTIRE rides against a backdrop of a 99% lack of street cred. Random sub, entirely off-bike, spouting random stuff about breath and intention and self-efficacy and whatever the hell else I talk about all day? Really?

Yup. 'Sgonna be awesome.

Trusting Your Judgment: Evaluating Yourself... and Evaluating Others.

2009-06-26T23:32:00.005-04:00

Yesterday, I drove 9 hours (round-trip) to ride a stationary bike for 2 hours. Some might call that crazy, and indeed those "some" would be correct. But every mile of the drive, every pedal stroke of the ride, was specifically by design -- and very specifically worth-it for very specific reasons.

When I learned that Spinning MI Josh Taylor would be presenting his signature "Everest Ride" in Boston, I literally squealed. The right half of my brain cites Josh Taylor rides among its Top 5 Favorite-Ever Life Activities; the left half of my brain understands why. Together, we're going to describe this for you as a jumping off point to discuss a bunch of stuff that's been on my mind lately -- namely, the science and art of evaluation (both of ourselves, and of other instructors).

Recollections of a New Instructor.
The first time I rode with Josh Taylor (ECA in New York, March 2007), I had been a Certified Spinning instructor for a mere month. Hadn't yet taught a single class. Had been riding religiously with the same instructor for 3 years, of whom I thought the world: high-energy, engaging, entertaining. Shared my taste for REALLY bad mid-90s dance music. SUCH a character. I followed him around NYC to ride at various clubs, and hung on every word he said. Inspired me through my gradual evolution of "life upgrades" -- heart rate monitor, cycling shoes, instructor certification. Talked about "fitness literature." He was so much more knowledgeable than any other Spinning instructor I'd ever met. I treated his -isms like gospel.

During my Spinning instructor orientation, many of my hero's signature "moves" were covered and demonstrated. In the Contraindications segment.

One-count jumps, hovers, a few other things I'd been instructed to do several times a week for years. There they all were, right there in the list that my new certification was making me promise not to instruct another human being to effect.

Well, I told myself then, if the Spinning program says I can't do this stuff as a Spinning instructor, then I won't do it. My hero isn't Spinning-certified; this stuff must be allowed by his certification program (Schwinn). Spinning has its "core moves," and my job is just to do these core moves and that's it. I'm supposed to only do the things that people would do on a road bike, is what they say. I get it. I'll do what Spinning says. I'll follow Spinning's rules just swell.

Table that. We'll come back to it.

So I got certified and started taking a bunch of different instructors' classes before I started teaching, in efforts to broaden my perspectives. I didn't want to parrot "my guy" -- I wanted to get ideas for profiles and cueing, even music. I wanted to fine-tune my appreciation for what worked and did not work for ME as a rider, so that I could translate that into my instruction. I declared that this would be a value to which I would most fervently commit from day 1 -- that I would always make time to invest in my experience as a rider; I knew that it would make a difference. And damned straight it did, damned straight it still does.

Every class I took that first month sucked. I was so bored, so unstimulated. But I kept showing up, and kept talking my way through all of it.
Note to self: don't say that. Don't to self: don't do that. Ohhhh, absolutely do not do THAT either.
How did that make me feel?
Is there ANYTHING about this moment that can teach me something?
How can I make this experience mean something?
How would I do that better?
3 years later, I still engage in the exact same dialogue with myself every single time I take another instructor's class. And every time I force myself to have this dialogue *especially* under conditions of tedious desperation, I evolve. Not a dramatic, life-altering evolution. A subtle step along my spectrum of continuous improvement. A blast of mental training, a dash of mindfulness. A sprinkle of Kaizen.

Then, I went to ECA and met Josh Taylor. It's funny, looking back on this experience 2.5 years ago -- the specific aspects I remember as unique and special and life-altering, they're really NOT. But at that point in my life, I'd never heard an instructor coach people to close their eyes and make their experience on their bike go beyond the bike. Big deal, one might say now. But that first time, it really WAS a big deal. That was NOT the style that I'd trained under. It was NOT consistent with the set of expectations I'd brought to the table.

"This is Spinning!" he said. "This is what Spinning is all about."

Really? How, after 5 years, was I seeing something SO different? It was a little bit hokey, a little bit over-the-top. It was a little bit nuts, all this talk of "feeling," and "inhabiting," and "connecting" and all sorts of crazy stuff that seemed absurd to intertwine with exercise.

Dude, we're riding a bike. WTF? I kept thinking.

I'll never forget the rhythm that changed my life, that changed the entire way I see my world and the people, moments, memories, opportunities therein. Climbing seated to rolling thunder, almost stuffy drums. I was bored. I was an hour into my first-ever 2 hour ride (for which I trained for months! Little did I know that I'd one day pop 2 hour rides like candy...). I had bad, bad hot feet. Is this guy for real?

Then it struck. Some kind of Apache tribal warrior-type thundercloud war chant. It struck me, like a dynamite explosion under my butt -- numbing me with a warm, comforting ecstasy, driving me out of the saddle, each explosive beat driving my upstroke. My shoulders assumed a groove they'd never been inspired to explore, an expression that would one day become "my thing." My hamstrings inhabited the beat so fluidly -- I was that beat. I don't remember looking at my HRM (I think I didn't used to be this obsessive about it?), and I remember not caring. My heart thundered, synchronized to the booming fire echoing through my ears. I had no objective measurement of my power; I didn't need it. That moment was everything to me.

The beat subsided and I returned to the saddle, breathed my heart rate down. What the HELL was that? That... feeling? What IS this?

I walked away from that experience declaring that Josh Taylor was the best thing to ever happen to life, and that I was damned proud to be part of a program that could make me feel like I just felt. It became my personal mission to share THAT feeling with another human being. I couldn't describe it if I tried. I just had to figure out a way to do it -- to experience it, to find a way to translate it.

That became my criterion for evaluating an instructor's talent. "Did he or she make me FEEL something?"

Table that. We'll revisit that, too.

My Progression.
One year later, I rode with Josh Taylor again. I'd been teaching a year, then. Life was entirely different. My music tastes had changed, my approach to creating profiles had changed. I was way more technical than I'd imagined. I was super-into heart rate training. I'd started my first training tips listserv. I was comfortably settling into the role of being a "resource."

I still took tons of other instructors' rides, and evaluated them according to:
1) Did they make me FEEL something?
2) Did they do any contraindicated movements, per the Spinning program?
3) Were they sophisticated enough to incorporate HR training "accurately?"

Turns out, that paradigm wasn't so effective:
1) I was missing the greater point. Truly great instructors don't MAKE people feel something.
How I reckon with this now: Gifted instructors motivate people to inspire THEMSELVES to feel something. That's the art. That's the part that lasts.

2) While it's easy to identify that short checklist of "moves" that the Spinning instructor manual prohibits, that approach also misses the greater point. CONTRAINDICATED MOVES ARE NOT BAD BECAUSE "SPINNING SAYS SO." They're contraindicated because they're unsafe. Did I "get" that then? I don't think so. Moreover, this framework does not account for how to handle novelties not covered in the manual as prohibited/unsafe. If an instructor, apparently seasoned and popular, does something that I'd never seen before -- how do I evaluate that? If my body feels bad when I do it, that's a good sign that it's bad. But what if my body DOESN'T feel bad? Does that mean that it's not bad?
How I later reckoned with this: Ask myself what a) muscles are performing the action, under what conditions and b) for what purpose. I'm a second-year medical student and a certified personal trainer, so I now feel confident with my knowledge base of what muscles do what and are supposed to do what. If I can't answer both of those questions, I ask the instructor. If their response is inadequate, I pursue this further via credible sources (I try to find e-textbooks whenever possible - but often a simple Google search is a good start, with a skeptical eye to screen for quack/otherwise unqualified junk).

*HANDS DOWN, THE MOST HELPFUL RESOURCES I HAVE EVER READ OVER THE YEARS TO EDUCATE MYSELF ABOUT CONTRAINDICATED MOVEMENTS TO INFORM MY PERSPECTIVES ON EVALUATING POTENTIAL "BAD MOVES":
Spinning MI Jennifer Sage wrote two brilliantly thorough pieces on
a) what's wrong, specifically, with certain "moves"
b) how to explain this to your students when you correct these unsafe practices
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

Moreover, inspired by Jennifer's recent efforts to spearhead a movement to enhance safety in Spinning classes, I am going to start re-evaluating how I approach correcting my students who deviate from 100% safe form (if they're close, I tend to 'let it go.' No more...)

3) If a "seasoned, popular instructor" said something HR training-related that I'd never heard before, I'd default to assuming they were credible and that I was simply a "newbie" who didn't know any better -- that this was all part of my learning process, assimilating these new truths. Turns out, this is not necessarily so.
How I later reckoned with this: Actively educate myself through credible sources (see above, plus taking as many continuing education courses as I can -- I read texts/journals/newsletters/books/legit forums like a fiend, have taken every Spinning CE workshop available plus a ton of online courses). If someone says something "new," I ask them. Most times, they can't back it up. If I'm motivated, I challenge them. If I'm tired, I excuse myself and figuratively pat myself on the head that I've invested in myself to have educated myself better.

back to the second Josh Taylor ride. Similar style/approach, though he paid particular emphasis to the idea of "not telling people what to do." Again, from my present reference frame, no big deal. But then? HUGE deal.

"Ride this song," he said.

Whoa. Life-altering moment that forever changed the way I coach. In fact, I credit that one moment with jumpstarting me on my trajectory to starting to conceptualize myself as a coach at all. To teach people to make their own choices -- allowing themselves to feel something, to respond to stimuli, etc. That started right there. I made a ride called "RIDE THIS SONG" in February of 2008, and unleashed a whole new world. My music changed. My cues changed. My themes changed. I changed.

And Now?
Literally, every week, I am an entirely different instructor. I chuck most rides because they strike me as obsolete, amateur flops as soon as a month later. I coach off the bike to be able to preserve my own training time (without overtraining) to work on inspiring the very connections in myself that I hope to effect in other people. I spend time inhabiting my music (on a Spinner, on an elliptical, in the car -- only disadvantage of the latter is that I can't close my eyes), and the creative juices flow.

I try to take other instructors' classes whenever possible, even if only for the experience of training myself cognitively and emotionally to cope with "strife." I introduce myself and my background at the start of the ride, to obligate me to endure, to be present, and to be... PLEASANT. Masochist. I force myself to identify at least one thing I'm going to thank the instructor for, something genuinely deserving of appreciation. Empty positive feedback is just as bad as no feedback ("Nice job" -- groan.)

NOW here's the paradigm I use to evaluate others:
1) A GIFTED COACH EMPOWERS YOU.
EDUCATE YOURSELF = EMPOWER YOURSELF
IF YOU EMPOWER YOURSELF, YOU CAN COACH YOURSELF.
If you actively educate yourself, and keep educating yourself, you can have confidence in your judgment. Whether you're an instructor or a rider or both, your job is to educate yourself. This empowers you to make your own decisions, and to trust those decisions. You don't need to blindly follow the clown at the front of the studio. Put yourself in a place to genuinely believe that you "know better."

2) JUST BECAUSE SOMEBODY KNOWS ONE THING WELL DOES NOT MEAN THAT HIS OR HER CREDIBILITY IS GLOBALLY GENERALIZABLE. Don't let people rest on their laurels; and don't rest on yours.

Two weeks ago, I took a class with an instructor who seems to be held in high regard by people whom I hold in high regard. His class was a well-planned Endurance ride, and he was tremendously more knowledgeable than other instructors I'd met in his community. I appreciated his attention to proper form. I appreciated how much attention he paid to HR training, and how actively he encouraged training at lower rates. I tapped into this appreciation, and reminded myself of it... every time he pissed the everliving hell out of me:
* "You should never cross 140 bpm. I never do."
>> Hello, you have NO idea what 140 bpm means to everyone in the room. 140 is the lower-limit of recovery for me. I have a metabolically measured LT of 184; if you don't know that about me, don't prescribe me a specific heart rate in bpm.
>> If the idea was to refer to aerobic heart rates, the "never cross it" concept is wrong, too. Elite athletes incorporate periodization into their training religiously; us mere mortals can afford to do the same. The heart gets stronger from variety; MOSTLY aerobic work, but weekly trainings exclusively between 75-85% MHR and weekly anaerobic intervals are important components.
>> Half the room wasn't wearing a HRM. Apart from one reference to "being at a 16" early in the ride (with no explanation of the RPE 1-20 scale; if I wasn't an instructor/trainer, I'd be as lost as the people in the room...)

* "Quarter-turn to the right."
>> CONTRA-FRIGGIN-INDICATION. I expected so much more from this seasoned, popular instructor. Why I was especially enfuriated was that I knew those damned bikes. I knew they were falling apart. I knew just HOW different every bike was -- that's one reason we *DON'T* say things like that, because it's unsafe to assume that a quarter turn on Bike A (when we ride Bike B) is appropriate.

* "It's your ride. Ride however you want to, seated or standing. [I rise up from a seated climb to a run for 20 seconds, with intent to transition to a standing climb after I stretch out my legs -- I'd been seated for 30 minutes straight; I'm training for a Century... I try to hold the saddle as much as possible!] But if you're in hand position 2, that is THE most inefficient position you can possibly climb in."
>> This statement was designed to generally correct something specific he saw that he didn't like (i.e., how I was riding).
First off, there was nothing to correct. A run is an appropriate transition to a standing climb, especially someone who has been pushing a ton of resistance in the saddle for 30 minutes.
Second, calling me and my choice "inefficient" does nothing to motivate me. It makes me shut down, makes me want to leave and never ride with x person again.
Third, it does not account for what I need to train for. I ride a hybrid with a horizontal handlebar. I rarely stand; but when I DO stand, my form more closely resembles HP 2.

Again, asking myself what I can learn from negative experiences:
* I am now exquisitely sensitive to making sure that the words that leave my mouth are carved deliberately, and leave no room to be misconstrued as defeating/demoralizing riders at worst -- at best, pissing them off and inspiring them to recount their exchange with me in a blog post about poor instruction.
* I was quite proud at how readily I rejected these three observations. Early in my Spinning career, I might have been intimidated by this person's standing. But now, I really do know better. I educated myself, and I trust myself. I trust myself to recognize inappropriate practices when I see them, and to believe strongly in my assessment. To practice commitment to that assessment, to be able to support it with evidence -- that's a very specific skill. I train my riders in the process of "practicing commitment," as this skill directly shapes our physical and mental performance -- on the bike, and off (i.e., training as a physician is ALL about "practicing commitment").

So when I practiced commitment to my 4.5 hour drive (each way) to Boston, I reflected on the life-altering moments past that symbolically marked the path of my evolution through the Spinning program.

The Everest Ride, which I'd heard about "being awesome" but hadn't heard anything about what it actually was, centered around the concept of accepting a challenge beyond your limits -- and being willing to leave something behind to make it there. Using the experience of riding the Spinner to process that emotional force, to deal with it somehow.

Ummmmm. Sound familiar?

I felt a warm flush wash over my body. It had something to do with 50 people in an enclosed studio with no fans, but it was more than that. It was the appreciation that what I was about to undertake was not going to be another "first pass," a novel concept. This was how I saw and interacted with the world. It was going to be an affirmation of my values as a coach, as an athlete, as a person. The things I'd arrived at through the path I carved out myself, translated into well over a dozen versions of training sessions to inspire that level of awareness and analysis in other people. A symbolic marker of my progress along that continuum.

As I heard the powerful voice that has guided me over time, nearly synchronized with the thoughts booming from the depths of my brain in anticipation, I knew what I was "leaving behind" on Everest. Doubt. Doubt of expertise, doubt of usefulness, doubt of here-and-now efficacy to DO. Not just in Spinning -- Spinning is just a tool -- but in all of the things that I compartmentalize into the "potential to do... one day" box.

I tasted fear. I tasted pity, anxiety. My eyes burned with salty unease. There were moments when it hurt so badly that I cried; moments when my desire for "clearance" seized my breath, my movement. There were moments when I felt so purposeful that I cried more.

9 hours in a car, 2 hours on a bike, 3 hours on a blog. All distinct, specific processes designed to question, answer, evaluate, re-evaluate.

I felt something, alright. I made myself feel something.

What I Learned During My First Half-Century

2009-06-21T19:50:00.003-04:00

I'm going to let several hundred people in on one of my former best-kept secrets. When people become Spinning instructors, one of the basic choices they have to make is whether they're going to get up there and 'do their thing' (safely designed training sessions devoid of contraindicated movements) or specifically go out of their way to appeal to outdoor riders. I decided I was going to become the 'fan favorite' of the roadies. Talking and looking the part, educating people with solid training principles, serving as a decent resource post-class for my racers, I arrived at the role I intended. I trained outdoor cyclists in a personal trailing capacity, coaching them for all kinds of big events. This was "my thing." But here's the kicker: Prior to one year and one week ago, I *never* learned how to ride a real bike.

When I was 6 years old, my dad was teaching me to lose my training wheels. I begged him not to let go, as he chased after me on our street. He let go. I fell off. I broke my wrist and never got back on.

Last June, I ended my relationship with a guy I truly thought was The One. As a symbolic act of independence, I hauled myself out to Brooklyn (away from anyone who expected me to be this crazy accomplished road cyclist), rented a bike and (with the help of two awesome friends, both gifted indoor cycling instructors) taught myself to ride. Picked it up pretty quickly -- I found that all of my indoor cycling skills directly translated, once I figured out how to pick my foot up for a push-off stroke. I bought my bike last summer, Triumph (named for my first Endurance ride that people actually requested, and for the fact that I friggin' taught myself how to ride a bike in a day). 'We' rode around NYC, dodging taxi cabs and inhaling truck exhaust fumes, and managed to live to tell about it. When I moved to VT a few months later, it was SO nice to not worry about getting killed by a car every 5 seconds. Legit bike lanes and wide shoulders and nice people -- imagine? But I also encountered another new phenomenon: HILLS. Turns out, anything that ever inspired me to downshift in NYC absolutely didn't count. I had no idea that I'd genuinely never been on a legit hill, even a legit false flat. I had no idea that I actually really truly SUCKED at climbing. On a Spinner, I'm clipped in -- I have use of my entire leg, and my entire leg can do amazing things. On a real bike in sneakers, I'm SO limited -- inefficiently mashing my way up, petering out and dismounting. Ick. Hotshot cycling coach from NYC walkin' her bike up all the hills on group riders. Nice job.

But I got better. I strength-trained like crazy this winter (better able to mash, if need be) and designed my own indoor training sessions to simulate the conditions I knew I wanted to get better at riding outside in my new 'hood (better able to control my heart rate when I had to work hard). I registered for my first Century this September. And I built up my confidence to actually 'life upgrade' to clipless pedals. But what happened on my first day clipping in? My front wheel got wedged in a crack on the road, and I landed on my head - a bloody mess on the side of the road. It had NOTHING to do with my pedals; I would have fallen the exact same way (I've analyzed this repeatedly...). But now I've conditioned a new association between fear, my shoes, and my bike in general.

I have a history of panic disorder, which has been in check for a long time. I've not had a panic attack relating to my bike. But one of the things that happens with panic is that the ANTICIPATION of having a panic attack leads to dramatic avoidance behaviors. I've been avoiding my bike like the plague. I got VERY good at rationalizing my avoidance: need to study, it's too rainy, it's too windy, all that. My rationalizations had tremendous buy-in power. But at the end of the day, I was avoiding my bike. I made myself ride a few weeks ago and bawled all the way through it, thinking I was going to die every time I saw a crack in the road or *gasp* a car (again, my accident had nothing to do with a car). It was absurd. I vowed that when school ended and I moved out to my rural wonderland, that I would force myself through gradual exposure until I got back to baseline.

I imagined how I would handle this with a panic patient, and asked myself the same questions.
What are you afraid of? Falling and landing on my head.
Is that a logical expectation? Yes, you idiot, it JUST happened.
Why would you fall? There'd be a crack in the road and I'd get stuck it in again.
Do you have control over that not happening? No. Cracks come out of nowhere.
If you see something scary, do you have choices in your response? I guess I could get off my bike and walk - but I might not see it in time.

Done. Intervention point identified. I chose a route that I'd driven a dozen times -- and I drove it again, analyzing the shoulders very specifically. I made mental notes where the shoulders were going to scare me, when I'd have to veer over into traffic. I made mental notes where the "scary" downhill portions would be. I told myself that whenever I was scared, I had permission to get off my bike. That my only goal was to get to X intersection and turn around and come home.

So I did. Out-and-back, 20 miles RT. Nothing special. Did it in sneakers, though, and was genuinely proud of the hill work I did (Central VT is an entirely different UNIVERSE than Burlington). Saw my preceptor and some others at a gathering afterwards and declared that I was going to double my efforts the next day (today). Oh REALLY?

Stickin' with what worked, I drove out a route I'd intended for a 20 mile out-and-back (40 RT). 40 miles is the longest I'd ever ridden - I did it once last fall (before my more specific training), and it wasn't pretty. I got a sense for where the roads sucked, where I'd probably get scared, and rehearsed how I'd respond. I mapped it out when I got home -- and just for shits and giggles, figured out where an extra 5 miles (so, 10 round trip) would be. Just in case I got ambitious.

I also checked the forecast. Thunderstorms. Great, now I can avoid again!

Woke up. No rain. Wind looked tricky but not awful. Wind. Bad. Let's not do this.

I told myself how proud I would be if I did this. 40 miles is no joke. I would feel like I were back at baseline. I could stop being afraid. If I could ride 40 miles, I would genuinely believe that I could ride like a real person and start conceptualizing myself like a real cyclist. Come on.

Upon retrieving Triumph from the shed, I felt a drizzle. See? Bad idea.
It stopped. Ugh, I guess we're doing this...

Rode 10. Roads were tricker than I remembered them. Not happy. Wanted to turn back.
Told myself that if I road another 5 and was still unhappy, "we" could go back. Felt ok. Another 5? Sure.

The next 5 miles were TREACHEROUS. The entire thing was downhill, steeply downhill. I tensely clutched at my brakes, compressing my median nerve like none other. My face hurt from the horrified expression I must have been wearing. I clenched my jaw. I clenched my shoulders. I clenched a gazillion other parts of my body that I coach people not to clench. I thought I was going to die.

Really? Why are you going to die? Because I'm going fast.
Have you ever gone fast before? Yes.
Did you die? No.
Do you have brakes? Yes.
Have they ever failed? No.
Why would they fail right now for the first time ever? Because there's wind in a weird direction.
Fair. Do you think you could slow down slow enough that wind wouldn't matter? I guess.
Do that, then. Ok, I can do that.

Before I knew it, I was at the 20 mile mark.
Another 5? No.
But in another 5, you'll be at the halfway point of a Half-Century. Don't you want that?
Hell YES. Go.

When I saw the lake that I'd flagged on my map last night as the 25 mile mark, I got tearful. I was so proud. It meant that I WOULD ride 50 miles. There was no turning back -- or rather, there WAS turning back. Turning back MEANT riding 50 miles.

And I did. Hell yes, I did.

And what did I learn? I learned that all the crazy, cheesy, overly analytical things I coach my riders indoors to think about actually works. It works amazingly.

More specifically:

1. "Begin with the end in mind."
I often ask my riders to fast-forward to the end of a training session. How do they want to feel, physically and emotionally? What kinds of choices do they need to make in order to make that happen?

I didn't really have a clear end in mind. At the 10 mile mark, I was sort-of content to go home - sort-of disappointed, too. At the 20 mile mark, I HAD an end in mind: I was riding 50 miles, and I was going to entirely revolutionize my self concept as a cyclist. The last 30 miles of my 50 were ENTIRELY different, because I believed that I would actually do this crazy thing I set out to do -- I didn't feel 'set out' until close to the halfway point.

2. "It's all in the way you talk to yourself."
An exercise I've started doing recently is counting the number of positive vs. negative statements I make to myself. I lose count after a few minutes, but the intention is helpful.
When I veer towards a crack I'm trying to avoid, it's NOT helpful to hiss, "WTF is wrong with you?" as I'm prone to do.
When I'm freaking out about a steep downhill, it's similarly NOT helpful to yell at myself for freaking out.
If, instead, I tell myself that x scenario is ok, that I'm ok, that I'm good at things, that I have permission to use all of my resources and available options to improve my situation -- THOSE things are helpful.

Our attitudes are directly shaped by the way we talk to ourselves.

3. "Know your numbers."
My cyclocomputer is a piece of junk but the cadence meter was actually working today. And obviously, I don't engage in (most) physical activities without my HRM.
Why was that important? For one thing, I know what HRs and cadences I can sustain.
But for another related but separate, underappreciated thing (by me, at least), I can be comforted and assured when I see numbers that are WITHIN the range of things I know I can sustain.
Sure, that hill is ridiculously steep and never ends -- but you're pushing 80 rpm.
What does that mean? That means that this hill is within the scope of your abilities. You maintain 80 rpm routinely. You're REALLY good at maintaining 80 rpm. It's just like on your Spinner. Just keep pumping. You're fine. If you weren't fine, you'd slow down and start petering out.

When I question my ability to do "this thing," it's the numbers that speak against that doubt. I would NOT be maintaining 80 rpm on a hill I couldn't climb. If I see a heart rate that is below LT (which I just had officially measured during a metabolic test -- I have 100% confidence that my LT is my LT), I can shut down ANY self-talk that says I can't hold this level of effort. No, dude. You can hold LT for a half hour. You think you can't push 15 more seconds to the top of this hill? You hold LT forever all the time. Go.

You can psychoanalyze yourself and beef up your ego and have complicated internal dialogues all you want, with varying degrees of success (depending on your level of buy-in to what I'm writing about) -- but you can't argue with numbers. If you know the numbers that you're good at -- when you see them, you know you're doing the same good thing you've gotten so good at doing.

4. Eat every hour.
I've been saying this forever to my riders, in anticipation of our longer endurance special events (I routinely do 2- hour rides with my regular groups, and this is a rule). I'm glad I followed my own advice. It worked well.

Biochemically, though it's not actually known why, there needs to be a certain level of glycogen PRESENT even if fat is the predominant source of fuel for skeletal muscle at a given aerobic heart rate. When the glycogen stores are depleted, skeletal muscles cannot use fat -- even if there's a ton of fat around for fuel. Next best thing, cortisol starts smashing protein (from muscle) to have amino acids as raw materials for the liver to start making its own glucose. I don't know about you -- but I have a ton of fat that would LOVE to be fuel. So I make it a point to keep replenishing my glycogen stores every 60-75 minutes of exercise, always, no matter what.

5. If, after 50 miles, your upper body hurts WAY more than your crotch, you're doing something wrong.
I think that's a pretty fair "life policy." My form outdoors is lacking, big time. When I take breaks, it's not because my butt or my legs ache; they're always "median nerve breaks." I compress so badly that I literally lose muscular function of my entire right thenar eminence (i.e., my thumb can't shift down). I climbed my miles 35-40 in a WAY higher gear than I needed, just because I couldn't shift down but didn't want to stop in the middle of a hill I remembered lasting FOREVER (downhill) in the opposite direction.

I am a "gripper" when I brake down a huge hill (because I'm scared), but have gotten better about being mindful of my grip, elbows (down, not out), shoulders and hip flexion while I'm climbing something tough for me. I don't think I'm leaning forwards terribly much.

I don't have this problem on a Spin bike. I've trained most aspects of my form such that they come very naturally. If there's anything that I can do differently it might be to increase the angle of my hip flexion, such that I'm sitting more upright -- less susceptible to the laws of physics, that I would physically move in the direction of my acceleration. If anyone has any thoughts, I welcome them!

6. Beyond how you talk to yourself, how you SEE yourself determines whether you believe the things you say to yourself.
I don't think I thought about this much until today. I tell myself all sorts of things. I lie to myself frequently. "This is the way it is, self." No, that's actually NOT how it is. But I adopt it as truth, and run with it.
"You're not afraid." --> "Ok, I was actually petrified. But, yeah, ok, I'm not afraid. Great. Glad we're agreed on that front now."

Really?

The mediating variable is self-concept. I never saw myself as a real cyclist until today. I was always faking it, always limited by some liability or another. When I'm afraid or I screw up, I attribute that to the fact that I'm "not a real cyclist." It didn't matter how many people I've coached or with whom I've corresponded/dialogued. It didn't matter how many people I've inspired, or who have inspired me. I wasn't a real cyclist, and that was that.

The next time I tell myself I can't do something, I'll have a new comeback line that I'll actually believe in.

But you rode 50 miles.

Yeah, I did.

Next-Up This Week:
1) Using Your Expertise (as an instructor and/or as a rider) to Evaluate Stimuli Around You and Improve Yourself in the Process (i.e., ideal vs. sub-ideal instruction, contraindicated movements, inaccuracies)
2) Streeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeetching for Cyclists (I promise, it's coming, Jen!)

Do It Yourself Ride: Triumph Over Adversity

2009-06-18T20:21:00.005-04:00

When presented with a challenge that I a) don't want to do and b) don't believe that I CAN do (i.e., 3 more reps of a ridiculously heavy weight; 10 whole more seconds of a max-effort sprint on a Spinner; mashing inefficiently up a Vermont hill in sneakers because I'm too fearful post-accident to put my cycling shoes back on; memorizing 2100 nerves/arteries/veins/muscles/"spaces" in the head and neck alone; breaking the snooze-button cycle when I've only slept for 3 hours and have NO desire to interact with any portion of the world outside my bed), I often try rationalize with myself.

"Self," I say (well, maybe I don't say that part...), "You accomplished X! Did you forget that you accomplished X? If you can do X, why the hell can't you pull down that piece of iron three more times? Are you kidding?"
Well, sure. That makes sense. I DID accomplish X. Yeah, that was pretty sweet. I'm kind-of awesome, I guess. Yeah. I'm going to go ahead and pull down that piece of iron three more times. I can do that. After all, I accomplished X!

Myself and I, we have variations of that conversation about all sorts of things. Contrary to public opinion, "we" would often prefer to snuggle in bed all day rather than contribute to society. There's a lot of "conversations" that make 75% of anything I do all day actually happen.

It's kind-of amazing the kind of systematic self-scrutiny and dialogue that can transform one from the inertia of NOT doing to... well, doing a whole lot, just by building on one's own appreciation for the things one has been good at, is good at, and will be good at in the future.

It's too bad that most of us, even folks as overly self-analytical as me, are too consumed by the present challenges and distractions of the moment to spend time appreciating the very things that could actually HELP us better navigate those challenges.

Now who wouldn't make a ride out of that?!

My first ride with my cycling/mindfulness fusion class upon the completion of my first year of medical school was entitled "Triumph Over Adversity." The premise was that, as I described, we rarely take the time to celebrate ourselves and our accomplishments -- especially the little ones. But that maybe, just maybe, if we could tap into SOMETHING about those moments in our lives -- that maybe we could channel that to fuel our efforts towards the conquest of a new challenge.
The fuel of our confidence, of our self-efficacy, of our rhythmic breathing, will empower us to accept a challenge slightly beyond our comfort zone -- to accept it GRADUALLY, in such a way that we can sustain it. (Think: "Increase, and breathe." -- description on the right-hand side).

WARMUP
10 minute-seated climb
I asked my riders to close their eyes and think back to a moment when they felt that they had truly accomplished something meaningful. Maybe something huge, like finishing their first year of medical school (giggles erupt; half this group are my classmates); maybe something small, like making someone else feel special.

I then suggested to them that sometimes when we accept a new challenge, we don't do it in such a way that projects out far forward enough. We overshoot, we burn out. We try to change too much at once. So it is on the Spin bike, I told them.

Progressive loadings until their legs slowed down. Sloooooooooooowed down. I asked them if it felt lousy. They agreed. Back it off, find 65% MHR again.

I then told them that by the end of the ride, they will have the opportunity to work up to that SAME challenge -- but will get their gradually. And it won't feel lousy. They won't even notice it. Fueled by the science of physiological adaptation and their belief in themselves, they'll just feel and BE awesome. Done, let's go.

BLOCK 1: BUILDING YOUR ARSENAL OF ACCOMPLISHMENTS (10 minutes)
Think back before you even took on that challenge. What inspired you to make that decision? What did you expect? What did it mean to you, looking ahead to accomplishing that one thing?
What were you trying to solve? To change? To improve? What were you hoping to learn?
And when you did it, how WERE you changed? What are you now uniquely qualified to do?

Suggested music:
Fix Me - Velvet (Club Mix)
Inconsolable - Backstreet Boys (Go ahead and laugh at me -- just wait til you hear this song. It makes me cry. I blast it in my car, I blast it at the gym, and now I blast it in my classes. NO JOKE. New favorite song. I've hit an all new level of lame, but you absolutely need to hear it. Love. LOVE.)

BLOCK 2: INCREASE, AND BREATHE. (35 minutes)
I told my riders that the rest of this ride had three rules, and only three rules:
1) We change ONLY one thing at a time: resistance, speed, or position. Any change we make is subtle -- nothing slows us down, nothing changes the heart rate. Make a change, and breathe to modulate our physiological response to that change. "Getting more work done, without working harder" (that's for you, Lane...).
2) We change breathing before we change anything. Anticipate the change, change the breath (i.e., your fuel for the change), then make the change.
3) If you feel uncomfortable, you ignore me.

On that premise, we applied two concepts:
Music slows down, we add resistance. See Rule #1.
Music speeds up, we speed up. See Rule #1 (which implies that we sustain resistance).

That's right. 35 minutes without backing off that resistance -- but progressively loading it.

Within that context, they were free to climb as they saw fit.

When I made this ride, I had absolutely no intention that a room full of people would actually do this. But they DID. I did it with them. OH my gosh, it was amazing. What a huge rush to be really pushing and pulling through a RIDICULOUS amount of resistance smoothly and fluidly because of how damned gradually we loaded it, negotiating heart rate as we went. I was aerobic for almost all of it, in fact -- hovered right around 75% MHR for most of it. It's alllllllllllll in the breathing and just how gradual one makes changes. This is how I do most of my training personally -- pick a particular heart rate and sustain it through various changes. But this was NUTS.

But you know what? Science works. If you do it right, it works. And it's so cool.

Select suggested music (you need to play with stuff to find your tempo changes, if you're going for that -- and you need to tinker with your own/your classes' attention spans, too. That's the tough part, the art of sustaining attention. 35 minutes is a long time):
Take On Me (Topmodelz Remix)
Storm of Life (Manian)
The Greatest Love (Whitney Houston - techno remix) --- ohhhhh, you have no idea how cheesy I got with my cueing. I got away with RIDICULOUS stuff. It was awesome.
Rock Star (N.E.R.D. - Jason Nevins remix) <--- EVERYONE friggin' loves this song. They loved it in NYC, they love it here in VT. It's a staple finisher, as "un-me" as it is.

Turns out, this was one of the best rides I've ever conceived and presented, ever. Pretty sweet to finish up your first year of medical school and coach the best ride of your life all in a 24 hour period.

Now the summer is before us, and I'm moving to rural Vermont tomorrow to a cottage across the road from the clinic where I'm working. I have a screened-in porch looking out into the woods, where I intend to write a LOT on both blogs. And allegedly get back on my bike.

Here are topics that I "owe" people:
* Stretching I do with my classes
* What specifically I do with new HRM wearers who haven't been for metabolic testing and won't do an LT field test (as an aside, I recently had my metabolic testing repeated. My LT is exactly the same as my LT field test. I was shocked. Amazed, but shocked. And damned proud: up 10 beats since last year.)
* Why taking other instructors' classes, even inspirationally challenged classes, is one of the most important growth mechanisms there is.

If there's something else you want me to add to the cache, say the word.

"I'm Going to Make a Ride About This"

2009-05-25T23:09:00.003-04:00

Please take a moment to picture this ridiculous scene from one week ago today. I'm laying on a stretcher about to be loaded into the ambulance, neck-braced and boarded, bleeding all over the place, unable to abduct my left eye. EMT kneeling next to me on my left, my riding partner on my right. I look up at my friend with my right eye, catching a glimpse of the blood still gushing from my mouth as I speak.

"I'm going to make a ride about this," I tell her.
"Of course you are."

It's hard to pinpoint when this transition took place -- that is, how it came to be that my daily life experiences (both major and SUPER-trivial) get transformed into generalizable concepts from which someone-who's-not-me can actually have a meaningful experience of their own. I suppose this evolved over time. When I first started instructing, my rides had very concrete, simple objectives (i.e., "Today we're going to try to stay aerobic the entire ride" or "Today we're going to practice the Perfect Pedal Stroke"). Over time, the objectives got a bit more complex ("Today we're going to practice using our breathing techniques to modulate the relationships between speed/resistance and heart rate."). Today if I were coaching a ride based on the latter (see also: every friggin' ride I ever do), it COULDN'T stop there. Modulating heart rate response to change would HAVE to be framed in terms of commitment to a greater life truth, a reflection of personal integrity and triumph over distraction and despair.

Or something like that.

About a year and a half ago, I started reading a ton of sports psychology books (at which time I linked all my favorites in the lower left corner of this blog). Very much inspired by the concepts and the language to which I was exposing myself, I incorporated whatever 'turned me on' into the training sessions I developed for my riders. Over time, I started to appreciate how directly all this "stuff" translated beyond cycling, athletic performance, etc.; sports psychology, I reasoned, was the direct pathway to a structured, logical, rewarding life. I already conceptualized my world as a stage for achievement -- just the same as a huge race/event/whatever an athlete would shoot for. By applying solid coaching techniques for breathing, focus, visualization, self-talk -- ALL that stuff -- how could I NOT be contributing, globally, to my performance on said stage? And how could I not try to deliver that special experience to my riders?

So that's where my rides started going. I think I've played my cards right, over time. The original formula must have been something like four parts logic, speckle of cheese, powerful song, speckle more cheese, solid technical concept, TON of cheese, self-deprecating remark, bit more logic, speckle more cheese, really great song, RIDICULOUSLY CONCENTRATED CHEESE, self-mocking chuckle. Whatever it was, it either worked... or it didn't need to. Over time, I grew into the role that I'd been inadvertently carving out for myself -- as a coach, as an athlete, as a human being looking for a 'space' in the world that makes sense. In so doing, I came to define and redefine the way I approach my own daily existence. Through processing the shades of gray with deliberate specificity, it has become almost second-nature to abstract some "general life concept" to which the average Spinning participant can relate. There's something about articulating "life concepts" to a group of people who trust you that somehow makes you get your shit together. Quickly. And so it happened for me. I have FAR better coping mechanisms for, err, EVERYTHING since I started accepting responsibility for other people's coping mechanisms.

These days, my stimuli for ride ideas comes from one of three things:
1) Something I see/read that gets me thinking -- I create a ride as a mechanism for processing a particular angle of my experience with it that I think my classes would benefit from processing, too. This can be technical ("Guys! I was watching these two guys struggling up a hill, pointing their toes -- and I declared a personal life mission to teach YOU all how to NOT be Those Guys!") or abstract (I once did a 90 minute ride about a chapter in Stephen Covey's "The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People" -- parts of the same chapter that are STILL being worked out through various rides, months later. Fantastic book, by the way.)

2) Identifying a poor personal coping mechanism in ANY realm of my non-cycling life, and dealing with it. Whatever I learn from the "dealing with it" part almost 100% makes an excellent ride theme. For example, I decided in October that I was utterly incompetent as a medical student (after being unable to memorize 2100 nerves, arteries, veins, spaces and hole in the head/neck alone), and clearly unfit to be a doctor. I shut down, stopped learning and just wallowed in my self-pity. So I made a ride about the premise that the way we see ourselves dictates our performance -- so over the next 45 minutes, we would break that down and see what difference it makes. It's not that complicated to get people thinking... they may not be used to it, but it's all in the way that one pitches the merit of investing the energy to do so.

3) Training solo -- on a Spinner, on a road bike, on an Arc trainer (love), on an elliptical (hate; insist on doing 2x a week because it instantly inspires boredom, frustration, and discomfort, and thus forces me to develop creative training coping mechanisms on which to base rides. My recent "TELL ME WHY" ride that many of you liked came directly from a tedious 60 minutes on the elliptical, where I had to justify to myself why I was training -- and in so doing, came to appreciate legitimately rewarding aspects of that experience.

I made three profiles already about my concussion and its aftermath.

1) "TURN IT AROUND"
Premise: Sub-ideal things happen all the time. We can dwell, or we can tap into SOMETHING about a particular experience that brings us benefit -- something we learned, something that changed the way see see ourselves or others, something that now uniquely qualifies us to serve in some new way. What allows us to make this transformation is exerting complete control over our attitudes -- talking to ourselves, inhabiting the thoughts that empower us most.
Ride: 3 blocks.
First block: gathering data about how your body responds to challenges - speed, resistance, change in position.
Second block: Progressive load into TEDIOUS seated climb. 25 minutes. It was slow. It was boring. There were segments where I stopped talking (their task was to talk to themselves). There were segments where I shut the music off for additional challenge to their focus. All the while encouraging them to husband their resources on the task at hand, envisioning the opportunities their success would afford them.
Third block: Celebrating their strength, for having endured through that challenge -- and climbing through three surges (because what else would I do?!) in a way that somehow feels different. Because they are somehow different. They've learned and experienced something that they can take with them.
Disclaimer: I try to avoid projecting self-enamored grandiosity whenever possible, but SOMEONE needs to steal this line that magically spontaneously came to me through my post-concussive fogginess.
Upon the last surge to the finish line: "You can make this minute last as long as you want to."

Turns out, the 'make yourself tearful' threshold gets drastically reduced when you bang your head on concrete. Dork.

2) "TRUST YOUR SENSES"
Premise: My first few days returning to normal life after my accident were super-fuzzy. I was walking into walls, checking out of conversations, falling asleep all over the place. Lame. Mid-week, I went to the rural clinic where I'm training -- and I felt like I wasn't able to completely "interact" with my world. I wasn't hearing or seeing or even touching things normally. I couldn't take blood pressure, I couldn't hear heart sounds. I was just fuzzy, detached from my senses. So the premise of the ride was to reconnect with our senses - to focus so intensely that we can detect the very subtleties and nuances that enrich our experiences, if we take the time to appreciate them. Reacquainting ourselves with our own senses, a powerful experience that we rarely take the time to do.
Ride: Warmup. Progressive loading. 14 surges (remaining below LT) -- same as always: opportunity to respond to the challenge of one's choice. Sometimes I alerted people when they were coming; sometimes I cued them to close their eyes, anticipate the challenge, rehearse their response, and go with what they felt -- that they'd know EXACTLY when it was time for them to surge; and if they didn't, then it wasn't time for THEM to surge. (Not going to lie. This ride was pretty sweet...)

I'm debuting a ride tomorrow, based on my return to my bike (yes, Day 6 - I got back out there. It wasn't pretty: I was a wreck. Every time I saw a pebble or a twig -- not to mention a car -- I stiffened up, got tearful, and dismounted. Lame. I'm still going to force myself to immerse myself in my fear; that's how I'd treat anyone else engaging in this defeated avoidance. It'll be fine.). Admitting fear is ok -- that's the first step to proactively dealing with that fear. So that's the premise of the ride: accepting reponsibility for SOMETHING holding one back, and spending the next 40 minutes working through that (it's a 40 minute seated climb; I hope my riders don't read this tonight! Heh.)

While it sure has been convenient to have a single event inspire three separate rides, it is my hope that my next inspiring stimulus be slightly less dramatic. At least for the next three weeks while I finish up my first year of medical school. I don't have time for this melodrama, fantastic creative fuel source or not!

My Helmet Saved My Life.

2009-05-19T10:58:00.010-04:00

It's not exactly an everyday event to crash your bike and hit your head hard on the concrete -- but, unfortunately, it's also not by any means rare.

Everyone has a story; mine is no more "special" than anyone else's. It's not exceptionally dramatic and, fortunately, it has a good outcome (so far...). But I'm writing to write about it now because I just appreciated that my story actually lacks a pretty central detail held by ALL "wear your helmet to avoid tragedy" stories *I've* ever heard, at least.

The key element that my accident lacks: A CAR.

<--- No car required to look like THIS.

I'm fortunate to be surrounded by really smart people -- and by virtue of being "really smart people," by definition most people in my life wear a helmet when they engage in activities in which they are not 100% in control of their own motion: biking, rollerblading, skateboarding, etc. But because it's not 100% universal, I want to understand why. Yesterday, I had an idea. As a physician-in-training, I consider it a my top priority in connecting with human beings to understand their motivations for doing AND not-doing important acts to further their basic ability to function. The latter is exceptionally important. Deep-down, there are REASONS that people do not take their medications, monitor their blood pressure or blood sugar, quit smoking/drugs, engage in moderate aerobic exercise. Not everyone is aware of those reasons -- but they're there. And it's going to be an important part of my job to tap into those reasons and work through them, as a partner in a person's care. If you understand WHY someone holds certain beliefs, reflective of their values, you can work together to accomplish specific positive objectives in a way that remains consistent with those values. Motivational interviewing is an important clinical skill, which is why I try to incorporate aspects of it into my Spinning classes.

Back to helmets. I think that it would be fairly easy to design and conduct a study of the factors that contribute to people's decisions to NOT wear a helmet during activities that require one. Why this is important: if one can appreciate an individual's specific reasons NOT to do something, one can target interventions SPECIFIC to those very reasons. The more I sit here thinking about how I can't budget the time/energy to do this study now, the more ideas I have about how easy it would be to actually do it -- and the more I'm entertaining commitment to it. Yes. I'm going to do this study. (Uh-oh: this sounds like an idea subject to 2009 Life Policy #1 -- must take action on new idea within 12 hours. Clock starts ticking now.)

I remember as a little kid, not wanting to wear a helmet when I rollerbladed because it "looked dorky" and "nobody else was doing it." Safety statistics wouldn't have done a thing to engage my REASON for not wearing that helmet. There were great campaigns in the late 80s/early 90s that appealed to that very rationalization: that is, that helmets were "cool" and that everyone wore them. I don't think that perception is the issue anymore; maybe it is... I guess we'll find out.

Present public health efforts to encourage helmet use are largely based on on the true concept that getting hit by a car is common, and injuries/deaths can be prevented by helmet use. It can, and it does. Helmets save lives, as supported by literature so extensively accepted by the general public that I don't feel compelled to cite any of it.

It follows that if one anticipates being near cars --> wear a helmet to avoid tragedy. But is it the case that people who do not anticipate being near cars do not consider that this message applies to them?

With the development of car-free bike paths and roller parks and everything else out there to promote safe recreation, this does nothing to specifically connect with the entire premise of the most central theme of helmet promotion efforts.

Yesterday, I was in a pretty bad bike accident. There was no car involved, other than the kind Vermonter who stopped by to wait with me as I awaited an ambulance. I wasn't doing anything dangerous. I wasn't going too fast, or climbing terrain that surpassed my abilities. I crashed because... I just did. I crashed because, sometimes, shit just happens. My front tire got stuck in a deep groove at the dirt-concrete interface, and I couldn't steer out or clip out in time.

BAM. Hit the concrete hard. REALLY hard. The sound of your own head hitting the concrete is truly quite unique.

I hurt badly. I was dizzy and throbbing and bloody. Way too much blood for this to be ok, I reckoned. I was alert enough to consider medical interventions (tracking my own finger, asking my riding partner to look at my pupils) and alert enough to arrange for friends to come pick up the bikes 25 miles from the hospital as the ambulance loaded me into the truck. Alert enough to appreciate that I always rode with my cell phone (as many people do NOT, during "quick spins"). Alert enough to appreciate that I always rode with my helmet.

I landed on the visor projection, which was dented in and cracked from the impact. My old helmet (which I wore as recently as 9 months ago) didn't have that extensive an extra projection.

I'm lucky. Lucky to have not sustained any fractures. Lucky to be training at an OUTSTANDING institution with a team that took such outstanding care of me. Lucky to have such generous, selfless friends who dropped everything to come to my aid.

But everyone who has met me since yesterday has asked me things like: "WHERE WERE YOU WHEN YOU GOT HIT?" -- "HOW FAST WAS THE CAR GOING?" -- "DID THE DRIVER STOP?"

It's not about the car. Sometimes it is. Often it is -- and when it is, it is always tragic. But it's not always about the car.

I reckon that the majority of my readership wears helmets. But I also reckon that you know people who don't. Why don't they? Is it because they don't perceive danger, riding/skating in a cars-free environment? Is it because they perceive of themselves as superstars at their sport, IMPOSSIBLE to accept the possibility that they could fall? Are they 100% confident that, if they fall, that they are 100% in control of how they land?

What can we do to encourage people to consider this paradigm -- simply, that they CAN fall?

It IS always that there is a chance that, no matter where one is or how skilled one is, that one can fall. And if one falls, sometimes one cannot control how one lands. Sometimes shit just happens, where "shit" means, in my case, "you hit your head on the concrete and are a bloody mess on the side of the road."

By writing this post, it is not my design to change the world. However, I do hope -- if nothing else -- that this prompts someone to start this conversation with SOMEONE in their lives.

By at least considering that we CAN fall (independent of external stimuli), the decision to wear a helmet vs. not wear a helmet truly does become a no-brainer.

Translating Life On The Bike --> Off The Bike

2009-05-14T17:06:00.007-04:00

I spend a fair amount of time rationalizing to myself why I spend more than a fair amount of time blogging, putting rides together, downloading new music, developing HR training programs for both people I see everyday and people I've never met, answering Spinning-related emails, reading like a fiend about my go-to coaching cue constructs, etc. -- as opposed to, say, memorizing brain stem pathways. Arguably, it's a bit irresponsible of me -- so why do I do it? Because I'm a horrific procrastinator? Because it's nice to feel useful and effective? Because it's important to appreciate that, in some realm of my world, that I actually know enough about something to actually help other human beings (unlike my physician-in-training realm)? Because it gives me a sense of immediate purpose, a place in the world where I am contributing to something -- "doing," as opposed to "will one day do?" Because it contributes to my own self-efficacy -- that deep-rooted belief, at one's very core, that one can and will successfully navigate the challenges of one's world? All of the above.

At the end of the day, I have to take ownership of the fact that I invest this much time and energy because it's my way of processing my own world. Most of my rides these days reflect a particular life theme or life policy or life 'whatever' I feel like exploring (during the process of creating and preparing for it), and decide that others find valuable to explore through actually riding it: some technical, abstract, most both.

Note to self (and, apparently, to hundreds of people -- just to keep me honest): After my killer exam next week, I'm going to write about my new theory comparing insomnia to ride-development creative ruts.

Anyway - as I accumulate life experience, I get ballsier and ballsier with the "abstract" stuff. I'm kind-of 'over' the self-imposed construct that most people don't want to think about "life off they bike" while they ride a bike. The comfort of having accumulated a core of "regulars" who somehow decided to bestow me with the street cred to pull it off, the "delivery" of only taking myself 99.9% seriously when I dip into Cheese Mode, the balance with valuable technical training -- all of that has taken time, and I've arrived at a coaching style that (I think/hope) affords me to connect with both people who are looking to 'go there' and who occasionally think I'm nuts.

But I found myself wondering if I couldn't push the envelope a bit more...

I've written a bit (on this blog and my other one) about my good ol' 2009 New Life Policies, including the one that obligates me to take action on any "idea of something I say I'm really gonna do" within 12 hours of conception. One of said "somethings" was a pseudo-insane idea to start an actual for-fee course about all these things I write and think and talk about all day long. I've been integrating this on-the-bike --> off-the-bike training "thing" into my classes for a while. We occasionally ponder some heavy stuff: deepest fears/insecurities, creative freedoms, life-purpose. So much for The Bike That Doesn't Go Anywhere. Climbing, breathing, striving for improvement -- that's all pretty standard now, in small doses. But doing ENTIRELY this, training a group of people specifically SEEKING this? Could I even pull it off? Would I out-cheese myself? Would anyone even be interested?

Over the past few months, I acquired the support of my manager at UVM and set up the right infrastructure -- and lo and behold, people started registering for this thing: a 16-session "Cycling & Mindfulness Fusion" course. It started last week. 15 women. All of them primed and ready to 'go there.' Half of them are my regulars. Half are of an entirely different demographic (more of what I'm used to from my NYC days!), some of whom have never been on a Spinner before. They were attracted by the Mindfulness part. Cool.

The premise, of course, is to develop techniques and approaches ON the bike to contribute to their worlds OFF the bike. Mindfulness can be defined in a variety of ways -- by people FAR more qualified than me to define it; but how I'M using it in my course is the art of paying attention on purpose. Experiencing one's world, through all of one's senses. Unleashing one's power by tapping into the wholeness of that experience. Unleashing the power of breathing. Improving one's focus and general sense of connectedness to one's world.

I structured the first training session as sort-of an "Intro to Mindfulness" -- an orientation to breathing and form, proprioceptive awareness (I refrained from including any details on the specific neural pathways that contribute to one's knowledge of how one's body is moving in space -- though I actually KNOW this now; see how useful that whole 'medical school thing' is? Heh.), detaching from distraction, soaking up one's experience with every sense. I didn't talk pedal stroke. I didn't talk heart rate. I took the clock off the wall, and guided them through the art of guiding themselves. Two 20-minute seated climbs. Boring, steady beats. Their job was to just 'collect their data,' absorbed only in the task of paying attention. If their attention wandered, that was fine. They would then give themselves permission to reorient, reset. Permission to begin anew.

It was pretty ballsy. And it was pretty awesome.

This week, we evolved toward a bit more 'standard' stuff. Monday, we "collected data" again -- this time, introducing more variables: changes in resistance, speed, and position. I called the ride "Flaneur" -- a concept I've been exploring in my non-Spinning life after it was suggested by the family medicine doc with whom I've been working as a model for what I SEEM to be doing through my adjustment to Vermont life -- the idea of "wandering" through the world, taking in each experience without interpreting/judging. Clearly, one can appreciate how this just HAD to become a ride.

So that's how it went. Generic three-loop ride: experiencing the familiar in an unfamiliar way. Just paying attention to how their form, heart rate, and breathing change -- if at all. Tuesday, we did a "HR Survey." Experiencing the subtle differences between 70%, 75%, 80% and 85% MHR, and collecting more data. Both rides: not trying to control or change anything. Just experiencing it, attending to it.

I'm about to go coach a ride that will synergize what they practiced all week: Gathering data, and applying it to COMMIT to a target heart rate.

BLOCK 1: GATHERING DATA
4 min seated climb, progressive loading to maintain 70%
3x "surges" -- 75%, 80%, 85%
(I use "surges" to mean an opportunity to respond as one sees fit: changing resistance, speed, position, or nothing at all)

BLOCK 2: COMMITMENT
4 min seated climb -- progressive loading to target HR (70, 75, 80. 85)
Loop 1: SURGES x6 (see above) -- still committed to that single HR
Loop 2: Recover. Progressive load back to target HR. Commit to it by whatever means necessary. Embracing this commitment as a promise to yourself, a reflection of your integrity.

(They don't know this yet... but they're going to hold it for 16 minutes. I can pull this off because I took the clock off the wall...)

We'll see how it goes....

EDIT 5/14/09 8:24PM: They rocked it.

Do your riders know WHY they're riding?

2009-05-01T15:32:00.006-04:00

*TIME OUT. ALL-IMPORTANT "LIFE QUESTION"*
Have you participated in my research on the psychological effects of heart-rate training? If you've ever worn a HR monitor during exercise, you can take my 5 minute survey here. (You can also tell all your friends, colleagues, and riders about it, too!) I've been getting responses from around the country (and even quite a few international responses), and I'm learning SO much fascinating stuff that I can't wait to share with the world. But for now, I must bite my lip and refrain from biasing future participants.

I will, however, tell you where the first two weeks of this study have taken me. So far, it's been a sweet ride.

Last week, I had the unique opportunity to guest on the Indoor Cycle Instructor Podcast this week. John Macgowan (who is one of the coolest people EVER, as an aside) invited me on to be interviewed about my investigation of the relationship between HR monitor use and self-efficacy: one's belief in one's ability to navigate the challenges of one's world. Listen to my interview here. I was super-nervous and awkward, and somehow took on a Southern accent -- despite never having lived in the South -- but it was a fantastic experience nonetheless. And next week, after my awful awful awful neural science exam, I'm going to write up a step-by-step guide to my protocol for helping new HRM users (who resist my encouragement to commit to even ONE metabolic testing measurement or a sub-max field test) figure out their training zones. I was so focused on NOT talking too much in this interview that I inadvertently came across as super-vague when this came up, as you'll hear.

This experience prompted me to observe how I truly wish I could talk and write and breathe "this stuff" all day long. But as it turns out, medical school isn't quite so conducive to that. But as I sit here brainstem-deep in the torturous treachery of neural science, I constantly remind myself WHY I'm doing this. I'm doing this so that when Mr. Smith tells me that his right knee is going numb and that he's falling down, confused and scared, that maybe one day I'll have a clue what the hell to do to help him. Because you know what? Right now, I don't -- and I want to.

I find myself wondering, often, if my riders know WHY they're doing whatever they're doing on the bike. For all my talk about deep, thoughtful analysis of physical and mental training goals, I can't help but wonder whether it's possible that SOME of my go-to "cues" have become so automated that I no longer take the time to explain -- with precision -- their origins and significance. Could I go deeper? Could they go deeper?

As per usual, I decided to make a ride about it.

"TELL ME WHY," as I titled it (they aaaaaaaaalways have titles: contributes to the vibe of having every class feel like a big event worth coming to), took four basic technical "concepts" and challenged people to probe the root of what each of them meant to them, their training, and their lives.

Pedal stroke. Posture. Breathing. Heart rate control.

I talk a good game about each of them ad nauseum, and I'm proud to say that my "regulars" are largely on top of all of those fronts. I glow when I see people respond to my cues -- and when they don't, I consider it an intellectual challenge to devise alternate ways of describing the same point until they are prompted to self-improve. Communicating to a large group in such a way that each individual internalizes one's words, interprets and processes it as a unique, individualized experience is a challenge, fo' sure. But the REAL task, as I see it, is to communicate in such a way that said individualized experience lasts. Inspiring someone to take away something that they can apply to their experiences training solo, training in other people's classes, and even when they're not training at all -- THAT'S where it's at.

So am I to assume that because I teach a group how to execute the Perfect Pedal Stroke, that Sally in the corner really 'gets' why said Perfect Pedal Stroke matters? When I coach a group to flatten out their foot to engage the muscles in the back of the leg and hamstring, does Sally do that because "I said so" -- or because she gets, at a deeper level, why one even WANTS to engage those muscles? Does she care why EFFICIENCY (a term I use often) is going to do her any good? Does she see why it's worthwhile to attempt to get more work done without working harder? Does she see how her pedal stroke directly impacts upon muscle imbalances -- and if so, why that's something we care about avoiding? Does she know how to become a fat-burning machine?

Don't get me wrong: I am ABSOLUTELY thrilled that Sally stopped pointing her toes. But you know what? If Sally doesn't 'get' everything at the root of why I coached her otherwise, Sally's going to go right back to pointing her toes when she leaves my class. She may have been riding just swell in my class -- but if her new practices don't 'stick' when she takes someone else's class, I have failed her. If I had an opportunity to translate my knowledge into a forum that could be meaningful to her and I blew it, that's unacceptable to me.

Hence, my new ride.

Here's how it worked:

PHASE I: "SELL IT TO YOURSELF"
4 loops. Each loop emphasizing one of those concepts:
1) Perfect Pedal Stroke
2) Posture
3) Breathing
4) Heart Rate Control

1) Perfect Pedal Stroke
5 minute seated climb --> 3x seated accelerations
I explained the Perfect Pedal Stroke and why it mattered, whether one rides outside or not. I explained why we can ultimately get MORE work done (support more resistance, more speed) if we allow 100% of our leg muscles to work instead of merely mashing down with the quads. I asked them to close their eyes (for an anonymous poll -- I employ this technique often) and raise their hands if they were opposed to any of my questions: Who's opposed to being able to demonstrate their own strength to themselves? No hands. Anyone opposed to seeing more sculpted legs? No hands. Anyone opposed to being able to last longer without needing to take a break? No hands. Anyone opposed to preventing injury? No hands.

Didn't think so.

So with that, I explained the Perfect Pedal Stroke -- went through the clock metaphor, and the three "secret power moves" I wanted them to focus on: the FORWARD drive, the BACKWARD wipe, and the powerful UPSTROKE. I explained which muscles they should feel working during each part. Then we did pedal stroke drills for 6 minutes. Imagine? Ballsy as hell. They loved it.

Direct all your energy into your right leg. Left leg is still moving but just let it go to sleep.
First, FORWARD strokes on the downbeat. Generate the motion from your glute, extend the leg. Kick your heel out to the front of the wheel.

Repeated left. Then right and left working together -- all just the FORWARD.
Repeated for the BACKWARD. Generate the motion from your hamstring, calf involved in the "WIPING" motion - like you've got something disgusting on the bottom of your shoe. Dropping the heel a smidgeon just to keep the foot flat. Right, left, right and left.
Repeated for the UPSTROKE. Motion comes from the hip flexor. Squeeze the hip flexor, forcefully pulling your knee straight up to your chest. Right, left, right and left.

I encouraged them to develop their own language to "coach themselves" through each part of the pedal stroke -- something that would ultimately become automated. Using the beat of the music in whatever way they found helpful.

Suggestions:
FORWARD-WIPE-UP / FORWARD-WIPE-UP
ANKLE-UP / ANKLE-UP
KICK-OUT / KICK-OUT
BACK / BACK / BACK
UP / UP / UP

Threw in 3x accelerations (30 seconds) seated, challenge to commit to the PPS.

2) POSTURE
Progressive loading -- seated climb --> heeeeeeeeeeeeavy seated climb (60 rpm - I don't talk cadences with my classes at UVM; I just give 'em a beat) --> 3x accelerations
Explained the merits of relaxed upper body posture to promote efficient breathing, to prevent momentum from being transferred to the joints.
Your challenge as you load more and more resistance is to breathe extra calmness into that upper body. As you accept more opportunity to demonstrate your strength, your upper body gets LOOSER and LOOSER. Find that natural groove to your shoulders. Give the energy you're creating somewhere to go.

3x accelerations -- get those shoulders movin'!

3) BREATHING
Seated climb --> progressive loading --> heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeavy seated climb
Start at 65% MHR. Every time you touch the resistance knob, DEEP BREATH in through the nose and LONG breath out the mouth. Heart rate goes nowhere. Extend the breath on the way out even longer. Heart rate drops. When heart rate drops, add a smidgeon more resistance. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Any time your heart rate does not come down, do not add any more resistance. Keep breathing, keep lengthening the exhalation. Smidgeon more. Smidgeon more.

At the end of 5 minutes, this hill is INSANELY heavy. 60 rpm. It's a "no joke" hill, as I call it.
But where's your heart rate? Still at 65% MHR because of HOW gradually you accepted that challenge, using your breath to fuel your ability to take on each opportunity to demonstrate success.

* This is my absolute favorite progressive loading drill. I call it "Increase and Breathe." I named my other blog after it, as I see it -- cheesy or not -- as a metaphor for life. *

4) HEART RATE CONTROL
Seated climb --> 3 intervals: first, speed; second, resistance; third, change resistance
Pick a heart rate. Observe how your body responds to challenges. Practice using breathing to maintain the same level of intensity.
(Trying not to fail out of school... so limiting my elaborations! I refer you to my "SURGES" described here.)

PHASE II: COMMIT TO IT. OWN IT.
Choose one of those themes. Make every effort reflect a pure commitment to it. Make it mean something.
20 minute climb. You choose how to climb it. And why.

At the end of the climb, I took another closed-eye anonymous poll.

Who feels like they accomplished what they set out to do today?
Who feels more self-confident, like they used their time wisely?

I reminded them that their training is THEIR time -- and that everything they do should be done for a SPECIFIC reason. And that if there's ever anything that I coach them to do -- that anyone coaches them to do -- that they should demand to "TELL ME WHY."

Tell me why I spent 90 minutes blogging about a Spinning ride instead of studying? Oops.

One more shameless plug, as justification: Please encourage everyone you know who has ever trained with a HRM to participate in my study!

Self-Efficacy & HR Training - and a shiny new Endurance profile

2009-04-19T22:40:00.010-04:00

2009 Resolution #3: Commence research into the psychological effects of heart rate training. Check. Yup. This week, I received official Institutional Review Board approval to launch my study -- and a few hours ago, I kicked off Phase 1 -- a short, 10-minute completely anonymous/confidential survey of HRM-wearers about their thoughts/experiences with wearing their HRMs.

YOU CAN PARTICIPATE IN MY STUDY at http://www.surveymonkey.com/s.aspx?sm=4byaM0cjQPKBwQqORKJ1ZQ_3d_3d

Self-efficacy -- that is, one's belief in one's own ability to navigate the challenges of one's world -- is my absolute favorite concept to think, talk, and/or write about. It's the basis of nearly EVERY ride I ever coach. It's the basis of nearly every conversation I ever have with a patient. It's what I think about when I wake up in the morning.

I credit -- in my own life -- my relationship with my heart rate monitor with the development of my own self-efficacy. What is more profound than appreciating your own power to control your own physiology? Learning and practicing -- improving -- techniques of breath and muscle recruitment/relaxation, and receiving immediate feedback on the efficacy of those techniques -- really, what can be more gratifying? Immediate feedback, being absorbed in the task of improving SOMETHING -- anything -- the joy of improvement for the sake of improvement alone. Being able to sustain, refrain, and... (oh, so close, I'm not cool enough to pull that off: but the fact that the rhyming dictionary suggested "renal vein" is pretty funny!) effectively exert supreme control over your heart's response to challenge -- my gosh, that's HUGELY empowering. And the skills I've developed over time through my fitness training-- turns out, they translate extremely well into real life. The way I coach myself and others to manage their heart's response to challenge, I encourage the exact same application to life off the bike. I've seen it in myself, and in scores of people I train. The experience of getting regular feedback for control-establishing mechanisms DIRECTLY translates into the experience of control, globally.

So I'm going to study this relationship, experimentally. That will launch in August or so. But this quick survey (again: http://www.surveymonkey.com/s.aspx?sm=4byaM0cjQPKBwQqORKJ1ZQ_3d_3d) is a Phase 1 of the project, designed to capture the wide range of possible variables for which I need to control as I fine-tune my design. But this Phase 1 itself will be independently interesting, and I look forward to learning from a wide range of experiences from around the country. I'm so damned excited -- both about the project itself and, symbolically, because I actually *DID* this thing I said I was going to do. How's that for self-efficacy?

As it were, I just had the equivalent of a Self-Efficacy Cruise. Perfectly timed with my super-awkward post-Spinathon emotional void, I embarked upon a week-long immersion in My Former Life. With school on break for a week, I visited NYC to teach my old Spinning classes at NYSC, frolic with assorted "life characters," and reconnect with the experiences, faces, and "moments" that once gave me a sense of purpose amidst frantic urban chaos.

Turns out, it was everything I needed. It wasn't just an immersion in the energy/passion of what I once held dear; it was an immersion in nonstop opportunities for the development of self-efficacy -- accomplishing specific objectives/milestones, appreciating familiarity in unfamiliar ways, tapping into another layer of the way I impacted and was impacted BY my former life. It was everything.

As a driver: As many of you know, I just learned how to drive in August -- so as a friend pointed out today, I'm going through all these routine "milestones" later in life and making a much bigger deal about them, because they mean more with this different perspective. So was my first road trip. Joined by two classmates, yours truly actually operated a moving vehicle from A --> B, wherein A was absolutely NOWHERE remotely near B and involved treacherously scary pathways to get there. My first bridge, my first tunnel, my first 4-lane roadway. No joke. And I rocked it. There were times where I was scared out of my MIND -- but pretty damned quickly "walked the walk" of 'breathing my heart rate down' and recruiting the resources I needed to be successful ("GIVE ME MOLLY 4!" I called out to my front-seat passenger, referring to the label of a mix CD of calming instrumental tunes.). Throughout the week, I drove all over the place (including a ridiculous but absolutely well worth-it drive to take MI Anthony Musemici's class on Long Island) -- and then, today, drove back -- entirely by myself. I got lost several times and figured it on my own accord -- quite calmly. I truly believed that I'd be able to figure it out -- and, lo and behold, I did. I was also SUPER-CALM when I got pulled over by a NYS trooper and *PAINFULLY* ticketed. I was even too calm to launch any waterworks. My heart rate was "breathed down" before the dude ever reached my door. Oops.

As an athlete: On Tuesday, I had the privilege of taking MI Caroline Dawson's class in Manhattan. It was - no joke - one of the most empowering experiences I'd had on a Spin bike. I had been planning to just be there to soak up Caroline's awesome stylistic talents as a coach, spinning my legs nice and easy -- MAYBE breaking 65% MHR (I was teaching 7 of my old classes, after all...). But there was a bike shortage, and she drafted me to demonstrate form on the instructor platform. See also: I couldn't fake it. BAM: Strength profile -- 'couple loops of switchbacks at a steady heart rate-- and yours truly decides to do her first-ever 30-minute 85% MHR training session. I've NEVER tried to hold 85% that long. Why? I'd never motivate myself to do it -- and when I take other people's classes, I keep my HR super-low (since it's "extra" -- a rare treat). To hold 184 bpm for 30 minutes was a RIDICULOUS thing -- and, conceivably, made me even prouder than the week before after the 6-hour ride. I felt, seriously, like I could conquer the world. Talk about someone reaching you on an "it's all about what they take away when they leave the room" level.

As a coach: In a span of three days, I had more tear-jerking, life-altering dialogues (in-person or, more commonly, by email post-ride) with former "regulars" than I, practically speaking, could take the time to inhabit and reflect upon. It was the mindblowing "fusion"-type experience I described in my last post at the Spinathon -- except with people from whom I had absolutely NO expectation that they'd been having any of these lasting experiences with classes or blog posts or anything that I "just do" and continue to be shocked that people actually hear/read/process/in any way connect with it. I need to find a better word than "humbling" - but it's the one that comes to mind for now. All of this culminated on my last day in town, helping a former "regular" of mine (and now a dear friend) who got certified as a Spinning instructor last month, put together her first ride -- and then working through it with her. It was amazingly rewarding to have played a small part in starting her on her own path of the journey that has brought ME such rewards. She's such a natural!

Over the course of the week, I'd prepared three new rides to scatter throughout the week -- hoping that, even if people came out multiple days, there'd be enough material to avoid overlap. First ride was ok -- second ride was AMAZING. Every time I coached it, I got better at it. So I just stopped doing the others. I did this ride 6 times within a 2-day span... and then I came back to Burlington tonight and did it again with my class here. SMITTEN.

The concept is, of course, self-efficacy.
Two blocks:
1st block: Information Gathering. Taking stock of the way your body/heart respond to challenges. Experiment with changes in resistance, then speed, then change in position. Learn to experience the difference between 70%, 75%, 80%. Synthesizing this information to zero in on a target for improvement (ie, a heart rate to which to commit -- 70, 75, or 80%)
2nd block: Load up to target heart rate. Commit to it no matter what. (Will elaborate)

WARMUP
Progressive load to 65%

BLOCK 1: FACT-FINDING - How does your body respond to challenge?
Part 1 - Resistance
Progressive load to 70% -- then keep loading. Goal: how much work can you get done at 70%? Key phrase: "Loading so gradually that your heart cannot tell the difference."
Part 2 - Speed
2x seated accelerations (1 minute each) -- option to maintain 70% or increase to 75%. Use breathing techniques to maintain steady HR through the accelerations and, upon slowing down, progressively load to maintain same intensity.
Part 3 - Position
Acceleration as above (1 minute) -- seated or standing -- option to maintain 70, 75, or increase to 80%. Use breathing techniques to maintain steady HR through the accelerations and, upon slowing down, progressively load to maintain same intensity.

BLOCK 2: COMMITMENT
Loop 1
Return to 70%. Progressive load to individual target -- 70, 75, or 80%
Six surges (you know me and my surges...) -- I coached it as 2 sets of 3 surges (sounds different...). As always, option to accept each surge in whatever way one sees appropriate -- resistance, speed, change in position, or not at all. YOUR choice how to accept slightly more of a challenge to maintain that constant target. Between surges, make any adjustments you need to maintain the same level of intensity.

Loop 2
Return to 70%. Progressive load to individual target -- 70, 75, or 80%
No more surges. No more distractions. "It's all you." Option to change position, speed, resistance when they were so moved by the rhythms -- so long as you hold that heart rate. Take responsibility for that heart rate -- make any adjustments you need.
They held it 15 minutes. It was amazing. I finished with an 8 minute techno remix of "4 Minutes to Save the World" -- and I told them 2.5 minutes in that, if they could last 90 seconds, they were golden (obviously everyone feels good about that...) -- then at the first "YOU ONLY GOT 4 MINUTES TO SAVE THE WORLD," I bust out a: "YOU'VE GOT 4 MINUTES TO THE FINISH LINE."

Inspiring smirks = its own distraction, almost a resetting of the clock. They were 11 minutes down - but I didn't tell them that. All that mattered was the four minutes, their heart rate, and their promise to themselves to maintain it.

Use the rhythm any way that's helpful to you. If your mind starts to wander, close your eyes.
I know you're tired -- but this is where the mental part comes in. What did it mean to you to commit to that target? How did you want to feel when you were finished? What's it going to take to give you that feeling? How badly do you want it?

Ohhhh, they wanted it. When I told them at the end that they'd held that heart rate for 15 minutes... you should have SEEN the smiles, the glows. The pride. The acknowledgment of their own power. Control. Precision.

NOW what would make me glow is if you participated in my research ;-)
Spread the word!
http://www.surveymonkey.com/s.aspx?sm=4byaM0cjQPKBwQqORKJ1ZQ_3d_3d

The Best Day of My Life - On the Bike AND Off.

2009-04-06T12:14:00.002-04:00

I'm posting this entry on BOTH blogs, for the first time in my life. If you follow both, I apologize! Hopefully you'll see why I chose to do this... I'll probably never ever do this again; it just seemed to be the logical choice here.

See, I've never been terribly good at compartmentalization. It's why I used to sleep in my office and accept 2AM phone calls from my boss; why I can't go ANYWHERE (bar, bowling alley, movie theater...) without evaluating every sound for its potential to contribute to a Spinning class; why I'm skipping class to be able to blog on a Monday morning. Recently, I gave up trying to improve my compartmentalization skills; I decided it wasn't important enough to me. I'd been striving for compartmentalization because 'society' says I'm supposed to -- I didn't have my own independent reason worth investing in.

Screw that. Instead, I've been investing time and energy this year to Anti-Compartmentalization, if you will: that is, carving out a fusion that reflects my multiple roles, responsibilities, passions, and inspirations. Physician-in-training vs. Coach. Learner vs. Teacher. Observer vs. Doer. They're not mutually exclusive, so why treat them as such? Still, the only pseudo-line I've drawn in the sand through my relatively new public reflections is between: "A 'SPINTASTIC' READER MIIIIIIIGHT CARE ABOUT THIS" vs. "THERE'S A GOOD CHANCE NOBODY ONE EARTH WILL CARE ABOUT THIS." Reflections categorized into the latter wind up on Feel the Road (the "life blog," if you will).

Well, you know you've had a pretty damned good day if you have an experience that cannot be categorized. It was one of the best, most affirming days of my life as a cyclist, as a coach, as a leader, as a mentor, as a learner, as a friend, as a human being. At Saturday's 6-Hour Special Olympics Spinathon, for me, they were one and the same. So, it seemed only fitting to post on both blogs.

If you've been following either blog, you might remember that the 9th Annual Ride for a Reason has been a major "life construct" for so many reasons:
* It marked my first 'community integration' effort in the city of Burlington, my new home, independent of medical school. Through serving on the event's planning committee at the invitation of EpicRides' Allen Jones (creator of pretty neat ride-along cycling DVDs, for those of you into that scene...) in the fall, I developed a true sense of feeling "at home" in this new chapter of my life. It gave me an opportunity to build that part of my identity. My trips back to NYC stopped being so regular (I was going back every 3 weeks, at one point...); I didn't need as many "life snuggles" from My Former World. I belonged in my new one.
* OBVIOUSLY the hugest opportunity of my coaching career. Being able to shape an experience for 100 riders, from atop a huge stage with life-altering broadcast capacity: my music and my words and my particular way of seeing the world echoing off the walls of a huge ballroom, with the hope that some subtle aspect of ANY of it would strike the ears, the minds, and the hearts of the people before me... united in their passion and energy for the cause at hand, but each having a truly individualized experience.
* I would be co-leading the event with Spinning Master Instructors Anthony Musemici (who certified me! I invited him a) because he's an AWESOME coach, independent of any other factors; b) symbolically, he started me on this journey that I never ever ever anticipated leading to such rewarding sense of self through my opportunity to connect with so many people about my greatest passion) and Angie Scott. Anthony, who hasn't been in touch with me in 2.5 years and didn't know me from a hole in the head, flew up from NYC on his own dime -- and not only led amazingly inspiring portions of the ride, but was such a tremendous influence over my anxiety- and expectations-management leading up to this big day for me. Angie, from Montpelier, has been such a tremendous resource to me upon my transition to Vermont cycling life, always generous with her time and insights -- and even gave me the opportunity to co-teach a 2-hour endurance ride with her, my first time working with Vermonters of the age/experience-level to which I was accustomed in NYC... quite different from my university campus population, a change I found disorienting for several months. Angie gave me an opportunity to re-connect with myself, through connecting with her riders.) It was a daunting but invigorating honor to share the stage with two people who inspire me so much.
* I had friends and NYC "regulars" coming up just to ride this event. They literally drove up for less than 12 hours, just to be here for this with me!
* I trained six of my UVM riders to participate in what ALL of them had previously regarded as an impossible task. Some rode 2 hours, some rode 4. Some rode 6 hours. 4 of the 6 had never been on a bike (stationary or the kind prone to falling over) before they met me. I tried to do everything in my power to make them successful, and I'd feared that my imperfections as a coach would limit them. What if I hadn't conveyed the things I thought I was conveying? How would they feel about themselves when it was over? What would happen next. This was my responsibility to set them up for success. They rocked it. They all friggin' rocked it.
* This was a major training goal for me as an athlete. I was committed to riding all six hours (the estimated equivalent of 120 miles, per measurements I'd taken during my 2-hour training blocks -- and I was riding on "Game Day" at comparable cadences), and I was committed to improving over the last time I had done this. I rode two 6-hour rides in Jan/Feb 2008 -- and as I described in my last posting, identified specific things I wanted to improve. I designed my own training plans to accomplish these specific tasks, and translated them into Spinning classes to share with my riders. Allow me a small dose of arrogance (I did just ride 6 hours, after all): 1) I got INSANELY good at holding 70% MHR for hours, persisting through changes in resistance, speed, and position via breathing control (biofeedback via HRM); 2) I got even more INSANELY good at getting a TON of work done at 70% MHR, both through Accomplishment #1 and by investing time in my first religious lower body strength-training regimen ever; 3) my proudest training accomplishment: I got good ENOUGH at alleviating "hot feet" (nerve compression), which had been the bane of my existence during the last two Spinathons. I actually bawled, siething in pain during the Jan '08 ride. It just hurt so bad. It wasn't enough to be mindful of my pedal stroke: lifting
up on the pedals, keeping my foot at the top of my shoe. I knew all that. SPD cleats are so damned small that the concentrated pressure is just awful after a few hours -- and I knew I wasn't going to build up training time long enough to simulate Game Day conditions (I'm a medical student: I knew I'd train to ride two hours, develop solid techniques, and then on Game Day, shift my heart rate lower and blast out another four from pure adrenaline). So I trained to cope with "hot feet" on the elliptical. I'd argue that Hour 4 on a Spinner feels like Minute 25 on an elliptical; the pressure is just brutal. Not AS brutal as a Stepper -- but "Stepper hot feet" do not feel, to me, like "cycling hot feet": they don't stop upon cessation of activity; they screw with the ankles; and, most importantly, the skills associated with prolonging onset of cycling hot feet simply don't apply to the Stepper. It's a different movement, biomechanically. On the elliptical, though, I got pretty good at "top of the shoe shuffling" on a bike (again, why I was practicing this on the elliptical is that it didn't take 4 hours before I was in pain -- the goal was to get good at alleviating pain!). I also found elliptical training to be great mental focus training -- given how friggin' boring and awful it is (Justification to assure you I'm not being dismissive: I train on an elliptical 2-3x a week, and credit it entirely with how much work I can get done at "70%" -- even
though it's a different 70% than my cycling 70%, it's close enough to translate well).

In moments of weakness (and certainly there were many...), I was mindful of all of those things -- acknowledging them, appreciating them gave me a very profound surge of strength at these key points of exhaustion. My "grand idea" of not instructing until Hour 5, well, had its limits. When I looked down at my heart rate monitor on my left wrist or my eating disorder awareness bracelet on my right (an important symbol of my history that led me to the place at which I am now), I felt so supremely strong. I closed my eyes, felt the warmth and glow of the hot stage lights, the effortless flow of the rhythm... and just WAS.

The irony was that, when I am up in front of my classes, I am never riding for me. I ride to demonstrate form and breathing efforts, then I get the hell off the bike most of the time. It's all about the riders in the room. Now here on this huge stage (before it was my turn to lead), I was absolutely riding for me. I was OBSESSIVE about my form (given that hundreds of people were watching me), and I frequently made crowd-encouraging gestures -- but other than that, I was having as personal and individualized an experience -- feeding off of the energy, the rhythms, the infusions of truth and light expounding from my colleagues' mouths -- as anyone on the floor. It was powerful. It was wonderful. It was everything I loved about the Spinning program.

Then came Hour 5. The hardest part, cue-wise, was the first 1 minute 8 seconds. It was a dramatic instrumental intro, with a very specific and abrupt change in the rhythm that ABSOLUTELY needed to coincide with a very specific and abrupt phrase. "Absolutely needed to," of course, was a completely self-imposed (STUPID) construct. But it was important to me. When I practiced it over time (since NOVEMBER!), I'd repeat it at least 10 times a pop. No joke. 10x a day, maybe 2-3x a week, since NOVEMBER? Am I serious? YES. That's the sickest part. Dead serious. I'd nailed it maybe ONCE when I was practicing. Other than that, always off -- I'd either finish speaking too early or too late. Dead space during this creepy music would have been killer. The stakes were high -- artificially high but high nonetheless.

The room was dark. I was blinded by the spotlights. I heard my creepy piano chords, and took the deepest breath I'd taken in weeks. I asked my 100 riders to close their eyes; I couldn't see them do it, but I could feel it. I began to speak.

I've got good news and bad. The good news is: this is your hardest hour. You get through this, and it's smooth sailin'. Pause. Smile. Hear key creepy piano chord. I think I'm "on track," but have no idea. The bad news is... this is your hardest hour. I smile, ironically. I could feel smiles break out across the room. I hadn't screwed up yet.

It's not any physically harder than what you've done already. In fact, it's a bit easier. But it's mentally grueling. By Hour #5, you don't want to do this anymore. You're exhausted. Your feet hurt. You don't even remember why you started doing this crazy thing in the first place. But you had a reason -- every one of you had a specific reason you came out today. Key dramatic chord. Still "on." Nobody woke up arbitrarily and said to themselves, 'Hey, I'm going to go ride a stationary bike for 6 hours... just for the heck of it.'You did it because it meant SOMETHING to you. Many of you did it because every pedal stroke contributes to the lives of the Special Olympics athletes. Many of you did it because you saw it as a commitment to yourselves, your goals, your values, the very things you hold important. So here during Hour 5, my job is going to be to help you to use your mind clearly to reconnect with those values -- to reconnect with WHY you started this ride in the first place....

Oh no. I don't recognize the music. Where am I? Did I say too much? Is the transition coming? Ohhhhh no. Breathe. No, really, breathe.

... and, hey, while we're at it... maybe we'll have to go ahead and have a good time...."

BOOM. MUSIC CHANGE. BAM. Right there. NAILED it. Cannot believe I nailed it. No way. NO way.

And, just like that, the last six months were for something. I could feel a wave of calmness overcome my entire body. Everything was going to be okay. Not just okay; everything was going to be awesome.

Everything else went exactly according to plan. It was perfect. With every spontaneous hoot and holler from a rider (or two... or twenty!), I felt like my whole life had magically come together in this very specific moment. The music I'd selected, the themes/concepts I'd integrated, the profile I'd developed -- it meant something to me, and it so readily enveloped the crowd. It meant something to people. When I asked them questions, I got the most enthusiastic answers of which I'd ever dreamed. I'd go so far as to describe it as a "roar." A roaring crowd? No way. I felt like some kind of rock star. It was RIDICULOUS. Even in the moment, I was so mindful of how completely unentitled I was to be having this magical experience. This magical experience that I ate, slept, and breathed for the past six months. This moment of which's mere anticipation brought tears to my eyes -- whenever I played one of my to-be-used songs in a Spin class or in the car, sometimes I'd just be so struck with the powerful image of what it was going to feel like. Of course, I had no idea what it was going to feel like. My brain had no way of wrapping itself around the concept of just how powerful this was going to be, to feel this intense external AND internal connectivity.

There were moments where I couldn't even believe what was coming out of my mouth. They were things I'd said before, sure, but never quite like this. They were the kinds of things I say and think -- and KEEP -- to myself about the way "one" might see the world, connecting with their deepest-rooted motivations and passions... the things that give one a sense of meaning and purpose, how to use the subtle opportunities to connect with and learn from that, how to apply it towards their self-development. Finding excellence in the details. Finding peace in the awareness, the control. Finding a place that is theirs, and nobody else's.

I joke often, citing experiences as "being in my element" -- big dance parties with DJs, waxing philosophical to cheesy techno remixes or booming ridiculous soundtrack music, motivational interviewing lectures. I had NO friggin' idea what "being in my element" really was until Hour #5.

But Hour #5 wasn't what I'd hyped up most. My big finish - the last 20 minutes of Hour #6, thaaaaaaaaaaat I'd really hyped up. I probably irritated my colleagues with how damned excited I was for this simple, no-big-deal finish. I'd done it with my classes at the tail end of at least three rides between January and present. Totally overhyped... and totally anticlimactic. I learned an important lesson: striking a balance between preparation and feeding off the subtleties of being in the moment. My obsession over details, perhaps even for the sake of the details alone, turned out to be pretty lame. Expectations management had failed. But that's ok.

Ironically, the best part of Hour #5 was the one part I hadn't planned. At the last minute (the night before), I swapped out the end of the profile (3 "surges" to a techno remix of Don't Stop Believin' -- Anthony's nose wrinkled while we were prepping, and I was embarassed!) In its place, I weaved in Tiesto's remix of "He's a Pirate" -- wove it into the tail end of the preceding climb, quick recovery, then 90 second surge to the end of the hour. Except in the moment, I was struck by the opportunity to do something really "me." I gave a fat-burning pitch! I asked the crowd who likes to burn fat. Again, the "roar." Heh. I challenged them to keep their heart rates where they could talk when they hit the surge. Maybe they did, maybe they didn't -- but it sure looked like most of the crowd stayed seated (and they hadn't been, before). Whatever. It was still pretty cool to be able to make a pitch for perhaps my #2 priority as a coach.

At the end of Hour #6, I played one of my favorite-ever songs (that I'd used once *completely unsuccessfully* in a Spin class), "Our Lives" by Lifehouse. I listen to it on the drive to school most days, overlooking the mountains -- and, no joke, get tearful every time. So I ballsily just WENT for it. On stage, the instructors linked hands. I called for the riders to do the same. And right there, 100 people, hands linked -- my cheese infusing through the speakers, images of Special Olympics athletes broadcasted on the walls.

I started crying.

I cannot believe I've been writing/ranting so long -- I haven't taken the time to reflect on ANY of this until now, really. So I'll wrap it up with perhaps the coolest part of the experience.

Yesterday, I sent an email to my UVM riders who had participated -- to ask themhow they felt, offer my assistance with anything troubling them, and to ask them a few questions about their experience. I was inspired to want to learn just as much from others' experiences as I could from my own.

I asked them about what they remembered thinking about at certain points, how they approached training, intensity monitoring, fueling/hydration, and what they took away.

I was BLOWN away by some of the responses I got.

* "This was the most invigorating experience of my life. I've never been so proud of myself."
* "I was surprised at how much control I had over my breathing - just focusing on breathing out longer than on the way in" (I got tearful when I read that; that's a "me" line).
* "When my mind wandered, I closed my eyes" (same)
* "I challenged myself to drop my heels a little bit lower, to breathe a little bit deeper" (SAME - OH my goodness. Really? Were people really coaching themselves with the very language I tried so hard to teach them?)
* "I tried to imagine what you'd be encouraging us to think about -- checking in with myself, my heart rate, my form..." (no joke... apparently they do.)
* "I was proud of myself for being able to keep my heart rate so low for so long."
* "When I started taking your classes, I sure liked them -- but I had no idea what this was all about until I was surrounded by so many people, feeding off so much energy."
* "I would look around, absorb the energy and the room, look up at the stage... and remember my goals. I'd find myself readjusting to a better intensity for me."
* "I was so proud of how I was able to push myself past my limits -- I was motivated to keep going... because I can."

While I was absolutely proud of what I accomplished both riding and co-leading on Saturday, my proudest moment of my coaching career -- and one of the proudest moments of my life -- has been watching these email responses flood in, and seeing what this experience has meant to the people whom I've tried my darnedest to help inspire THEMSELVES to accept this challenge and take stock of how it contributes to their personal and spiritual growth, their very self-concept.

No wonder I can't compartmentalize this.

Why on EARTH you'd ride a Spinner for 6 Hours.

2009-03-31T14:40:00.009-04:00

I posted a half-baked version of this post earlier this afternoon, and then went out to coach a "preview" of what I had written about... and it was AWFUL. It was awful for the same reasons that this original post was awful -- and it was awful for the exact issue I had raised in the post itself. Irony-much?

I am 3.5 days away from the most important day of my coaching career, leading segments of the 9th Annual "RIDE FOR A REASON" 6-hour Spinathon on Saturday at the Burlington Sheraton. 125 bikes, big stage, all that. The opportunity of my dreams, to lead a massive audience through an individualized version of the reality I shape for them. The concepts, the visions, the rhythms -- the things that bring tears to my eyes at the mere THOUGHT of them (even now as I sit here, writing...) exploded in larger-than-life form. It's everything to me.

I am PETRIFIED. So petrified that I am avoiding full immersion in my prep work for my cues (the ride has been done for a while; it's the "what the hell am I actually going to talk about" part that remains elusive). I'm making excuses: medical school exam (heh), cleaning my house, doing the laundry, writing on Spintastic...

Deconstructing the Profile
The ride itself was easy. These 1.25 hours, arguably, have been in the works for an entire year. The profile and playlist are based almost exclusively on "Kaizen," my farewell ride at NYSC 86th/Lexington my last day in NYC before I moved to Vermont. Am I really playing the same stuff, saying the same stuff, since July 31, 2008? Perhaps I'm saying it slightly better, more confidently, able to draw on more sources to create relevance for my riders -- but it's the same stuff as when I was an entirely different coach, and entirely different person with an entirely different life. This shocks me, somehow.

"Kaizen" was named for the Japanese philosophy (and business management approach) of tapping into one specific subtle issue to improve -- making constant micro-adjustments, engaged in the process of change for the sake of improvement alone. When I learned of this concept, I loved it so much that I not only based and named a ride for it... but I also named my car after it when I first learned how to drive in August. Talk about a "life improvement" ;-)

Since July 31, I've run variations of this ride with different sub-foci and messages, different music, different vibes. It was even the basis for that New Year's ride that I did 3x a week for a month without anyone noticing. It's a format that, almost magically, allows me to be completely in my element -- a vehicle for projecting the most global or subtle message I want to convey with a given ride. Obviously, it's what I would use for Ride for a Reason.

Except it's this very versatility that now strikes me as so daunting! I have done 50,000 things with it -- and can do 50,000 other different things. All the messages I've covered in the past year in my classes, ALL of which directly and indirectly can contribute to the experience of someone who is riding a stationary bike for 6 hours.

Deconstructing the Message
First and foremost, I need to choose what my message will be. When I lack a unifying message, I am not in my element. I need to be in my element.

I am trying to inhabit the existence of someone about to start their 5th hour. I've ridden two 6-hour Spinathons before; I know what it feels to start that 5th hour. It's not as awful as it feels to start the 4th hour - but it's pretty damned awful. What do they need to tell themselves to be successful? What cognitive distortions do they need to combat? What pain are they pushing through? Do they remember why they're doing this crazy thing they're doing?

I think, and have written, SO much about my self-concept as a coach over time. One "big deal" part of that, for me, is the idea of helping people discover what it is that they want, and empowering them to go out and do it. (As it, promoting endurance training isn't as simple as getting people to do "this thing they don't want to do" -- it's actually inspiring in them a sense that they genuinely WANT to become a fat-burning machine, and that this is part of how to go about doing that). When I've done long endurance rides with my classes at UVM, as a component of training them for this very event, it's been all about that -- encouraging them to set short-term, specific, measurable goals WITH REASONS, and to motivate themselves by repeatedly reminding themselves OF THOSE REASONS.

I tried to test the efficacy of this coaching strategy (and life policy) of mine by doing another field experiment on myself, my go-to evaluation mechanism for most of my kooky ideas. I ran through a draft of my ride -- on the elliptical trainer, at 65-70% MHR, for two hours. GROAN. How awful! No, really, it was. Besides the tedious boredom, the elliptical inspires "hot feet" much earlier than a bike -- there's way more direct nerve compression; there are no upstrokes. I've been working for months on forward/backward shuffling and heel-driving on the elliptical (given the applicability to my uber-micromanaged pedal stroke) -- but by and large, that thing is TORTUROUS. I was specifically endeavoring to inspire the very challenges by which my riders would be most distracted (i.e, intense physical pain), to then practice paying attention to my thought processes -- to then translate into cues, of the self-talk that kept me going. Inhabiting another's existence is a lot easier when you've actually lived it. The real gift is inhabiting that existence without having lived it; if you're thoughtful and curious, you can tap into that through individual dialogue. That's what medicine is all about. But in group fitness, cheating is permissible. Actually enduring a challenge and paying attention to the strategies that work for YOU... those make the best cues indeed.

Which brings us to the age-old questions:
What are you climbing for? Why are you climbing for it?

Yeah, yeah, I get it. I am riding because my performance is a reflection of my self-concept. I see myself as strong, as capable of enduring through this challenge. I control my heart rate because I enjoy the experience of having complete control over a physiological process, of quantifying parameters of my performance that I have specifically invested time to improve for improvement's sake alone. I push through pain because I know that I really CAN do this thing I want to do, as a symbolic reflection of my belief in myself.

But can't I accomplish that in, say, two hours? Why am I still on this friggin' bike at Hour #5? What does it mean to me, specifically, to commit to this?

When I rode in my previous two Spinathons, I didn't ask myself those questions. I finished them. But when I look back on them, I remember three things: a) how much pain my feet experienced (I suffered WICKED cases of "hot feet" both times -- I actually started CRYING during my first spinathon, in so much pain. I remember saying out loud: "I can't do this. I can't do this. This hurts so bad."); b) how surprised I was to NOT be exhausted, after spending six hours at 50-65% MHR; c) how boring most of the ride segments were, how uninspired I felt.

You'll note that I did not say that I remembered how proud I was of myself. Even now, I can't say that either were major accomplishments -- even though, in theory, each was its own indoor Century. It didn't feel like that big a deal. It just hurt, and I was miserable.

How do you want to feel when you finish? What is it going to take to make this something you remember for the rest of your life, as a reflection of your strength, your passion, your supreme mastery of your experience?

The Hour that Sucks
As I told my riders in class tonight who are participating in Saturday's event, all they have to do is make it through Hour #5. Hour #6 is cake -- it's so close, you've come too far to turn back. The investment justifies the reason. The energy is high, the adrenaline's pumping. It's fine. It's Hour #5 that sucks.

Hour #4 sucks, too. But the nice thing is that all the hours before mine will be led by exceptionally gifted MI's (Angie Scott, Raquel Schmidt, Anthony Musemici). I'm not concerned that people will be lacking in energy and happiness. But come Hour #5, no joke, there's nothing on earth that makes that hot-foot pain bearable.

I decided that I would lead Hour #5 on Saturday because, for me, it represents the part of the ride when I am likely to be miserable -- and can I channel that pain constructively, to motivate and inspire to not just ENDURE... but to tap into the joy, the passion, the meaning of it all? That's the challenge with which I am tasking myself.

You Are What You Think About All Day Long
I titled this sub-segment and, just like that, arrived at my message.

Hour #5 is going to be about controlling your mind, coaching yourself through your most difficult hour. OBVIOUSLY this is my theme. It's what I talk about all day long. How the hell was this not obvious to me until right now?

I accidentally just found a blog post I wrote just days before I initially debuted "Kaizen," when this concept first started to become dear to me. It doesn't suck: "It's All About How You Talk to Yourself."

I can absolutely work with this:
Block 1: Remembering why you started this. Remembering what you love. Tapping into your passion, the thing that gives you purpose and meaning.
Block 2: Identifying ANYTHING that is interfering with that purpose. Your doubt? Your fear? Your pain? Acknowledge how you feel. It's okay. But use that as a stimulus to reset, recharge, reconnect with what brought you here to begin with. WHAT WAS YOUR REASON? What did it mean to you... to YOU, not to anyone else? "Surge" to conquer those inhibitions, to replace them with affirmations of strength and power.
Block 3: Celebrating the freedom from those now-shed restraints. Charging forward, launching into the final hour.

That, that's a structure on which I can hang my h...eart rate monitor. I sure have a lot of work to do... but I'm slightly less petrified. I just need to adopt the role of the character I play when I'm nervous and awkward, the character who has no need for any of those doubts. The character who knows exactly what she's going to say, how she's going to say it... and why.

Creating Endurance Buy-In

2009-03-19T16:15:00.008-04:00

My day was supposed to begin with masochism. Instead, it was one of the most rewarding of my coaching career.

There's a framed poster in my medical school's library that I really dig: "Knowledge is making the people around you feel smarter." When I saw it for the first time eight months ago, I saw it as a most profound concept that applied to both my medical and coaching "life spheres" -- and from then on, walk a few steps out of my path every so often just to see it. The poster makes me smile; the concept makes me get out of bed in the morning. Conceptualizing my role in the world to try my darnedest, every day, to teach somebody SOMETHING that empowers him or her to make a meaningful contribution to his or her own life -- the art, of course, being to develop the tools necessary to convey that SOMETHING in the specific right way for the right person.

A while back, I accepted a colleague's request to sub her 6:30AM class this morning -- forgetting that I'd be working til 11PM at the rural medical clinic (an hour away) where I recently started training. In New York, I used to teach 6:30AMs every day: they were my favorite. I taught one in VT over my first four months here before I found my "groove," and it was miserable. I counted down the weeks til I could drop the class. Today would be my return to the AM scene, and I was not excited. I anticipated that I'd have zero "regulars" (I teach a permanent class tonight, too; they'd be at that one!), and running on four hours of sleep (after having woken up at 4AM yesterday to make time for studying AND the gym, going to school all day, then spending nine hours on my feet at the clinic and two hours of interstate-driving was sub-ideal to say the least.

I hadn't officially even decided what ride I'd do. I don't wing rides (when I do, they suck -- and, as a general life policy, I try not to suck) but at any given point in time, I'm typically prepared to present 2 or 3 different profiles (an old habit from my 21-classes-a-week days in NYC -- I'd often get sick of myself and want freedom to "abort mission" whenever I so chose). I hadn't decided because I just plain didn't want to present ANY ride. I just really friggin' didn't want to do it. I wanted to go back to bed and sleep as long as I can maintain 65% MHR (i.e., forever).

As I got into my car and thought about how awful life was in that moment, I had an epiphany. Even without caffeination-induced clarity, it became clear to me what ride I would do.

The ballsiest one in my arsenal.

Yes, at this sub gig, a 6:30AM sleepy crowd of college undergraduate strangers with whom I have 0% street cred, I would do the most TEDIOUS endurance ride in my arsenal. Clearly, it was not enough to keep 'em aerobic for 45 minutes when I know they're used to, ahem, something different. No. I would go for broke. I would take these complete strangers, keep them exclusively between 70-75% MHR (not that they'd have HRMs...), and keep them seated the entire time. And I'd friggin' make them love every minute of it.

Oh, and for kicks, I also decided to coach it entirely off the bike (but for periodic demonstrations of posture).

Suddenly, I got a burst of energy -- and it wasn't just from the loud, booming techno blowing out my ear drums in the car.

Arrive to class. Meet n' greet, mingle, all that for 15-20 mins. Nobody's awake. There's no way this is going to work. Intellectual challenge. Intellectual challenge, I repeat to myself. Shut the lights (I coach in darkness with some white Christmas lights for safety, always. The mirrors are nowhere near the bikes to monitor form-- annoying -- so there's really no reason NOT to facilitate complete self-absorption). Introduce myself, give my safety "I'm only here as your guide" speech and permission to ignore me whenever they feel uncomfortable.

When I do a ballsy ride, I always open with a purely absurd comment. Not "kinda strange." Blatantly ABSURD. It's all in the way you grab their attention. I employ the same device in my writing.

"I woke up yesterday at 4AM just to practice feeling awful..."
What?
But now they're listening. I see it in their eyes.
"... Indeed, there's something about waking up at the crack of dawn to get our workout in before the day, because we're "supposed to," and feeling like we should 'make it count' by pushing hard and giving it everything we've got..."
Starting to lose 'em... window of opportunity closing. Gotta make it count.
"...which is great. Until 3 hours later, when we fall asleep in class or at work and are completely USELESS for the rest of the day."
Oh, they're listening again.
"See, as it turns out, it's a myth that the harder we push, the more results we get. In fact, physiologically, we have different energy storage systems -- different ways we use fuel. And as it were, the system that allows us to burn fat actually ONLY works when we're working moderately intense -- able to use oxygen to carry out those processes. I don't know if you guys have heard this before -- but, a good way to think about it is that majority of fat-burning takes place, loosely, when our heart rates are low enough to be able to talk.

So, this morning we're going to 'shake things up,' OK? Your job is going to be to BURN AS MUCH FAT AS POSSIBLE by paying attention to your breathing, which I'll teach you how to do, to control your heart rate to feel like you're able to have a conversation the entire time. You're not going to push as hard as you can -- you're going to work at a level that you can SUSTAIN the entire time. This way, when you're done, you are PROUD of yourself for waking up and investing in yourself -- ready to take on your day and conquer it... not ready to go back to bed. Ready?"

They didn't cheer or hoot or holler or any of the "validation signs" that I so value from MY classes. But they "got" it.

How do I know? Because my class of strangers, who didn't know me from a hole in the wall, who owed me nothing, stayed in the saddle for 40 minutes when I ABSOLUTELY know that this is not what they usually do.

I didn't tell them not to stand. In fact, I kept giving them the option to stand. And they DIDN'T stand. It's not that they weren't working, either. I saw them adjust their resistance as I coached them through three blocks of progressive loadings with accelerations (yes, profile will follow...). I saw them breathing. I heard them breathing.

I kept reminding them about their controlled intensity, their breathing, their form, and how they were training their heart to get better at doing more work without working harder. I cued them to think about what it meant to them to control their heart rates, the physiology of their being, how proud and strong they felt to have that kind of power. I asked them to think about what they were able to accomplish, with their newly empowered energy. I asked them to soothe themselves with their forceful, controlled breathing.

When I invited them to stand, I did so with the caveat that they acquired this option solely by the ability to control their heart rates to continue to burn "oodles of fat."

And they all stayed seated.

And it was awesome.

PROFILE: "SHAKE IT UP" (45 mins)
Warmup
Loop 1: Maintain 70% MHR - 3 minute seated climb (progressive loadings) + 3x accelerations to maintain 70%
Loop 2: Seated climb 2 minutes 70%, 2 minutes 75% (progressive loadings) + 3x accelerations to maintain 75%
Loop 3: Seated climb 2 minutes 70%, 5 minutes 75% (progressive loadings) + 3x accelerations to maintain 75%
Cool-down

Yes, that was it.

Afterwards, one girl came up to me and said: "I've been Spinning for 2 years... I've never done a ride like that, making those adjustments to keep the same heart rate. It's crazy: I feel SO energized."

I didn't need more coffee anymore. That was enough for me.