Practical Applications of Life on a Spin Bike

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

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.

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

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.

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

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

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.