Monday, November 30, 2015

Day 11.244 A Little Slice of Heaven

We attacked the moving target this morning. Searching for a little slice of Heaven.

There are precious few concepts that we can accurately label as absolutes. Things that eventually, if we hang around long enough, we will experience. Suffering, death, taxes, loss of health, disease, disappointment all fit the category. To be fair, so might love, joy, tranquility, success and creative inspiration.

We isolated the health one early today. We meet at 0530 every Monday morning for an hour of indoor cycling. It is my job to design the workout, explain the components and lead the session. I also have the additional duty to add a musical accompaniment and appropriate commentary and motivational messaging.

The absolute in question is the need for movement. The target is some combination of good health, enhanced fitness, performance preparation and calorie consumption. By mutual agreement we feel that this is an important part of reach day. We also recognize the myriad other benefits in this routine, the cardiovascular, bio-chemical, fuel processing, muscular adaptation and stress management upgrades.

But today was about experimenting with a visitation to a rather nebulous location known as The Comfort Zone. The moving target of mapping one's response to the stepping outside of it, more precisely.

We witnessed, again, the phenomena known affectionately as the fatigue factor as the protocol demanded relentless output; muscles, lungs and wills quickly tested in their ability to maintain the power requirements.

We also saw the reality of the moving target metaphor. As our power dropped, in some cases dramatically, the point was to define in the present moment the current sweet spot and add 25 watts to it. Our wattage was reduced but the target, as goal, remained the same.

By 45 minutes I was cooked, basting like a roasted turkey, ready for knife and fork. I was amazed at the speed with which this power protocol impacted my ability to sustain my former robust output.

That target had not only moved, it was hiding in deep cover.

My comfort zone was now a small percentage of what it had been at the start. I was hanging on by a silver thread, desperate in my attempt to finish with whatever pathetic degree of oomph musterable (I will coin that one here - and hope you take my meaning).

And it hurt like hell.

That little slice of Heaven.

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