Emeril & me

It has been a wet winter here in Northern California. Add to that the early darkness of the last few months and you don’t get much of an opportunity to ride outdoors if, like me, you work during the day.

So I ride my trainer. Like most of you, I long for entertainment when riding the bike to nowhere. Sometimes, seeking inspiration, I watch Lance climb to Sestrieres or some Ironman tape or another. But other times, decadently, I tune in to FoodTV. My frequent companion there is Emeril Lagasse.

Emeril is an ebullient, outlandish chef whose favorite phrases are "Bam!" (while tossing extra seasoning into a dish) and "Let’s kick it up a notch!" (again, while throwing handfuls of spice, or pouring lots of liquor). I find him hilarious, and excellent company. I don’t eat that way, but it’s fun to watch people who do.

I want to talk to you today about Emeril Lagasse, mindfulness and you.

The other day, Emeril promised that he was really going to go for it: "Notches unknown to mankind!" he cried. I laughed so hard I thought I would fall off the trainer. Sure enough, there was a lot of cayenne-pepper-flinging and liquor-pouring on that show. Lots of "Bam!" Lots of happy sighs from the studio audience.

It so happens that I am reading "Thinking Body, Dancing Mind." Perhaps you have, too. It is a wonderful book. I can recommend it highly, along with "Working Out, Working Within" and "Running Within." They are all aimed at getting you to focus on that thing that is so ephemeral, yet so vital: the mental aspect of your training. These books base their teachings on the ancient Chinese philosophy of the Tao. In "Working Out, Working Within," it’s defined this way: "Tao is, like water, the path of least resistance."

Sure, you know that the mind is powerful. You’ve finished races you didn’t think you could; you’ve gotten through wind-sucking interval workouts somehow; you’ve watched the Ironman on TV and seen countless examples of the mind willing the body over the finish line. What these books can teach you, though, is how to USE your mind. How to engage it in ways that will help you realize your true potential.

And that potential, I promise you, is vast and largely untapped.

Not long after watching Emeril hit those notches unknown, I found myself in the pool, swimming a nifty little ladder workout. I suffer from a severe lack of confidence in my athletic abilities (essentially, I see myself as the ultimate poser, even though I know I work hard), so I have been working on that as I read along in "Thinking Body, Dancing Mind." To tell the truth, I’ve been working on it since my first encounter with the Taoist philosophy-athletics combination when I picked up "Running Within" last summer.

So I need a lot of work. Hey, Rome wasn’t built in a day.

And since it’s clearly taking me a while to understand it all, perhaps you can benefit from the pounding on my head these books have done:

&Mac183; From "Running Within": "Rather than accept these preconceptions [I can’t, no way, you’re too old, too slow, too fat, etc.], you can dream about becoming a good runner and ask yourself, Why not? With that question as a modus operandi for your training program, you will begin to experience incredible breakthroughs into territories that you once feared. Your beliefs about what is now possible will become quite expansive."

&Mac183; From "Working Out, Working Within": "Then there are the ‘limitless limits,’ those that we think or imagine to be limits yet, with the right shift in consciousness, rarely become limiting factors. Most limitations fall into this category. It has been said that the average human being uses a mere 15 percent of his or her physical and mental potential. We constantly underestimate our capabilities."

&Mac183; Finally, from "Thinking Body, Dancing Mind," this glorious affirmation: "I imagine an unlimited self."

These ladders were 50-100-150-200, four times, descending on the even sets so the fourth would be fastest. When I got to the second set—bam!—there was Emeril, clanging around like a bell in my head. I heard his voice, I swear to you: "Let’s kick it up a notch!" And then: "Notches unknown to mankind!"

After my head stopped spinning, I descended right through the second set, laughing underwater at Emeril’s little phrase and the fact that my brain, in its infinite goofiness, had tucked that idea away and revealed it to me only through a haze of chlorine.

I mean, come on: What does it really mean, notches unknown to mankind? It means you ain’t seen nothing yet, baby. Doesn’t it?

And isn’t that true of you? If you could overcome the negative self-talk (or, worse, the disbelieving relatives and friends) that keep you from truly going for it, don’t you think you could really do something? And why not, if your answer is no? Why not?

I ask you. Now you tell yourself the answer.

So I was thinking that I would aim for 3:30 on that first 200. The interior monologue went something like this: Visualize the time on your watch. Think effortless. Glide through the water, don’t fight it. And: You love ladders. They make you strong. (Well, that last bit is true, even if I haven’t quite sold myself on the concept of loving them.)

I hit the wall, look at my watch: 3:28. Well, damn. Now I have to set my sights even higher because the fourth set needs to be faster. OK, I think, 3:25 sounds reasonable. (Interior monologue, "Ha. Ha." Try to stifle myself.)

The workout continues and soon there I am, facing the last 200 of the day. I am really in a groove now. I’m concentrating on gliding, on effortless swimming. Telling myself I love ladders. OK, I do. Not. But I love what they do. OK, a compromise. Like I said, Rome wasn’t built in a day.

When was the last time I swam under 3:30 in practice? Been a while, I think. And 3:25? That’s comical. But there’s Emeril again: "Notches unknown to mankind!"

I don’t really even remember swimming all that hard. I just let it all hang out.

Hit the wall, look at my watch. Damn, I must’ve missed a lap. Is that a 2? No, that’s a 3. Then what are those numbers after the three? Those are wrong numbers. That says 3:19. Good God, 3:19. I laughed and laughed and laughed.

Now I tell you this story in the hopes that you will see, through my rather mediocre achievements, that there’s a lot to be said for working on your mind. What was even more frightening to me was the conversation I had with a friend later that day. I told her about the workout, and about Emeril, and this is what she said. It knocked me to the floor.

"Just think what would happen if you really let it fly on the bike and the run—if you weren’t so afraid of hurting yourself that you could just let it go like you did in that workout. Think about that."

Oh, how I hate it when she puts thoughts in my head. And I really had to think about that one, because, as usual, she was dead-on right.

There are moments in your life when, if you’re ready, someone will open a door. Switch on a light.

In my short triathlon career, I’ve had a few of those, and I hold them close to me, like gold. One was my first visit to my sports doctor. I had finally decided to seek another opinion on my gimpy hamstrings. Well, he watched me run. He said, "Faster." So I ran faster.

In his office, he delivered his verdict: Run faster. He gave me a stretching and strengthening plan, then he wrote down some paces on a piece of paper. I laughed out loud. "I have never run that fast in my life," I said. "You will," he said. "Give yourself two years."

I ignored my friends who said it was insane, shut off the part of my brain that screamed, "You’ll hurt yourself!" and took the leap of faith. I tried.

He was right. In a dark landscape, he had hit the floodlights.

What I’m trying to say here is, watch for those openings. When they come, don’t you dare hesitate. I promise you’ll know them when you see them.

Perhaps you’ve heard these words at some point: Can’t. Shouldn’t. Oh, be careful! And, shouldn’t you be (fill in the blanks) instead of this silly triathlon stuff?

It’s bogus, and you know it. For me, though, it’s still news—but maybe it’s finally starting to sink in.

How long did it take to build Rome, anyway?

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