Space and Time

Somewhere amidst all this scheduling madness, I’m supposed to fit my own training.

But we’ll save that for another post.

I returned from my Ironman Arizona coaching trip and Steph rewarded me with a lunch date. We drove along the coast and had a great car ride chat. On the way home after a leisurely and decadent meal, Steph asked me what I learned from my coaching trip.

I thought I knew the answer to that, as I had already analyzed our Good Wolf athlete’s results, put it in context, and could draw some meaningful conclusions.

But I quickly sensed that’s not what she was asking.

What did I learn about myself during my coaching trip?

After some reflection, the answer was apparent. And it was tough to admit.

The big lesson (that is candidly still a work in progress) is this: You can’t convince anyone to feel a certain way until they’re ready to do so for themselves. This is true in life, work, athletics, love…anything.

As an eternal optimist and professional communicator, this is hard to do.

An important role that a coach plays is to see both the proverbial strategic forest AND the tactical trees, practically at the same time. As a result, the coach often can see things from a unique vantage point. Especially when an athlete is immersed in the experience more directly.

Even though we may see something that an athlete doesn’t yet, projecting what you want someone to see for themselves falls somewhere between risky, wishful thinking, irresponsible and futile.

Therefore, as a coach, the best thing to do sometimes is…nothing. All one can do is prepare for the pending conversation…and wait for it to develop naturally.

As a serial “fixer” this is in dire conflict to almost every instinct I have!

Just like athletes learn from race to race, so, too, do coaches.

Those insights can be equally hard to take. And just because we didn’t race 140.6 miles ourselves, doesn’t mean we’re not sore afterwards too.

Scooting and Hovering

Spectating an Ironman is almost as emotionally exhausting as participating.

Coaching for one is a roller coaster.

Doing both in person, well, I’m pretty shattered after chasing a Good Wolf all over the Ironman Arizona course today with my good friend and honorary Good Wolf, Russ.

Thank goodness for Razor scooters!

We scooted all over the Tempe run course, switching through at least four different Razors, draining full battery power on at least two. We puttered through the dirt and rocks. We raced up and down hills. We stood! We sat. It was a thrill!

As an athlete, you can’t control the weather, who shows up to race against you, mechanical issues, even nutritional issues to a certain extent.

As a coach, you can’t control any of that either, AND you can’t participate in the race, outside of some scooter magic.

So there’s really no control whatsoever. As I wrote yesterday, you have to “let it go.”

But is that really possible? I mean…really? If you truly care about the athletes you coach?

I wonder if I could coach without being a parent in that regard. My experience watching my children grow up helps me get out of my own way sometimes, which in turn helps me coach and at least try to get out of my athletes’ way.

I couldn’t help but think though, getting back to the Razor scooters and all the chasing around on the course.

Is chasing on a Razor any different than hovering like a helicopter parent? Am I being a devoted coach, or just a nervous nelly?

Am I helping, or am I hurting?

I don’t know. This is my way though. I feel fully invested in my Good Wolf pack of athletes, and I know where the dark moments hit in a race. I try to be there to help athletes through them.

Is that strategy, or is that smothering?

Is it productive, or protective, or projecting?

I don’t know. I can only say what I imagine parents might say during therapy sessions sometimes. “My intent is pure.”

I guess all you can do is talk it through with the athlete in advance and ask if that’s the kind of support they would appreciate.

You can’t control the race. You can only control your approach to the race — and I suppose scooting back and forth like a madman in the desert is the closest I can get to doing just that.

Letting Go

Part of paternity leave involves not just caring for a newborn but rather spending time with our older daughter, Audra. If 4 can be considered older.

It’s been terrific bonding for us and brought us closer together the more time we invest in each other. Yesterday, that time came in the form of watching Frozen 2 together at the El Capitan Theater in Hollywood.

And when you watch Frozen, either the original or the sequel, you think about “Let it Go.” Because that’s all you hear in your car, or at home. I’m waiting for our Alexa assistant in the house to talk back to us and say, “Seriously!? Again!? NO. Just. NOOOOOOO.”

I’ve been thinking about “letting go” today as two Good Wolf athletes are set to race in respective Ironman races tomorrow. I feel like I’m at the starting line with both of them, although I will be on hand in Tempe, Arizona to watch Steve perform.

I’m just as nervous as a coach as I’d be as an athlete, but for different reasons. You can’t help but question yourself. “Would or should I have done anything different for either athlete?” “Did I prepare them truly as best I could?” “Is there anything I left out that I should remind them about at the last minute?”

No. I really believe each athlete — seasoned competitors in their own right — are race-ready.

I have to let it go. I have to trust myself, the data and most of all my instincts. I have to realize that the race is in their minds and bodies now. There’s nothing else I can do other than to track them via the Ironman app and send them positive vibes.

I hate being out of control of a situation. But that’s just where we’re at now.

I have to let that go, and trust the plan. Just like I’m an athlete.

Foundation Failure

Generally, my world flows pretty well. I can juggle multiple activities because I have a very supportive family and I’m very well regimented with my time.

But when the family is sick, everything grinds to a halt. Understandably so. Steph is sick. Audra is sick. Ayla got an immunization shot today. It’s bedlam at home. And I’m fighting whatever they have.

It’s amazing to see what happens when the foundation in our lives feels damaged. Nothing suddenly seems to make sense. I question how in the world I can get anything done.

It can be very overwhelming in the moment.

The only thing I can do seems to be breathe and focus on the next thing I do or say. I’m not always successful.

It’s similar during a race. Something happens that forces us to question the equivalent of our foundation. We have to decide what to do in that moment. Is our foundation actually damaged? Or does it merely feel that way?

If we can ascertain without emotion what’s happening, perhaps we can fix the problem. Or perhaps there’s no problem at all.

It takes a lot to really damage a foundation. It takes very little to think it’s damaged.

Support Mirror

It’s probably very apparent that I’ve become a new David Goggins fan.

For anyone who doesn’t know him, he’s got a book called “Can’t Hurt Me” that I’ve recommended every Good Wolf athlete read, especially heading into a race.

Tl;dr: Your life isn’t as hard as Goggins. You haven’t had to come back from Goggins has had to come back from. Yet he will give you the tools accomplish what feels like the impossible.

One of Goggins’ tools is what he calls an Accountability Mirror. He encourages people to post blunt messages on a mirror designed to challenge themselves to be better in whatever they’re trying to improve. The key is not to blow any sunshine or b.s. You have to be as real as possible.

I started my Accountability Mirror with “Win the Sunrise.” I chose not to call myself a sleep-in wussy.

My wife inadvertently inspired me to think of my mirror now as a Support Mirror. She’s taken to posting supportive messages on the mirror when I do wake up very early to train. Just telling me that she’s proud of me for waking up and juggling so many things in my life.

That’s so much more valuable than anything I could post on my own.

Knowing my wife supports everything I’m doing to train and improve myself is very special. And seeing those notes pile up on the mirror is much more inspiring than posting that I’m slow, old and a weather-wuss.

So, not that anybody in Goggins Nation will see this…but I propose he changes the Accountability Mirror to a Support Mirror. Invite other people to post supportive messages on your Accountability Mirror. See how it boosts your drive and performance.

Soon, there will be no room to see yourself on the mirror.

But you’ll be so strong and driven you won’t need to either.

Change Your Approach

There are times I want to strangle my daughter.

I know that’s not a popular or even prudent thing to say.

See, she just doesn’t LISTEN. Everything can be a struggle sometimes. It’s like she says “DOWN!” if I say “UP!” just for sport, and to watch me grit my teeth, growl like my dad used to, and damn near punch a hole in the wall.

Doesn’t she just realize I’m the MAN OF THE HOUSE!? What I say goes!

Right.

Well, that’s my reality, and it’s valid. Because that’s what I experienced at times growing up (which I’m NOT complaining about.)

It worked, I was scared shitless of Mitch and it kept me in line! (Who wasn’t scared shitless of Mitch back then lol!?!)

Today, there’s a host of papers and books about a new way to parent. A more inclusive method. More sensitive, with a greater sense of partnership with your child. I know this, because the books are at home, on the kitchen table. My wife implores me to read them rather than try to throw them through a window.

When am I going to learn?

When I’m ready to learn.

When banging my head against the wall becomes old…and starts to hurt.

Isn’t it that same way in triathlon training and coaching?

There’s the athlete’s way, and the coach’s way. They’re often not the same, especially at the beginning of a relationship.

It’s the coach’s job, I contend, to meet the athlete where THEY are. Not forcibly drag the athlete to the coach’s philosophy.

So, why haven’t I met Audra where she is?

Ooof.

The problem with connecting athletic coaching with the workplace with the family is when the insights from one cause profound realizations in another area.

Guess I know what my reading material is going to be for the next few weeks.

Train Through or Don't Train

The Schneider house is down for the count. My wife has a nasty cough and can’t take much of anything for it because she’s breastfeeding Ayla. Audra is sick with a nasty cough that sounds much worse than it is.

Now it’s my turn, though I’m proud it took me this long to succumb considering our game studio has been circulating a nasty cold/flu for what seems like months now.

Fortunately and most important, Ayla is NOT sick. Resilient little cutie that she is.

I tried to train through my sickness yesterday and I thought I was making progress for myself. Then, I stayed out late (see Todd Gurley debacle) and over-ate. I knew the moment I got home I probably wasn’t going to train, and I’m glad I didn’t.

Instead, I slept in for about seven hours, with one cranky baby feeding and one wife coughing uncontrollably episode.

More than 12 hours later, I know it was the right choice to take a step back and rest. Even though it’s literally just a sore throat and nothing more, I can feel my body thanking me.

We’re not at the point in the 2020 season where “training through” makes any sense at the moment Now is the time to take the extra off day to recover. That may not be the case later in the summer next year. But for now, my intent is that extra self-kindness will reap bigger rewards next year.

How are you treating yourself lately? Are you being kind to your body and your mind? How will doing so help you as you progress into the new year?

Live What You Say

Todd Gurley lied.

Yes, the Rams running back.

I attended a charity event for the Rams tonight called “Taste of the Rams.”

(Um, branding team…let’s try again on the naming?)

The event brought in top restaurants from LA to share samples for patrons along with free drinks. And selfies with Ram cheerleaders, the mascot “Rampage” and some Ram players.

Gurley was literally right in front of me meeting a vendor and chowing down. What he couldn’t see was a small child, wearing a Gurley jersey and Rams hat, with an unsigned football. I’m not sure where his parents were so I decided to jump in and help the kid out. I remember what it was like waiting, practically breathless, hoping for a chance to meet a sporting hero at Dodger Stadium. I remember the disappointment when the player wouldn’t come my way, and I remember the elation when I would score that autograph.

I tapped Gurley on the shoulder gently and said quietly, “Hey Todd, there’s a little kid right behind you who’s hoping to meet you.”

Gurley cocked his neck back in my direction and said without emotion, “I’m eating.”

Umkay, bro.

First, he was late to his own event. Maybe he could eaten on his way down.

Second, there’s literally a small child behind you, wearing YOUR jersey, hoping for an autograph. You can’t even turn to acknowledge him?

Put down the taco.

Then a few minutes later, Gurley takes the stage and gives a stirring account for the gathered crowd about how he “comes from nothing” and he really “loves to give back.”

Puh-leeeze. Yet another example of why I’ve never been a Rams fan (Eric Dickerson, Nolan Cromwell, Jack Youngblood notwithstanding.)

Live what you say.

I can’t imagine being a coach and telling an athlete or an employee one thing and then doing the complete opposite. It just shatters credibility.

Hope the taco was good, Gurley.

And for that kid I tried to help, I hope he finds a more authentic role model.

Coaching is a Relationship

Coaching is a relationship, not an activity.

Data or strategy don’t matter much if the athlete-coach bond is not in place.

Think of all the great coaches you’ve had. What made them great?

Was it the workouts? Or the manner in which those sessions' were conducted or delivered?

Was it the pre- and post-game speeches? (In the case of triathlon, the post-race/training analysis.) Or the care and passion behind the words?

Did his or her words matter more simply because they were true, or because you knew the coach was invested in your growth?

Now, think of the not-so-great coaches you’ve had. What made them forgettable, or unforgettable for the wrong reasons?

Most (if not all) of my negative associations with a few of the poorer coaches I’ve worked with are recollections of their behavior, not whether they could craft a quality coaching strategy.

I think it’s the same way in the workplace. Look around you in the office. Who are the known great leaders and managers? What makes them stand out? Conversely, who are the managers for whom nobody wants to work? Why?

Effective coaching is able to be delivered through mutual trust and respect. Not through a business schedule, training calendar or a race plan alone.

Focus Phase

I’ve been having conversations with current and prospective athletes recently about their race planning for 2020. The challenge is two-fold: 1) Which races to pick (covered in a recent blog post) and 2) What should athletes be doing in the “offseason.”

There’s the trick, right? What offseason?!

“Offseason” implies “off.” As in not training, to many. For Type-A personalities, you’re playing with fire automatically. That’s just not going to fly.

The smart folks at Endurance Nation like to use the phrase Outseason. Which, I get. I don’t think they’re wrong in focusing on bike power and run speed in the winter months. But what if you’re a weaker swimmer? Then what? You just don’t swim because it’s cold and dark?

That is very un-David Goggins! I can’t let that slide.

I’d like to think of postseason training as the Focus Phase of training. Tower 26 calls it a technique block, which also works. I like “Focus” better because it’s a call to action for the athlete. “Hey, it’s time to focus on the future.” Or focus on our limiters. Focus on our goals. Focus on technique.

I think this works very well for the kind of person who gravitates towards triathlon. Or put another way, the kind of person who gravitates towards Good Wolf Coaching. We’re all looking to constantly improve. We like to win. We like to be great at everything — it drives us mad when we aren’t.

So we focus our energy, our intent, our vision and determination on improvement. It’s a process, a journey.

Here’s one to ponder as you think about the Focus Phase.

We typically race anywhere from one to five times a year.

If there’s such a thing as an offseason, aren’t we in that phase for most of the year if we purely measure it by racing or preparing to race?!

How much pure “offseason” do we really need then?

Better to focus our training to accomplish specific goals throughout the year, I think.