A Peek Inside (Part 6)
Hello readers,
This peek inside post will be a bit different than the last few and deal more with how I approach coaching or a specific topic in coaching rather than a general overview. I have the two topics that I want to cover in mind, but I'm not sure how I want to go about them, especially the one tomorrow. One of the reasons I like a lot of space on my computer desktop, and in general is because I like to expand when I'm working or thinking. I'm a visual learner and a learner by doing, and if you've ever watched me work through a problem, then you understand this. I tend to draw with my hands, and act as though I'm physically moving objects that don't exist. It's a way to organize thoughts, and yet, often I don't use this process when I'm coming up or writing my blog posts. Ideally I would, but I also find this limiting. My blogs are both professional - you're not going to find me offering up personal opinions on politics or other subjects - but are also geared to sound like me. If you've been around me as I work through training plans, or boat lineups, then you'll understand this.
So let's get into it.
Selfcare: The Early Years (2004-2008)
I began coaching in 2004, right after graduating college. You may recall that I talked about having job offers before leaving with two collegiate programs, a varsity program, and a new club program, and decided to turn them down and pursue other opportunities which led me to San Francisco.
I loved the adventure of San Francisco. While I'd driven through the city, and had some fun adventures during spring break training in college - seriously, why were we allowed to do what we did - I'd never truly visited the city or spent much time in it. So moving there was a massive step.
Being San Francisco, rent was expensive, but I was fortunate in a few ways. First, the parentboard, at the time a truly awesome bunch of individuals, set out to find me housing and did. A friend of a family had bought a house that had been split into two two-bedroom/one bathroom apartments and they wanted to fill one of the rooms. Second, I landed a job after a very brief stint at a cafe that failed, that worked with my schedule, Early mornings 5 am to noon/one o'clock, Monday through Friday with no weekend work.
For a 22 year old with low overhead - student loans hadn't kicked in - and a fair amount of money coming in each week/month, San Francisco was a great place to live. It helped that the program I worked for also hired young as well. Ted, the men's varsity coach and my boss - I was the assistant - was the old man of the group while Marsa, Cynthia and I were either right out of college, or only a year removed. My roommate was the same, as were most of the workers at the coffee shop I worked at. A typical day would see us arrive by 430 am to set up, work till noon, go grab a late breakfast/lunch at this greasy spoon across from the train station, then walk over to Market Street to shop before I would head back to my place to get ready for practice at 3.
Being young with more money than I needed meant a lot of late nights at bars. I make it sound like I was a drug dealer, but I was pulling in an extra $500-600 a month in tips alone on top of my day job, and then coaching pay. Tips alone nearly covered my rent. I'd usually leave practice, head back to my place to shower, and then either jump on the bus or carpool over to one of the districts with my roommate and his friends to bar hop before coming back home late and snatching a few hours of sleep and starting over again. Weekends were actually more lowkey than the week days for odd reasons, but my girlfriend came down from Oregon frequently enough that we'd go off and spend time in the city.
So with the backstory set up, where is this headed?
I never thought I was invincible, but I certainly felt as though work and play could mix as long as work came first. And since I was young, little sleep and self care didn't bother me.
This sort of life continued after I left San Francisco. Coaching first in Portland, then Seattle/Tacoma, then back in Portland meant that I was either in a big city with friends - Seattle - or in a familiar city with friends - Portland. It was easy to stay out late especially in Seattle when I worked and coached in Tacoma. I would stay late hanging out with friends, then drive back to Seattle later at night. I don't recall if I ever put much food in the fridge of the apartment I shared.
The Middle years (2009 - 2011)
As you can see, the first years of my coaching career, most of my coaching career, staying up late, getting up early, burning both ends of the candle didn't impact me. Or if it did, I'd push through it.
On one hand, this was good. The results were coming in, I was having a great time thinking that I'd found a "work/life" balance and that this sort of life would remain until I decided to hang it up.
On the other hand, I was developing a few serious problems. First, not caring for myself. My weight was slowly creeping up to where it wasn't safe, especially for someone who has naturally high blood pressure. Second, the lack of sleep meant that the lack of self care was hitting harder than just working hard normally would. Third, I began to develop this mentality that if I weren't up late, then I wasn't doing my job effectively. The results were there, so why mess with it? I couldn't understand coaches who had "down time." I could never understand coaches who turned off their phones at a certain time of the evening. I was always on my phone, or just a call away. I wouldn't shut down my computer until two or three in the morning.
More worrisome for my friends was my consumption of alcohol. In San Francisco it wasn't uncommon for me to come home and have at least two glasses of Jack Daniels and a couple of beers, or just nurse beers as I talked with the girlfriend, and worked on data from practice or erg pieces. In Seattle, this became three or four glasses of Jack Daniels in the apartment, or going out right after practice ended in Tacoma for a few hours. I thought I was being "responsible" because if I chose to stay late in Tacoma, I'd head back to the campus and sleep on the couch in the coaching office. I could shower in the locker rooms and I'd have a spare change of clothing for work and practice the next day.
Upon returning to Portland, I drank less Jack Daniels, and instead would nurse beers again staying up late. This time I'd decided to focus less on going out and more on being a better coach. I'd done well at the collegiate level, but my process wasn't sustainable or repeatable, and I needed a wakeup call to turn coaching from a hobby to something that could become a career. Returning to Portland gave me that opportunity and I went after it hard. Even though I was only coaching competitive novice boys, I worked at it as though I were at one of the top college programs in the country. I hired a photographer to come ride along with me and take pictures - I didn't have a smartphone yet, nor a video camera - and I'd sort through them frame by frame looking at blade entry and exit. I went on launch rides and visited other coaches in other sports. I had friends on the east coast who would say goodnight to me and then good morning because I'd still be up working. I wanted to be the best coach in the PNW and felt that working late, and long would help that goal.
The slow burn (2011 - 2012)
In 2011, I returned to the collegiate level, in charge of a massive rebuilding project. The college program I took over had zero athletes returning after graduation the year before and no novices coming back. It was also my alma mater and I felt a keen sense of responsibility. The banner my boat had won in 2002 was the last men's banner hung in the erg room and now, nine years later, I wanted that to change. But my role wasn't just limited to coaching the men's program - novice and varsity - but also acting as the assistant coach to the women's team including coaching the novice women. That meant three different training programs - so I thought until I combined the novice training and used one with different metrics - and recruiting for two programs. Recruiting at a DIII school isn't easy, but I did the best I could without much experience or help.
My first year back was rough. I had to throw a senior off the men's team. In the spring, half the seniors on the women's team quit right after our varsity eight posted a 6:56 2k race and we thought we had an excellent shot at gaining an at large bid in May for the NCAAs. We built three good fours, and did well at the regional championships, and tried to make a push to take the women's boats to Dad Vails, but fell short on the calendar.
I thought that I was doing well, though I'd noticed that I'd lost some weight that spring even though I wasn't working out. I'd gotten my drinking under control by banishing it from my diet, and I felt that despite the hours being put in, I was on my way.
The crash (2012 - 2013)
I build a robust summer training program for the men's team. I had some goals that I wanted to hit in the fall including travel to Head of the Hooch in Tennessee. I set time standards that I was looking for and felt would make us competitive for that race. And I knew that with all the novice returning, plus two seniors who'd returned to the team the previous year, we stood a good chance of making a run that coming spring. I knew that we'd still be a smaller team, but I knew that we could field a good eight, a couple of good fours, and possibly a pair. I also had designs on building a Dad Vail capable four and had the guys and coxswain to do it.
The first sign that this year wasn't going to be what I wanted was when the guys returned. Our first test was a disaster and even though it was just an ice breaker, we were miles from where we were in the previous spring. I hadn't expected or wanted the guys to return hitting the same numbers, but I was hoping to be within tolerance and the closest we came was 12 seconds off total time. It was a huge setback so we scraped The Hooch and I focused on training. I also went to double practices three days a week. The second practice wasn't about pieces, but about training on the erg. Because we had to go mornings, and because our river wasn't near city lights, morning were mostly getting strokes in until we could see, then a brief burst of tech and speed. Evening erg sessions did have some pieces, but nothing over 10' and mostly lower rate stuff where I could work tech.
By the time we hit winter, we were back on track for Vails. Times were solid, and I knew that if we could maintain over winter, we'd be set. I built a rather ambitious winter training schedule that looking back now would be too much for a D1. But I gave the team options, we had multiple meetings and talked about the season goals.
108 days later after the mandatory DIII break, we hit our first week of spring with tests. And the floor fell through. All but one of the guys had taken the entire winter training off. All but one of the guys were not only slower than they were ending fall training, but were slower than they were at the beginning of fall. They'd also gained significant amounts of weight. Holiday eating, drinking, and consuming the same number of calories without the working out portion had nearly every guy 10+ pounds heavier. We had to start all over again.
The guys were angry because they felt that I hadn't made winter training clear, and that I'd said it was optional. I pushed back on them because DIII mandates that all winter training during the break is called optional, and that it cannot be recorded or witnessed by the coach. I also pointed out the number of emails sent discussing the training, and the goals. Finally I showed the data from the one athlete who'd done the training who'd taken 10 seconds off his 2k score. The meetings were a disaster and after a varsity four lost to a women's novice four based on time, and one of the more vocal varsity guys pulled a 2k slower than three of the women, I canceled the season.
At this point, I was losing in mentally and physically. Monday through Friday began at 345 am so I was on the road by 4/410 to arrive at the gym or boathouse by no later than 5 am to set up. Monday, Wednesday and Friday had me getting home around 10 pm and I'd stay up till midnight looking at practice data or film. This became an obsession after that first spring test, and there were some nights I got an hour of sleep or just showered and headed back in. I was still helping with the women's team, which meant I had less time to handle the men's program. I stopped stepping on the scale when I saw I'd lost over 20 lbs that spring. A diet of almonds and green tea for breakfast, a peanut butter sandwich for lunch, yogurt as a snack, and then cereal for dinner does that.
The final straw came when I couldn't recall how to run a specific pause drill. I sat in the launch unable to recall what the purpose of the drill was other than I wanted it done.
The Break (2013 - 2014)
That is a lot of back story. I left coaching at the end of 2013. I was completely burned out. I didn't know if I wanted to coach any longer. Since college, I'd always had a love/hate relationship with rowing. I loved the sport, but I hated the time that it took. I hated missing the social events in college, especially after pledging my fraternity. I felt that rowing took more than it gave back. The longer I coached, the more I felt that. Rowing was always taking, but never giving.
I spent the summer of 2013 in Alaska with my brother, away from rowing. I'd check the rowing boards and jobs, but I didn't apply. That fall was the first time I'd not coached in years and while I did miss it some, I also enjoyed life. I spent more time with friends who were happier to see me not stressed out, and eating. I was actually fun to be around.
The Return (2014 - 2015)
I applied for grad school spring 2014, and was accepted in the first coaching cohort of the IAL program at the University of Washington. It was a grad program that I'd had my eyes on since 2007, and the coaching specific courses they were now offering - they divided the program between administration tracks and coaching tracks - along with a year long internship with a program was what pushed me to apply. I landed an internship at OSU after another program promised me one then pulled out - the less said about that particular coach the better - and being offered two at UW and Seattle U.
OSU was my first taste of the big leagues, and I was determined to put some lessons to work for me. Since the 2014-2015 season, coaching has evolved into what it probably should have been. My stress levels are usually in the healthy range, though results can spike them, and I've taken up working out and eating a bit better.
Here Endeth the Lesson (2015 - onward)
I've come a long way since 2004, as you can see by the previous Peek Inside post. I workout, and I've discovered that I hate working out, but I love how I feel when I'm done. Which is why I usually opt to workout at a gym. I feel that it holds me accountable for my actions and for how I look.
Drinking still exists, but in serious moderation. I have three cases of excellent cider from my favorite place in Corvallis, but I'm only halfway through the first case. I do have excellent bourbons, but it's taken me quite a while to get through a bottle. Now alcohol is something social and fun, not a party as it was between 2004 and 2008, and not a crutch as it was from 2011 to 2013.
I am still working on the sleeping part. I still stay up too late, get up too early. Despite my best efforts, I can tell that Father Time is slowly catching up. But working out and eating better, and actually eating - as my best friend loves to point out - has helped significantly.
Like I said, I never thought of myself as invincible, but I suppose in a way I lived my coaching life as though I were. I'm thankful that I never got into the drug habit to help me get through, or just in general, and that alcohol was my only real issue to kick.
I can tell you that those years weren't always fun to go through. 2004-2008 was a great year, and 2009-2011 was an exceptionally fun stretch. We won a lot of races and championships during that time. As tough as 2012-2013 was, I wouldn't trade that. That year, and the lessons I learned about myself and about coaching paid off in 2017-2018 when I decided that I needed to leave a program because it was what was best for me. And summer 2018 landed me at my current program, a program I absolutely love.
I wouldn't have gotten here without that path, and without those lessons. Do I miss the nights out in San Francisco and Seattle? Yes, absolutely. I miss being that young again with a couple of good coaching friends. But I also note that many of those memories include or revolve around alcohol. That many of those memories are also tied to rough mornings of work, and generally feeling gross. So I do miss being that young and feeling that young, and living in one of the greatest cities to be that young in. But I don't want to go back and trade places with 22 year old me. I wouldn't stop 22 year old me from embarking on the journey he was about to, although I may push him to pony up and talk to the blonde woman at the coffee shop, or ask the women's assistant coach out for dinner.
The things I've learned on this fun, rough, sometimes emotionally wrecked, roller coaster of a career are good lessons going forward. Self care is a good thing. Caring for yourself - something I see differently than self care - is a good thing. If you're not going to do it, no one else will, and eventually you're the person who has to pay the bill when it comes due.
This peek inside post will be a bit different than the last few and deal more with how I approach coaching or a specific topic in coaching rather than a general overview. I have the two topics that I want to cover in mind, but I'm not sure how I want to go about them, especially the one tomorrow. One of the reasons I like a lot of space on my computer desktop, and in general is because I like to expand when I'm working or thinking. I'm a visual learner and a learner by doing, and if you've ever watched me work through a problem, then you understand this. I tend to draw with my hands, and act as though I'm physically moving objects that don't exist. It's a way to organize thoughts, and yet, often I don't use this process when I'm coming up or writing my blog posts. Ideally I would, but I also find this limiting. My blogs are both professional - you're not going to find me offering up personal opinions on politics or other subjects - but are also geared to sound like me. If you've been around me as I work through training plans, or boat lineups, then you'll understand this.
So let's get into it.
Selfcare: The Early Years (2004-2008)
I began coaching in 2004, right after graduating college. You may recall that I talked about having job offers before leaving with two collegiate programs, a varsity program, and a new club program, and decided to turn them down and pursue other opportunities which led me to San Francisco.
I loved the adventure of San Francisco. While I'd driven through the city, and had some fun adventures during spring break training in college - seriously, why were we allowed to do what we did - I'd never truly visited the city or spent much time in it. So moving there was a massive step.
Being San Francisco, rent was expensive, but I was fortunate in a few ways. First, the parentboard, at the time a truly awesome bunch of individuals, set out to find me housing and did. A friend of a family had bought a house that had been split into two two-bedroom/one bathroom apartments and they wanted to fill one of the rooms. Second, I landed a job after a very brief stint at a cafe that failed, that worked with my schedule, Early mornings 5 am to noon/one o'clock, Monday through Friday with no weekend work.
For a 22 year old with low overhead - student loans hadn't kicked in - and a fair amount of money coming in each week/month, San Francisco was a great place to live. It helped that the program I worked for also hired young as well. Ted, the men's varsity coach and my boss - I was the assistant - was the old man of the group while Marsa, Cynthia and I were either right out of college, or only a year removed. My roommate was the same, as were most of the workers at the coffee shop I worked at. A typical day would see us arrive by 430 am to set up, work till noon, go grab a late breakfast/lunch at this greasy spoon across from the train station, then walk over to Market Street to shop before I would head back to my place to get ready for practice at 3.
Being young with more money than I needed meant a lot of late nights at bars. I make it sound like I was a drug dealer, but I was pulling in an extra $500-600 a month in tips alone on top of my day job, and then coaching pay. Tips alone nearly covered my rent. I'd usually leave practice, head back to my place to shower, and then either jump on the bus or carpool over to one of the districts with my roommate and his friends to bar hop before coming back home late and snatching a few hours of sleep and starting over again. Weekends were actually more lowkey than the week days for odd reasons, but my girlfriend came down from Oregon frequently enough that we'd go off and spend time in the city.
So with the backstory set up, where is this headed?
I never thought I was invincible, but I certainly felt as though work and play could mix as long as work came first. And since I was young, little sleep and self care didn't bother me.
This sort of life continued after I left San Francisco. Coaching first in Portland, then Seattle/Tacoma, then back in Portland meant that I was either in a big city with friends - Seattle - or in a familiar city with friends - Portland. It was easy to stay out late especially in Seattle when I worked and coached in Tacoma. I would stay late hanging out with friends, then drive back to Seattle later at night. I don't recall if I ever put much food in the fridge of the apartment I shared.
The Middle years (2009 - 2011)
As you can see, the first years of my coaching career, most of my coaching career, staying up late, getting up early, burning both ends of the candle didn't impact me. Or if it did, I'd push through it.
On one hand, this was good. The results were coming in, I was having a great time thinking that I'd found a "work/life" balance and that this sort of life would remain until I decided to hang it up.
On the other hand, I was developing a few serious problems. First, not caring for myself. My weight was slowly creeping up to where it wasn't safe, especially for someone who has naturally high blood pressure. Second, the lack of sleep meant that the lack of self care was hitting harder than just working hard normally would. Third, I began to develop this mentality that if I weren't up late, then I wasn't doing my job effectively. The results were there, so why mess with it? I couldn't understand coaches who had "down time." I could never understand coaches who turned off their phones at a certain time of the evening. I was always on my phone, or just a call away. I wouldn't shut down my computer until two or three in the morning.
More worrisome for my friends was my consumption of alcohol. In San Francisco it wasn't uncommon for me to come home and have at least two glasses of Jack Daniels and a couple of beers, or just nurse beers as I talked with the girlfriend, and worked on data from practice or erg pieces. In Seattle, this became three or four glasses of Jack Daniels in the apartment, or going out right after practice ended in Tacoma for a few hours. I thought I was being "responsible" because if I chose to stay late in Tacoma, I'd head back to the campus and sleep on the couch in the coaching office. I could shower in the locker rooms and I'd have a spare change of clothing for work and practice the next day.
Upon returning to Portland, I drank less Jack Daniels, and instead would nurse beers again staying up late. This time I'd decided to focus less on going out and more on being a better coach. I'd done well at the collegiate level, but my process wasn't sustainable or repeatable, and I needed a wakeup call to turn coaching from a hobby to something that could become a career. Returning to Portland gave me that opportunity and I went after it hard. Even though I was only coaching competitive novice boys, I worked at it as though I were at one of the top college programs in the country. I hired a photographer to come ride along with me and take pictures - I didn't have a smartphone yet, nor a video camera - and I'd sort through them frame by frame looking at blade entry and exit. I went on launch rides and visited other coaches in other sports. I had friends on the east coast who would say goodnight to me and then good morning because I'd still be up working. I wanted to be the best coach in the PNW and felt that working late, and long would help that goal.
The slow burn (2011 - 2012)
In 2011, I returned to the collegiate level, in charge of a massive rebuilding project. The college program I took over had zero athletes returning after graduation the year before and no novices coming back. It was also my alma mater and I felt a keen sense of responsibility. The banner my boat had won in 2002 was the last men's banner hung in the erg room and now, nine years later, I wanted that to change. But my role wasn't just limited to coaching the men's program - novice and varsity - but also acting as the assistant coach to the women's team including coaching the novice women. That meant three different training programs - so I thought until I combined the novice training and used one with different metrics - and recruiting for two programs. Recruiting at a DIII school isn't easy, but I did the best I could without much experience or help.
My first year back was rough. I had to throw a senior off the men's team. In the spring, half the seniors on the women's team quit right after our varsity eight posted a 6:56 2k race and we thought we had an excellent shot at gaining an at large bid in May for the NCAAs. We built three good fours, and did well at the regional championships, and tried to make a push to take the women's boats to Dad Vails, but fell short on the calendar.
I thought that I was doing well, though I'd noticed that I'd lost some weight that spring even though I wasn't working out. I'd gotten my drinking under control by banishing it from my diet, and I felt that despite the hours being put in, I was on my way.
The crash (2012 - 2013)
I build a robust summer training program for the men's team. I had some goals that I wanted to hit in the fall including travel to Head of the Hooch in Tennessee. I set time standards that I was looking for and felt would make us competitive for that race. And I knew that with all the novice returning, plus two seniors who'd returned to the team the previous year, we stood a good chance of making a run that coming spring. I knew that we'd still be a smaller team, but I knew that we could field a good eight, a couple of good fours, and possibly a pair. I also had designs on building a Dad Vail capable four and had the guys and coxswain to do it.
The first sign that this year wasn't going to be what I wanted was when the guys returned. Our first test was a disaster and even though it was just an ice breaker, we were miles from where we were in the previous spring. I hadn't expected or wanted the guys to return hitting the same numbers, but I was hoping to be within tolerance and the closest we came was 12 seconds off total time. It was a huge setback so we scraped The Hooch and I focused on training. I also went to double practices three days a week. The second practice wasn't about pieces, but about training on the erg. Because we had to go mornings, and because our river wasn't near city lights, morning were mostly getting strokes in until we could see, then a brief burst of tech and speed. Evening erg sessions did have some pieces, but nothing over 10' and mostly lower rate stuff where I could work tech.
By the time we hit winter, we were back on track for Vails. Times were solid, and I knew that if we could maintain over winter, we'd be set. I built a rather ambitious winter training schedule that looking back now would be too much for a D1. But I gave the team options, we had multiple meetings and talked about the season goals.
108 days later after the mandatory DIII break, we hit our first week of spring with tests. And the floor fell through. All but one of the guys had taken the entire winter training off. All but one of the guys were not only slower than they were ending fall training, but were slower than they were at the beginning of fall. They'd also gained significant amounts of weight. Holiday eating, drinking, and consuming the same number of calories without the working out portion had nearly every guy 10+ pounds heavier. We had to start all over again.
The guys were angry because they felt that I hadn't made winter training clear, and that I'd said it was optional. I pushed back on them because DIII mandates that all winter training during the break is called optional, and that it cannot be recorded or witnessed by the coach. I also pointed out the number of emails sent discussing the training, and the goals. Finally I showed the data from the one athlete who'd done the training who'd taken 10 seconds off his 2k score. The meetings were a disaster and after a varsity four lost to a women's novice four based on time, and one of the more vocal varsity guys pulled a 2k slower than three of the women, I canceled the season.
At this point, I was losing in mentally and physically. Monday through Friday began at 345 am so I was on the road by 4/410 to arrive at the gym or boathouse by no later than 5 am to set up. Monday, Wednesday and Friday had me getting home around 10 pm and I'd stay up till midnight looking at practice data or film. This became an obsession after that first spring test, and there were some nights I got an hour of sleep or just showered and headed back in. I was still helping with the women's team, which meant I had less time to handle the men's program. I stopped stepping on the scale when I saw I'd lost over 20 lbs that spring. A diet of almonds and green tea for breakfast, a peanut butter sandwich for lunch, yogurt as a snack, and then cereal for dinner does that.
The final straw came when I couldn't recall how to run a specific pause drill. I sat in the launch unable to recall what the purpose of the drill was other than I wanted it done.
The Break (2013 - 2014)
That is a lot of back story. I left coaching at the end of 2013. I was completely burned out. I didn't know if I wanted to coach any longer. Since college, I'd always had a love/hate relationship with rowing. I loved the sport, but I hated the time that it took. I hated missing the social events in college, especially after pledging my fraternity. I felt that rowing took more than it gave back. The longer I coached, the more I felt that. Rowing was always taking, but never giving.
I spent the summer of 2013 in Alaska with my brother, away from rowing. I'd check the rowing boards and jobs, but I didn't apply. That fall was the first time I'd not coached in years and while I did miss it some, I also enjoyed life. I spent more time with friends who were happier to see me not stressed out, and eating. I was actually fun to be around.
The Return (2014 - 2015)
I applied for grad school spring 2014, and was accepted in the first coaching cohort of the IAL program at the University of Washington. It was a grad program that I'd had my eyes on since 2007, and the coaching specific courses they were now offering - they divided the program between administration tracks and coaching tracks - along with a year long internship with a program was what pushed me to apply. I landed an internship at OSU after another program promised me one then pulled out - the less said about that particular coach the better - and being offered two at UW and Seattle U.
OSU was my first taste of the big leagues, and I was determined to put some lessons to work for me. Since the 2014-2015 season, coaching has evolved into what it probably should have been. My stress levels are usually in the healthy range, though results can spike them, and I've taken up working out and eating a bit better.
Here Endeth the Lesson (2015 - onward)
I've come a long way since 2004, as you can see by the previous Peek Inside post. I workout, and I've discovered that I hate working out, but I love how I feel when I'm done. Which is why I usually opt to workout at a gym. I feel that it holds me accountable for my actions and for how I look.
Drinking still exists, but in serious moderation. I have three cases of excellent cider from my favorite place in Corvallis, but I'm only halfway through the first case. I do have excellent bourbons, but it's taken me quite a while to get through a bottle. Now alcohol is something social and fun, not a party as it was between 2004 and 2008, and not a crutch as it was from 2011 to 2013.
I am still working on the sleeping part. I still stay up too late, get up too early. Despite my best efforts, I can tell that Father Time is slowly catching up. But working out and eating better, and actually eating - as my best friend loves to point out - has helped significantly.
Like I said, I never thought of myself as invincible, but I suppose in a way I lived my coaching life as though I were. I'm thankful that I never got into the drug habit to help me get through, or just in general, and that alcohol was my only real issue to kick.
I can tell you that those years weren't always fun to go through. 2004-2008 was a great year, and 2009-2011 was an exceptionally fun stretch. We won a lot of races and championships during that time. As tough as 2012-2013 was, I wouldn't trade that. That year, and the lessons I learned about myself and about coaching paid off in 2017-2018 when I decided that I needed to leave a program because it was what was best for me. And summer 2018 landed me at my current program, a program I absolutely love.
I wouldn't have gotten here without that path, and without those lessons. Do I miss the nights out in San Francisco and Seattle? Yes, absolutely. I miss being that young again with a couple of good coaching friends. But I also note that many of those memories include or revolve around alcohol. That many of those memories are also tied to rough mornings of work, and generally feeling gross. So I do miss being that young and feeling that young, and living in one of the greatest cities to be that young in. But I don't want to go back and trade places with 22 year old me. I wouldn't stop 22 year old me from embarking on the journey he was about to, although I may push him to pony up and talk to the blonde woman at the coffee shop, or ask the women's assistant coach out for dinner.
The things I've learned on this fun, rough, sometimes emotionally wrecked, roller coaster of a career are good lessons going forward. Self care is a good thing. Caring for yourself - something I see differently than self care - is a good thing. If you're not going to do it, no one else will, and eventually you're the person who has to pay the bill when it comes due.
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