Destination abhors ambiguity

Try something the next time you participate in a repetitive fitness activity; pushups, lap swimming, running, burpees, etc. Instead of doing a set number per round, give yourself a time. “One minute of pushups.” Or “Run for an hour.” I ain’t no gambling man, but I’ll take odds you would rather do double the amount of reps if you were told to repeat until the clock says stop. I will go a little meatier with my bet, and postulate that most people actually do less reps in the timed sets. Because if form issues are not in play, the output will always be greater for defined number of reps. Speed is on our side when counting down reps. One closer to finishing. While timed sets trigger the brain’s conservation mode.

I shudder at the thought of time being the destination. It is worse than watching paint dry. It won’t dry if you’re watching it!

Jaron occasionally slips in timed sets of pushups, burpees, prison squats, or a myriad of other core basic exercises. Inevitably I gravitate to an exact number of reps I will do; no more no less. The clock becomes white noise. Time is meant for rest intervals and race paces. It has no business being a destination.

The mind of a repetitive athlete likes to know what it is latching on to. Without the cadence of a defined diminishing number the inner wimp wins. Less intensity, longer delays between reps, and stopping short, to name a few. I rely on reps during my swim sets -- I will use mental mile makers to help me sustain the pain... Three-quarters of the way through the set. Half way through. “I have fewer to go than I have done so far.” But if time is dictating the set, a cruel uninterested lord complex comes over the clock. Once an amoral tool quickly turns on me. Time is slave to no one, yet it mocks ruthlessly when given control of the destination. Tick-tock, tick-tock.