Your master is not you.

Carl Jung argued against Nietzsche’s ‘overman’ philosophy, especially the idea that once God is dead to mankind there would be a great leap of enlightenment resulting in the creation of one’s own value structure. Jung believed that no man can create his own value system. Value creation is external, and the external value system directly impacts an individual’s motivation. We can’t merely tell ourselves to sustain a way of life. We are not our own slave. There are always outside forces pushing us. Motivating us. Scaring us. Shaming us. Robbing us. Complimenting us. Paying us. Preying us. Liking us. Working out is the greatest case study in Jung philosophy. 

New Year’s work out resolutions fail to launch in part because people believe self-affirmations and sheer willpower can fend off the opposition forces of years upon years of unhealthy behaviors and sloven ways. Yours truly included. There is no working out for work out sake in my Maslow's hierarchy of needs. It is an end to a means. I wanted to know the exact duration, the prize size, and when can I revisit ground zero bender. I fall back into bad ways before noon on January 1st without a short term end goal. A contest or competition is my preferred carrots on the stick. The beginning of this year has both; a weight loss contest at the day job during the first quarter, and then a swim competition in late April. I don't like to lose a $25 buy-in, nor do I desire to have my gut hang over my Speedo in front of 1000 of my closest swim friends... the latter is not something anyone wants to see or should be subjected to. After my Christmas holiday debauchery the belly is a bowl full of jelly. 

Lose 20 years and call me in the morning

“It's so hard to get old without a cause.” – Forever Young, Alphaville

Aging comes upon us all in different forms and fashions. Some people feel the gradual change in the early morning as they swing their legs out of bed; listening to the creaking and popping of joints. Others might come across aging in a flash as they lay recovering in the ER from a pickup basketball game injury. For me, aging arrived 600 meters into a 1500 meter swim this past weekend. (Do they make waterproof adult diapers in Speedo cut?)

My youthful mind must have been lost in pipedreams of going a best time with this 40-something aging shell. I should not complain, this recent 1500 meter swim (aka The Mile) ranked third fastest since I began swimming it in 2009. My 18:22 is way above my goal time of sub 17:30. The simple math of needing to shave off :03 seconds on each 100 split next time nearly crushed my resolve to continue swimming the race. Why did the pain come so early in the race? Where had the seven months of solid training gone? Has swimming and I fallen out of love? And, why am I talking to myself at the counter of a Chick-Fil-A? Priorities!... Order first, then mental melt down.

Thankfully in swimming there is always another race to attempt redemption from a bad swim. The 400 meter became the unlikely savior of my meet. In years past this swim has caused me fits. Middle distance combines the strategy of long distance with the backend speed of a sprint race. In previous years I would try to hold a faster pace to stay with the field, instead of swimming my race. Inevitably all my 400s end with me crashing and burning three-quarters through the race. The ghost of 400s past crept through my mind as I sat waiting for my heat of this 400. Then a lightbulb went off… I overheard a training partner tell another teammate his 400 strategy. “I am not going to kick in the beginning.” BINGO! I don’t use my legs in practice, so I shouldn't use them in a race. Why would my legs come to the meet if I’ve neglected them all year? Hell, I didn’t even send them an invite.  

I swam 300 meters with no kick. Then on the last 100 meters I unleashed the legs. Like pissed off hounds of hell my legs took out years of neglect on the end of that race. I blew past the swimmers pacing next to me, and made a solid run for the younger racers ahead of me. I split 1:05 on the last 100. (The first 100 split was 1:08.) I negative split the 400! We got it all wrong. The butler is innocent! It was my legs who killed the mile swim… I have cracked my aging code. Don’t kick until the end is near. Save the legs in workouts and in swim meets. If there was a World Record for the fastest torso in the water I’d be the greatest of the great in the 40-44 year old male age group.  

Here is to another 20 years of swimming, aging, and finding work arounds to keep this flesh ship afloat.