Re-finding a practice

Once at a dinner party, I witness the most incredible conversational judo move. My father once when on a tare casting doubt on the merits of a local Montessori school. Instead of using facts or outlining the success of his children, the person who was the subject of the berating flipped the landscape of the argument with a simple statement, "We took the red pill." This simple statement that he and his wife had bought in left my dad in a problematic situation. He'd either have to make a direct judgment of their choice (painting him as a jackass to the rest of the room) or move on.

This story is more to outline that my dad is a consummate skeptic. Professionally, the behaviour has served him well; without a doubt, he has a mind that is ideally suited to deconstructing any issue and offering points of contention and optimization. As anyone could imagine, we weren't a house that subscribed to yoga babble. I remember a time ten minutes before the start of a track race I was proved with the advice, "What's so tough about running? All you have to do is be faster than everyone else." weather is nature or nurture, I'm do roll my eyes when workout instructors feel the obligation to provide preaching as part of there classes. Despite this, one needle in the word salad haystack has resonated with me. That is the transformation of practice from a verb to a noun.

Finished lines will be crossed, final whistles will be blown, and the match points will inevitably end with settling the outcome of a competition. The intention, in practice, is not to view the finish as an endpoint but instead, as a checkpoint to reflect on your journey and progression.

My summer's focus has been on running a marathon in the fall. With travel, events and the odd tennis match, there have been departures from my training regiment. I am my most prominent critic when I miss a workout, but this past weekend has refocused my practice, strengthened my resolve, and furthered my buy-in.

Reuniting with a group of my university friends, we undertook a triathlon. Amung us, no one had two segments they were particularly proud of, but we all finished. Further, we all put in more effort to support our friends in getting across the line. In the ambition of my peers, I was caught by a Rudyard Kipling quote.

"""

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With fourty seconds' worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

"""

I'll refrain from the continued rambling and leave you with the poem read by Sir Micheal Caine. Its crafting is timeless and far more inspiring than anyone dancing on a bike in neon spandex.