Makes me Happy

This:


Some pretty sweet camera work in there, too!

On Keeping Your Head Up

Triathletes don't keep their heads up.

Head down.

Endurance athletes in general tend to muscle through intense pain, heads down, hearts pumping, mind focused. We go deep inside, when we're competing. We move mostly straight ahead for anywhere from 45 minutes to 17 hours, and we maintain constant intensity. For us, it's more productive to go within, to block out external stimuli. It's like meditation. And the people who win are those who are most capable of blocking out everything that's going on and dealing with the present pain.

Head down.

Rugby players can't do that. We have to be aware, hyper-alert of our surroundings. With your head down, you can't see your teammates in support. You can't see the gaps opening up in a stretched defense. You can't see the overload that leads to the breakaway down the touchline. And you can't see the defender gunning for you.

Head down.

It's a transition, for sure, going from an internally-focused sport to one in which you have to be aware of your surroundings. I've gotta learn to keep my head up, though, or else . . .

Smack!

Excellent rugby players? Heads up. Fully aware. That's my goal.

Okay, so obviously we don't always have our heads down . . .
Cyclists especially have to be aware of their surroundings. We definitely
develop tunnel vision in competition, though, especially on solo
efforts, when the pain gets really intense.

On Excellence

Amateurs train until they get it right. Professionals train until they cannot get it wrong.

Bruce Lee -- the epitome of that professionalism (even in polyester pants)

On Timing

Sometimes I wish that I had been exposed to rugby earlier. It would have been great to get involved with rugby when I was still in high school, looking for an alternative to volleyball and cross country (I was too lazy to run, and truly, truly awful at volleyball) once the other football players outgrew me. There was a rugby team at USC, and I catch myself thinking that I should have paid more attention while they were practicing, and I was running at the track.

Jamie from freshman year at USC. Extra large.

Then I think back to what I was like in high school and college. I wasn't athletic. I didn't understand what it was like to pursue excellence in sports (although I did have a very high academic standard for myself). I was overweight by a good 20 lbs.

And I think that if I had started rugby earlier, I wouldn't have had the time to develop into the person I am today. I wouldn't have gotten into triathlon, because I would have perceived rugby as less physical work (it's not), and I hadn't yet realized the joy of pushing myself out of my own comfort zone. I wouldn't have developed such a fierce competitive spirit; that came from winning in triathlons. And I would probably still be a good 20 lbs. overweight, pounds that were shed by focusing on triathlons, then yoga.

Lean Jamie!

I'm happy, then, that this sport came into my life at the right time. Still, I imagine what it would have been like to play for USC, or in a U23 game, and I wish I could have experienced it.

On Habit

Wicliffe on the ground, Heighway rucking over.

I'm not saying that habits are bad.

There are plenty of habits that contribute to excellence. Consistent training. Eating well. Proper recovery. Good hygiene. You're not going to find excellence without those habits.

Even during a game, where the situation is changing constantly, habits sometimes help. Like making a habit of always keeping your legs driving, or of making your first defensive steps forward, or of being aware and checking for support.

Then there are habits that cause critical errors in a game situation.

I've been watching the 2010 Women's Rugby World Cup. It's helped me to learn the rules and method of play, and it's really enjoyable homework. I was watching the France v. New Zealand game. About 6 minutes in, New Zealand's inside center (Wicliffe) finds a big gap and takes it up to within 10 meters of the try line. She tries to get off a pop pass, but then takes it to ground. Victoria Heighway, a lock, is the first one there. And she moves to secure the ball by rucking over the other player. But there are three French women there, and they push her back. Maybe a second later, four or five more New Zealand players arrive. But by then, France has already poached the ball.

I think she should have picked up the ball and ran with it. But starting a ruck is exactly what I would have done.

Why? Because I would be in the habit of rucking. Heighway's a lock. She's used to defending the ball, not picking it up and running with it. But if she had picked it up and taken it to ground, even if she'd been driven away from the gain line, her supporting teammates would have had time to arrive, and the ball wouldn't have been turned over.

This got me thinking about habit. A lot of the learning, in the early phases of trying a new sport, goes to knowing what to do in each situation; it's about getting into certain habits. Placing the ball well, that's a habit you need to get down. Going into a tackle with your hips square. Carrying the ball so it's not stripped. Releasing immediately. Getting onto your feet as quickly as possible. We're taught what to do in each situation, and told, "If this happens, do this." You've got to do that; that's how you learn the game.

But once you've got the game down, you need to be able to evaluate each situation individually. You're one on three, and your support hasn't arrived yet. Maybe this is the one time you pick up the ball and run with it, rather than rucking.

Getting the habits of the game down makes you a good player. Just like giving the correct response to a rote question in school makes you a good student. But excellence, whether on the field or in the classroom, takes critical thinking.

Sometimes, you need to get out of the habit.

On Experience

When you grow up too smart for your own good, you learn a few things.

The first is that most people (especially those in authority) don't like to be made to feel stupid. So don't be a know-it-all.

Every now and then, you will find someone who doesn't mind feeling less inferior to your intellect. Don't be a know-it-all around that person, especially.

Ask lots of questions, even if you already know the answer.

Don't pretend to know the answer to a question (even a dumb question) so you look smarter than you are.

And you learn about experience. It's important. And you can't fake it. No matter how many books you read, how many videos you watch, how smart you are, or how capable you are of figuring new things out, there is no substitute for experience.

I'm only two months old, in rugby years. I may understand the laws better than most of the people I play with, and I may have superior athletic abilities. But when it comes to decision making in a game setting, the more experienced player has the upper hand on me. Doesn't matter if I'm faster, smarter, and have a better understanding of the rules. That other girl is going to beat me, because she has experience, and I don't.

That drives me nuts! There's just no substitute for being around the sport for a long time.

So although this blog will recount my rugby escapades, and I'll share a lot of information, keep in mind that my analysis is not coming through the eyes of experience. My theories may be sound, in the end, you'll probably be better off listening to a seasoned coach, even if he's not that bright.

Practice: 5/3/2012

This wasn't a practice so much as a workout, but whatever.

I've been following the Eagle365 training protocol, mostly to have a set program. As a personal trainer, I know first-hand how valuable it is to have someone tell you exactly what to do. Could I write my own training program? Sure. And it would probably be more effective than that provided by the Eagles' coaches, because it addresses my specific needs. But that takes work, a lot of effort on my part, and it's my job; I don't want to do it in my free time. Besides, when I write my own training plan, I'm always second-guessing myself. Not because I don't think my training plan is good, but because I'm always looking to improve it. When I change my workouts every couple weeks, it cuts into my consistency, which cuts into my results. I could write a better workout for myself than what I'm using, but it might not work as well. So I'm doing whatever Eagle365 tells me.

So my training plan looks something like this:

Monday: Cardio + weights (push/pull/legs/core)
Tuesday: Sprints + corrective exercises (I assigned these to myself), rugby practice
Wednesday: Cardio + weights (push/pull/legs/core)
Thursday: Sprints + corrective exercises
Friday: Weights, drills and skills (agility, ball handling, set pieces, and so on)
Saturday: Game/race
Sunday: Rest

Today was intervals day, and the recommended protocol is 4 x [5 x 15" 90-95% effort w/ 45" rest] w/ 3:00 min. rest b/w sets. Last week, I did my intervals on a treadmill (incline @ 8.0%, speed at 10.6 MPH), with one set on the rowing machine (hard to get my heart rate up high enough, and the hip extension gives me SI joint/piriformis pain). It didn't feel difficult enough, though. Today, I went outside to run sprints on grass. That's the most specific to the sport (at least in the backfield), and the most applicable conditioning for the work I want to perform.

I warmed up with a barefoot jog. The grass on the Bishop Carrol practice fields is lush and thick. Felt so good on my bare feet! I used Interval Timer (the ad-supported version) to keep track of my times. It plays a sound at the end of each period, so you know when to start and stop without having to look at your watch. Now that I think of it, though, a watch would probably be easier.

5 x 15 seconds does not sound very hard. That's only 1:15 of total work. That's minuscule in comparison to the rest of my day! But when you're in the middle of a set, 15 seconds is interminable. I did fine on the first set, felt a little nausea on the second, and really felt like puking after the third. I took an extra long break after the third set, waiting for my heart rate to get back to 115-120 BPM. I couldn't make myself do the fourth set. I decided that I would scrap it; I wasn't going to get anything out of it. It'd just be junk miles (or junk meters, in this case).

I regret skipping the last set. When confronted with that kind of pain, the real question is how badly you want to be excellent. If you really, really want to be excellent, you push through that pain. You go ahead and throw up. Sometimes the pushing through is the benefit you garner from the workout; that mental endurance is more valuable than an improved VO2 max, or better running economy.

I should have pushed through. I think I'll make up for it by doing that last set tomorrow, as hard as possible, to drain my legs of glycogen so I can load my muscles with carbohydrates for the match on Saturday. And maybe next week I'll be able to do all 4 sets.

On Being an Expert

This is not what I look like. Besides the facial expression that says, "What the heck are you doing?" that is.
©2008-2012 by dropoflight

As we've already established, I don't do things halfway.

I throw myself 100% into whatever it is that I'm currently into. And, since I'm a natural-born teacher, I also have this almost irresistible compulsion to become an expert on that thing.

And this has been a habit I've noticed at the very least since college (I can't think of any examples from before that). When I took my first college English class and fell in love with Paradise Lost, I stopped pursuing a music degree and switched to English and Classics. It was important to me that I be able not only to read and appreciate Milton, but that I understand the work deeply (like on a "I can read the Aeneid in the original Latin" level) so that I could better communicate to others why it was so great.

When I started doing triathlons, I read voraciously. I read everything I could get my hands on about swimming, biking, running, and how to put it all together. In the beginning, I did so to better coach myself. But as I read more and more, it seemed insane to keep the knowledge to myself. So I started a blog about triathlon, and used it to disseminate my new-found knowledge. Eventually, I became a trainer and coach, with an emphasis on endurance sports. Because that's where my expertise was.

Now, I have a new thing. And it's called rugby.

I find myself watching rugby anytime I can. Women's World Cup footage. Six Nations matches. Super Rugby. The more I watch, the better I understand the game, and the more I can see what makes a team great or mediocre.

I've got a notebook full of training ideas. They began as ideas on how I could train to be a great scrum half, but they've involved into full-on coaching. I want to develop a system for how to train elite athletes in a team sport. My co-workers joke about my zeal. Two months playing a new sport, and already I'm trying to understand the ins and outs of how to coach it!

But what can I say? This is how I approach all my interests. I want to be the best (or at least better than everyone around me) at what I'm doing. And if I'm going to be the best, that puts me in a prime position to teach others how to be better.

On Commitment

Training log, before and after

I do tend to go overboard.

When I first start something like rugby--that I really enjoy, that I think is awesome, that inspires me--I go all in. I spend hours reading about it. I spend hours watching it. I spend hours planning my own way to get involved. And then I spend hours doing it. In this case, I've worked for the past four weeks, figuring out what the best training approach will be. I relied heavily on the advice of Eagle365.net, a resource for aspiring female elite rugby players. I don't agree with all of the advice on there, but I'll talk about that some other time. And in the meantime, it saves me from considering and re-considering ad nauseum the best training plan for me. When you're a trainer and coach, sometimes you have a little too much knowledge for your own good. Sometimes you just need someone to tell you what to do (even if you disagree with some of it).

Anyway. I've spent a lot of hours on rugby. And I intend to spend more. It's entirely possible that I may burn myself out on rugby (like I did on triathlon and cycling). Then there will be another sport. Until then, I'm into rugby 100%.

On Being the Best

My proudest podium. Third in my age group, but twelfth overall. My goal, though, was to be in the top ten.

My brother knows me pretty well. I don't do things halfway. When I find something that I like and want to be good at, I really like it, and I really want to be good at it. As in, the best. As in, better than everyone else around me. As in, better than you.

I am (at least for a while) fully committed to that goal. It was the same with cycling, and before that, triathlon. It was (is) the same with personal training. For that matter, it was the same with poetry, academic writing, playing the guitar, playing the piano, even all-around intelligence . . . all through school, I was highly competitive, even though I never really got into sports. I competed at things like having the best score on any given AP Biology test (I set the curve on all of them, by the way) and being the go-to person for help on Geometry homework. I may have been the last chosen for pick-up basketball games, but I was always the first choice for a National History Day partner. And it drove me nuts when anyone in my high school show choir could out-sing or out-play (on the piano) me.

I've tempered my competitiveness in life a great deal, due in large part to my participation in sports (which is still relatively new to me). I no longer derive my self worth from whether or not I had the best sales numbers in a month (which is good, 'cause I never have). But on the race course, in a yoga class, on the pitch? You better believe that I'm gunning for you. Because I am going to be the best one doing this sport thing. And if you're better than me now? Just wait until next season.

My New Thing

This conversation occurred at a Verizon storefront, while we were waiting to have data switched over on our phones.

My Little Bro: "So, is rugby gonna be like your new thing now?"
Me: "What do you mean?"
MLB: "Like, are you going to be obsessed with that now? Is it going to be your new thing?"
Me: "Yes. Yes it is."

Q & A

Go ahead. Ask me a question. I'll research it, and answer it, and post about it. So c'mon. What do you want to know?

Leave me a comment or send me an e-mail if you have a question you'd like me to answer.

Excellence: The Theory

See? Bowl cut.

I was born in the 80's, but I'm really a product of the 1990's. Saved by the Bell and Full House were my bread and butter, growing up. I somehow acquired the practice of wearing baggy, cut-off, denim shorts (stolen from my dad's closet) and a huge Chicago Bulls T-shirt. I had a bowl cut. And my tween years fell just after "radical" fell out of common parlance, but before "cool" became the word of the culture. I grew up saying "Excellent!" to anything my tweenage brain found worthwhile. (Yes, I also said "Psych!" and "Duh.")

Fifteen years later, I've changed my perspective on what constitutes excellence. For example, Full House and Saved by the Bell? Not excellent. Pretty mediocre, actually. No longer can I apply the word "excellent" to anything that I find pleasing. In order for something to be excellent, it needs to be extremely good. Outstanding. It needs to be first-rate.

That's how I feel about rugby, and that's what this blog is about. You and I may never represent our respective nations in a World Cup, but that doesn't mean we can't be excellent ruggers. If you can make every pass, every kick, every scrum, every hit a little bit better than the last one you performed; if you can take feedback from your coaches and teammates (whether it's constructive or not) and incorporate into your next effort; if you can observe the results of each action you take on the field, and use those results to make your next action even more effective . . .

Then you will become excellent.