Who Am I to Judge?

But we all do it.  `Judge,' that is.  We decide (explicitly or implicitly) what is `worthy.' 

Joe Friel's latest (9/27/13) blog post (Aging: An Excuse) approaches from a physiological, data driven, perspective something that I've been saying for years: Many of us use getting older to justify laziness. 

Now THAT is a `judgmental' statement. 

I didn't choose my profession: psychology.  Focusing on what is going on in the minds of other people is not something I choose to do.  I can't NOT do it.  It's like water seeking the lowest point.  You don't see water hesitate to flow once it is free to do so.  It's an implacable law of nature.  I call this invasion into people's motivation and mind my `talent.'  Because I certainly didn't choose to `learn' it.  I have no choice.  My `head' just goes there.

I have deployed my `invasion' force toward my own behavior.  And it has been a godsend for me.  I'm impatient with most people (unless I'm paid not to be).  I `reverse engineer' from their accomplishments, deficiencies, etc, what it took to `get there.' 

The other day somebody said "Oh, I'm too old to learn about that (a minor computer thing)."  I exploded with frustration: "Well, hell.  Why don't you just dig a hole and bury yourself right now!" 

Many of my contemporaries whine (different from complaining: 2013  ; 2010 ).  They have worked hard to be out of shape, fearful of the morning, avoidant of challenge, essentially numb to themselves and the world from head to toe.  I call it `passive suicide.'  Waiting to die.  It takes real effort to stay bored and afraid all day long. 

So, again, what the frig does this have to do with `Training?!'

First, I used running and cycling to wear myself out so that I didn't have to sit in a chair shaking and trembling with `existential' fear and tension.

Then I worked insane hours in an effort to distract myself from deciding what was worth it.  "I can't leave Chicago and wander from this to that because a) I'd be irresponsible, b) I'd not be productive, c) I'd be just like (pick a name)."  

Sex and ego were the penultimate distraction, causing me to be dead from the neck up for decades. 

When my body started to `lose' shape ("Check your pockets. Did you `lose' it there?") I got frightened.  When folks didn't know I was a `doctor' I felt an urgency to set them straight about my top-dog status.  When I passed a mirror and saw my father I began to lose hope that I was `different.'

Training is an anvil and I use my body as the hammer.  The outcome is `performance.' 

These days the battleground is between the conscious knowledge of the difference between `riding the bike for long hours and distances' and `a structured plan of training that includes intervals, tempo, rest and goals.' 

I resist the hard stuff because a) it's physically uncomfortable (if not actually painful), b) I `predict' poor performance and how I judge myself for it (thereby energetically engaging in the self-fulfilling cycle), c) it requires me to set priorities.

Priorities.  When I'm tired from training I decide not to do things with my wife that she would enjoy.  I don't like to disappoint my wife.  So I train less.  I exaggerate her disappointment and don't place a demand on her to be responsible for making a fulfilling life without my being there all the time.  (Of course, THAT is a bullshit pretext to avoid the consequences of 'resisting the hard stuff.')

Priorities.  Being neat and clean, being completely on top of finances, getting all obsessed with house maintenance, appearance, etc.  It's `good' to have these things in my life.  But the extra 80% effort I make to get that last 20% of perfection is just plain mental illness.  It's nuts.  I'm trying to push the river back upstream. 

Training to fulfill the potential I have can be accomplished without abusing or neglecting other domains in my life.  In other words, manufacturing in my mind `catastrophic' consequences is a conscious decision I make.  Even if it has emotional and psychological origin. 

Who am I to judge?  Well, me.  I AM the judge!