An unexpected emotion

This past weekend Samantha and I visited the Houston Symphony.  One of Samantha’s customers is a subscriber but wouldn’t be in town to use their tickets, so they offered them to us; we quickly agreed.  Walking into Jones Hall on Sunday afternoon triggered a swirl of emotions for me.  It had been quite a few years since I had graced Jones Hall with my presence.  In fact, the last time that I had been in the theater was 2006 for my final professional bassoon audition.  Needless to say, I did not win the audition, and with that, I put my career as a professional bassoonist to bed.

Sitting in the audience, I was proud to see the seats full.  The fear for any musician in this digital age is that society has passed our profession by.  At least for this particular Sunday, Houston seemed firmly entrenched in the majesty of live classical music.

During the first piece, Danzas Fantasticas, the bassoon accompanies another woodwind soloist.  The line is simple, being composed of sustained tones whose sole purpose is to support the harmonic structure in the soloist’s more complicated passage.  As the bassoon’s quiet voice sang through the hall, tears sprung to my eyes.  While I was impressed by the playing quality, I was taken aback because my emotion had nothing to do with the music being performed.

At the time, my initial reaction was firm and resolute - I miss playing my bassoon.  Soon, it evolved into something more pronounced.  My heart yearned to soar with the orchestra, desired to tangle with the complex musical lines, floating in and out of melodic material, intermittently sneaking between harmonic foundation and playful whimsy.  I wanted to play.  Not just play my horn on my own, but match up against others of the same caliber.  I was no longer interested in being a wall flower, preferring to enter the fray and take my chances.

The destructive power of the bassoon.

Being an emotionally driven decision, the reality of my own personal situation quickly supplanted the quickly fomented plans.  Could I really move to Buffalo, Jacksonville, New Orleans, Canton, or Calgary and play the bassoon (these being the only positions currently available)?  How realistic would it be to accept a position with a salary 60% below what I am currently making?  Could I really sell my house, uproot my wife, and abandon the life we had created because of a whim?

While I wish I could say I have a nice stock portfolio to sustain my lifestyle, I would be lying.  The bill collectors would soon be knocking on my door.

I have now had a few days to digest the wrangle of emotions that surprised me so much.  Unsurprisingly, they have receded to a dull ache, more akin to the sadness felt for a friend who has moved away, or for the end of a relationship you knew wasn’t right for you.  Their origin resided less in my missing playing the bassoon and more in something else.  I can play on my own through local gigs, in small ensembles, practicing, or playing with my students during lessons or band class.  My melancholy stemmed from a more fundamental desire - the strong urge to participate in creative artistry.

This is not a bassoon.

While working with my band students and private lessons, I strive more for the achievement of skills; rarely do we experience opportunities to really make music.  The opportunities we have to do so are beautiful and cherished.  Each day is a pursuit of that mastery.  My emotional reaction at the symphony was a desire to find that creative purity every day in my career.

I experience the same feeling when finishing a book I particularly love.  I have a hard time putting it down, afraid that the feelings the words generated will quickly vacate my soul as soon as I lose contact with their origin.  Usually, I jump into another novel as soon as I can just to sustain the afterglow.

What I have come to realize is the experience of creative artistry doesn’t have to be the result of my own actions.  I didn’t write the books I enjoy so much (although I am emulating them in my own writing).  Their function is activated as soon as I open the cover and grace the surface of the pages with my eyes.  The same is true with music.  While I have the ability to play, it doesn’t mean I have to do it as my livelihood.  Simply sitting in the audience, feeling the music wash over me is enough.  My applause at the end of the performance is as much for the accuracy of the musicians’ performance as it is for how I connected to it.

Finding those connections is the important step.  Enjoy them for what they are without turning your life on it’s head.  Sure, if making changes in your life is what needs to happen, I will be the first to encourage you to move forward, but make sure you aren’t chasing phantoms from your past.  I love the bassoon, but I know that this is not the time to make it the centerpiece of my life.  Instead, I will allow it to entertain me from the fringes, enjoying it’s presence for what it is, instead of what it might have been.

Soapbox: The Value of Teachers

Teachers are public employees.  Our salaries are drawn from school districts whose funding comes from the state.  While most people assume that property taxes from within the district are directly responsible for the funding, it is not entirely accurate.  The property tax money goes to the state, and then the state determines how much of it to return.  Not all of the money raised through property values comes back to every district and some districts receive more money than they raise.

Yesterday, I posted a link on facebook to a story done by John Stewart on the Daily Show comparing the efforts to railroad teachers to how the conservative media seemed to protect both the high income earners from the expiration of the Bush tax cuts and Wall Street CEO bonuses.  I only received one response to the post, but the comment caused me to reflect on my own situation.  Am I, through some unreasonable expectation of a pension, willingly participating in bankrupting my state?  Is my expectation of compensation for my work efforts and societal contributions ridiculously exaggerated? 

For reference to the original story, follow this link: http://videos.mediaite.com/video/Jon-Stewart-030311

After thinking about my friend’s comment and what it might imply about myself, I thought to explore exactly what my pension would be like.  Texas has a retirement system that allows me to retire when my age plus my years of service equals 90.  For me, that will be when I am 58 and have taught for 32 years.  Your benefit is 80% of the average of your five highest paid years.  In the last year I would teach, assuming I earn a 3% yearly raise (which is probably not likely this year with the state cutting education funding by 15%),  I would be making just over $100,000 per year.  Now, while this sounds like a lot of money, this will also be 2038, and inflation will have reduced the real value of that number.  My retirement benefit would amount to $77,000 per year.  Sounds great, right?  Well, if inflation continues at the projected rate, it will be equivalent to $38,000 per year in today’s dollars.  This is quite a reward to look forward to.  In fact, it will be almost 20% less than I made my first year teaching.  My friend’s last comment was that “no one becomes a teacher to get rich, right?”  Well, I don’t think anyone could suggest that a retirement package of $38,000 per year is even close to “rich.”

In Texas, teachers do not participate in Social Security.  We do not contribute to the fund, and unless we have done something else over the years, we do not earn points towards any sorts of benefits.  Most districts do not provide 401(k) plans and if they do, there is no contribution.  Some districts provide a 403(b) or a 457, but once again, the contributions are solely ours.

In the last ten years, retired Texas teachers have not seen a cost of living increase in their benefit.  Social Security, on the other hand, has increased the benefit of retirees 31% over the last decade.  

So, lets change gears.  How am I paid?  I receive a salary, a stipend for extra duties, and a stipend for having a masters, equalling approximately $56,000 per year.  My contract is for 187  eight hour work days during the year.  This equals approximately $37 per hour for my efforts.  I went through my year, the hours I have worked since August 1 and the projected hours I will work through July 31.  My hourly wage changes to $24 with the actual hours I work.  This accounts for time spent at school, time spent in buses, time at football games and parades, time at contests and performances, time on band trips, time at conferences, time at camps, etc.  This does not account for hours spent at home preparing for the work week, lesson planning, score studying, listening to records, watching marching videos.

Teaching has been on Forbes’ list of top ten respected professions in the country for quite some time now.  I wish those who are calling for education budget cuts would consider what it is that teachers bring to our society.  While it is obvious that teachers provide a babysitting service to parents needing to work, they provide so much more than most people realize.  

Teachers reduce jail population.  The government monitors reading levels in third grade class rooms as a way to prepare for prison populations.  Identifying the literacy levels of 8 year olds gives the government ten years to prepare for the newly adult convicts.  Studies have shown that as literacy increases, the crime rate is reduced.  The current budget will shrink teacher roles and increase the number of students per class as teachers are let go.  This reduces the impact each teacher can have, increasing the possibility of kids falling through the cracks.  More and more of our young students will slide to the level the government identifies as being at risk, spurring the creation of more prison space.  I am not sure this is the kind of job creation our state has in mind.

Additionally, as student teacher ratio rises, the impact on student performance drops.  Our students will be less prepared for advanced study as they approach the end of their public education.  Less will make it to college, and out of those, less will continue on into higher degrees.  This means a decrease in the financial impact our current students will have when they enter the work force leading to a further decrease in tax income for the state.

My district, which is ranked number two in the state for fiscal responsibility and academic achievement, will be facing a budget reduction of $60 million for next year from the state.  Currently, there are no plans to reduce employees through lay offs, but we are in a hiring freeze.  Some teachers will have to transfer campuses, and some positions will disappear, but no one will lose their job.  We are lucky.  A district to the south recently announced a staff reduction of 20%.

Many districts are cutting after school programs, music programs, extra- and co- curricular activities, unnecessary extra transportation, substitutes and substitute pay, paraprofessional pay and positions, administrative positions, and support staff.  No one is expecting a raise this year and some have been told to expect pay reductions.  

It is amazing that a society that regards teachers as one of the top ten respected professions so quickly resorts to cutting their jobs and resources.  I understand that the budget is the budget, and money doesn’t appear out of the air, but the future impact of these budget cuts is going to be significant.  In the end, if you are concerned about the future of this country, please contact your local representatives and make sure they are standing on the side of education.  Sure, there are certainly areas of our funding that need to be fixed, but lets make sure everyone is educated on the implications before taking these steps.

As a closing, I would like everyone to consider the words of Taylor Mali.  This video has made the rounds on the internet, but I think it is something everyone should see.  Mr. Mali certainly hits the nail on the head.  

The Critic

As a musician, I have always trained myself to have a critical ear.  In my practice sessions, I constantly analyze my efforts to improve, determining if I have reached my goals or not.  When playing in an ensemble, my ear searches out whether or not I am in balance to the other instruments around me, if I am in tune with myself, with my neighbors, with my section, with the ensemble, with the unisons, with the chords.  I constantly monitor my tone, my reed, my posture, my fingers during quick technique, my breathing; I am adjusting everything as I go, working to create the best musical performance possible.

Oh, and I am reading a language written with curious figures upon a five line staff, with 12 possible dialects and four possible translations, inflected with a regiment of style symbols dictating everything from the strength of my tongue to the volume of air used to produce my sound.

Needless to say, my path as a musician, always seeking that fleeting moment of perfection, has instilled in me such a tremendous set of critical skills which too frequently deposits me in situations where I should not be critical, but am.

One particular musical occasion where I effectively stuck my foot in my mouth was in college.  I was not playing in the Wind Ensemble at the time and attended one of their performances.  I met a group of friends as they were coming off the stage, immediately setting in on everything I found wrong with the performance.  I should have taken the clue from their faces - back off - but kept right on lambasting where I should have been praising.  My monologue was cut off by a few deserved choice words from one of my closest friends.  I was a little shocked at him, but then realization at what I was doing set in.

Why couldn’t I celebrate their successful performance.  What was the benefit of pointing out every error or mistake.  Could they change it?  Could we go rehearse for a while and go do it again?  No.  There was no point to what I was saying.  Perhaps, in a setting later, when the floor was open to discuss how the ensemble could improve, my comments would have been more appropriate, but not then.  I began to learn a valuable lesson that day.

I would like to say that this was the one and only time in which I have made every unintentional effort to tear someone down, but I know it is not.  Recently, one of my greatest teachers - my wife Samantha - has helped me to realize I have been traveling the same path, only this time, my efforts have been directed at people rather than music.  Little did I realize that my efforts to prove when I was right and someone else was wrong were accomplishing the same effect.  

Being critical of a person, if conducted in the incorrect manner, can be misconstrued as an attack.  My efforts to prove someone else was incorrect about something as inconsequential as what name was on a piece of paper came across as more than just the issue at hand.  My words, body language, and intense efforts to achieve my goal, appeared to shout “you are an idiot!”  Was I aware of it?  No.  Thankfully, Samantha is gracious enough to help me in my efforts to be a better person.

In the classroom, we are taught that every piece of critical information should be accompanied by three praises.  For example: “Trumpets, thank you for playing with characteristic tone, for maintaining your tuning, and being sensitive to the ensemble balance, but I am not quite hearing the length of your notes matching that of the flutes.”  I target three things they did well - or at least well enough for praise - and then identified one object on which they need to improve.  Research has suggested that taking this three-to-one critical approach yields the greatest success.

Does this sound easy?  Sure it does.  Is it hard?  You bet.  Finding three praiseworthy things can be incredibly hard for me.  While pushing through a rehearsal, taking the time to say three positives to one negative can seem like a waste of time.  Deep down, I know it is not, but actualizing what I know in my classroom, opposed to the quick criticism with which I have trained myself, is a constant struggle.  As silly as this is, saying nice things, for the sake of saying them, sometimes seems like a waste of time, despite what reason tells me.

So this is my great effort, both in the classroom and interacting with people.  It is sort of like what Moms everywhere have taught us all - if you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all.  People respond to feeling good, and if there is something that needs improvement, why not build them up by telling them what they do well.  This helps to instill a measure of confidence, a bit of motivation, and a certain amount “you can do it!”  Let me know how it goes for you.

Trimming the Roses

This is the time of year when green-thumbs abandon the indoors to play amongst their gardens.  Shears are sharpened, pruning devices are dug from their hiding places in garages and sheds, trowels, hoes, and shovels are resurrected, and the garden gloves find their comfortable resting places disturbed.  Gardening plans are formed and put into action and the eager gardener rediscovers the pleasure found in the sun’s warmth.

The first step in preparing the garden for the spring is to trim back the plants that survived the previous winter frosts and removing those that did not.  Only after we have taken care of what is already there can we see to bringing in new life.

Most garden enthusiasts suggest Valentines day as the date to begin pruning.  After the 14th, at least in southeast Texas, most of the freezing temperatures have left us behind, leaving only warm weather ahead.  I make sure to never even consider touching my roses until after Valentines day, otherwise, just like this year, our weather may choose to unleash frigid weather one or two last times.  Exposing freshly cut branches and vines to sub-freezing temperatures for extended periods is dangerous to the plants, preventing them from going through the proper growing season.

When attending to your roses, there are three stages of pruning.  Following these guidelines will ensure a beautiful plant for the year, allowing the production of healthy new growth and vibrant roses.  Leaving something out can be the difference between winning yard of the year and a letter from the home owner’s association.

First, find the obviously dead wood.  On a rose, you have to be careful.  Sometimes old wood will appear dead, having the brownish tint we associate with dead plants.  This is not always dead, though.  Dead wood in roses is dried out, looking more like a husk.  Remove all the dead wood, snipping as close to the transition between living and dead tissue to ensure a healthy cut.  This will create two results.  First, it clears space for the new growth, making sure enough light and air will get to the plant.  Second, it helps the plant direct it’s energy - you never want the plant to try to support dead or sick vines; you would rather it grow new, healthy shoots.

The second step is to open the center of the bush.  Find those branches that are growing inwards, preventing air and light from getting to the middle, and trim them off close to their source.  This will also shape the bush, helping it to flourish upwards and out, preventing a closed, tangled mass.  You may feel weird taking off healthy branches, but this step is just as important as the first.  Leaving the middle tangled and inhibited can be deadly for your roses.

Finally, find areas of the plant where it has grown against each itself or it’s neighbors.  These friction points will not allow the rose bush to grow, instead it will push and fight against itself.  Opening up areas of constriction will prevent unnecessary friction from occurring, allowing the plant to grow to it’s potential.

Once you complete these steps, you have pretty much prepared your rose bush for a good growing season.  Congratulations!

The last few afternoons I have been working on accomplishing the same tasks with my roses in the front.  These roses have been planted as the centerpiece of our front garden since we moved in, and they have certainly lived up to the bill, frequently producing numerous beautiful flowers over the years.  Samantha and I have certainly enjoyed their beauty, and I find it amazingly relaxing to maintain them.

While working over the last few days, I reflected on my efforts.  I try to see analogies in every action I take, to find ways that my physical efforts are reflected in my spiritual journey.  I discovered that the process I go through to trim my roses in late winter is perfect for addressing my own life.  Is there a better time than now to prepare for new growth?

I started looking in my own life for dead wood.  I searched for anything that I should have left behind, but unknowingly drag along behind me.  Struggling to heft this unrealized baggage leaves me exposed to weakness.  I am not able to grow as I should when hindered with the unnecessary.

Opening myself up is important, as well.  I am looking into areas where I am closed off to people, ideas, experiences, and anything else that might grow me.  By allowing myself to open up to new experiences, or find new and exciting aspects of my current life, I begin to shape my future. 

Looking at my life, I am searching for areas where I have created friction.  Do I subscribe to certain ideas or beliefs that don’t necessarily work together?  I need to rectify these, either finding common ground where they can work together, or ridding myself of those that are no longer correct.  Besides internal sources, I work to reduce friction with my environment, with co-workers, associates, friends, and loved ones.  Allowing friction to continue to exist, I encourage disease.  Freeing myself from it moves me forward.

I wish I could say that these three steps are as easy as my three afternoons in the garden have been, but I know they are not.  Each is a long process, one in which I participate every day.  As long as I keep them in mind and am constantly vigilant about them, I will grow, my own life being as productive and beautiful as the roses in my garden.

All Means All

Conroe ISD, my employer, has a motto - All Means All.  Our superintendent wants to make sure the community, the county, the state, and the nation recognize that CISD is concerned about every one of our students.  We don’t dismiss kids because their behavior is less than perfect, nor do we leave anyone out because their efforts did not earn the test scores we needed.  All Means All is very simple and needs no explanation.

On our campus we see the evidence of our motto in the efforts of the teaching staff, the administration, the paraprofessionals, and the support staff.  While we are all humans, and breakdowns do occur, the goal to reach all children is ever present.  In the band classes we even use the motto to remind the students that in Conroe, we play all the notes, and All Means All.

I attempt to model my life on those masters of the human experience who have come before us.  History is rife with individuals who have approached others with unconditional love.  One person I particularly connect with is St. Francis of Assisi.  Francis was the son of a wealthy merchant who felt a calling to God.  He abandoned his fortunes to lead a life of service to others, preaching everywhere he went.  Legend has it that Francis even preached to the birds and animals of the forest.

One particular story about Francis that has stuck with me coincides with the idea of All Means All.  During the 13th century, lepers were regarded as outcasts, shunned from civilization for fear of contamination.  The skin diseases incorporated into the generic term leprosy were deadly and without cure.  Lepers were required to wear a bell on their person, to ring as they moved, warning people of their approach.  Francis, in all his holiness, was deathly afraid of lepers.  He knew it was a fear he must overcome if he was to live his live as he wanted, but the sight of a leper froze him in his tracks.

The story tells us that during his travels, Francis encountered a leper.  His first inclination was to flee, but he chose instead to remain, resolute in his decision to serve.  He approached the man, shoving his fear to the side.  Deciding once and all to overcome his greatest aversion, he gave the man money for alms and then proceeded to grab him and kiss him as one would kiss a brother.  The legend then tells us the man disappears, leaving Francis with only the feeling of peace for overcoming his fear and loving all men the same.  For Francis, this experience was an All Means All moment.

Yesterday, I had a brief experience that reflects this story.  I was walking to a corner store to get a water and was engaged in conversation with a man walking the same direction.  He was unwashed, wearing unkempt clothing, using speech that marked him as uneducated.  My desire was to walk faster, separating the two of us, preventing him from addressing me.  After I answered his questions as briefly as possible, I sped up, moving away.

Immediately, I realized what I was doing.  I reflected on the people after whom I model my life, wondering how they would have approached the situation.  I know it would have been different, more loving, than my own reaction.  I resolved that I would do better if I encountered a similar opportunity.  The universe soon provided one.

A few minutes later, the man caught up to me, prompting more conversation.  My answers were longer, more connected and less designed to shun stop the conversation.  After a brief exchange, we parted, wishing each other a good day.

I purchased my water, feeling better for my attempt, but not yet satisfied.  I had still cringed slightly at his approach, I was still judgmental about the type of person he was based on his appearance, and I still preferred not to speak with him.  My efforts the second time around were more true to my spirit, though, even if I have a ways to go to achieve my goal.  I recognize that to succeed, I need to know that All Means All, in every aspect of my life.

Have a First Division Day!

My week did not start out so well.  I was in a funk on Monday morning; I have no idea why.  Everything I, or anyone around me, did seemed impossibly irritating.  Perhaps it was the return from a three day weekend, or the stress surrounding approaching deadlines, or PMS (pouty man syndrome), but a smile was the furthest thing from my face.  When I got home, I expected to be able to whine and gripe about my day, dragging Samantha down with me.


I wasn't allowed to.


Not only was I not allowed to disparage my day, I was forced to list off every good thing I could think of that had happened to me during the day.  While I found it difficult, I was able to find some things.  Least of all, Samantha reminded me that I was alive, I had food to eat, I had a place to live, and I had people who loved me.


Thanks a lot for ruining my perfectly bad day!


The next morning began roughly the same way, as if someone had peed in my Cheerios.  I caught myself though, and snuck away for a quick text.  I thought of ten things I was thankful for and texted them to Sam.  Some were small, some were grand, but I was thankful for them all equally.  After that, the rest of the day went well.  I went about my business with positive energy, attempting to smile as much as I could, bringing happiness to every frowny face I encountered.


During my band class, instead of pointing out everything they did wrong, I talked about what they did right.  I highlighted the qualities of their performance that was First Division quality and challenged them to bring that same quality to every part of their performance.  I didn't let them cheat themselves out of a First Division rehearsal.  I handed out rewards in the form of compliments and candy.



This morning I showed up to work with a smile on my face.  I was prepared for a First Division day.  No more poopy faced Frank for my students and colleagues - he is no longer invited.  I did more of the same, introducing First Division tone quality, First Division balance, First Division practice habits, First Division rehearsal techniques.  Where I would have handed out sarcastic negativity in a harsh tone on Monday I handed out lollypops and Airheads, where I would have lambasted teenagers for what they weren't doing, I praised them for what they did do, what they had the potential to do, and what they were going to accomplish.


What happened to make Wednesday and Monday completely different extremes?  I remembered to be thankful.  I remembered that it takes more muscles to frown than smile.  I chose to make it easier on myself and my kids by being positive.  I remembered the kind of person I want to be instead of the person I was choosing to be.  I decided to be a First Division person.


Thanks Samantha for not letting me pout and throw a tantrum Monday afternoon, instead gently nudging me in the direction I wanted to be moving - forwards, not backwards.  Had that not happened, I would have had a much different Tuesday and a much different week.


Here's to your first Division Day today, tomorrow, and for the rest of your lives!

The Long Race

Do you feel like you are running a race that never ends?  Do you feel like you keep putting one foot in front of another only to never ever cross the finish line?  Astonishingly enough, you are not alone.  Many people feel like their daily lives are one marathon sprint after another: endless races stacked one upon another.  As soon as one completes, another begins; there is no time for rewards, celebrations, or accolades, let alone a breath, before the starting line is once again behind us.  Living a life like this can be exhausting without the right preparation and the right attitude.

Today, one of my friends, Roland Gomez - or RunningRoland - to whom I have dedicated a previous blog, has completed the longest race of his life - 100 miles.  This was no automobile race, or even a bike race, where 100 miles is not such a big deal.  This was a foot race on the hiking trails of Huntsville State park, run over 27 hours and 38 minutes.  The race began on Saturday morning and finished Sunday morning.  There was no pause, no rest, no moment of respite, other than the periodic walk breaks; even those were used to refuel the body.  Roland ran for more than a day, more than a turn of the Earth, in temperatures ranging from 20 degrees to 60 degrees on a course through the unlit woods.  How is that for feeling like a race will never end?

Roland established his goal for this race one year ago, when he first ran a 50 mile race on the same course.  That race, up to this point, was his longest foot race, taking just over ten hours.  As he finished up last year, the 100 milers were stopping into camp to strap on their headlamps and grab their night gear for the overnight portion of the run.  While he relished in his victory, he set the new goal that day - 100 miles.

The next year was devoted to this goal.  He planned a series of races during the year to help him develop the mental and physical endurance necessary to extend his willpower through the grueling race.  He had ups and downs, finishing some races and not finishing others.  He battled injury and fatigue, overcoming his body’s weakness, exploring new running motions to protect his joints and muscles.  At one point, he declared everything was on hold as he redeveloped his running style to better suit his intentions.

No matter what, he kept moving forward.

Then came the race.  Because of the threat of ice in the area, his lodging plans changed.  Instead of sleeping in a bed the night before the race, he slept in a tent at the race site - making sure nothing would prevent him from the opportunity to achieve his goal.  The race was grueling.  His first facebook update was at 40 miles, his comment - its starting to hurt - said it all.  Did he stop?  No.  The next - mile 60, damn this is getting interesting.  Then six hours later - 80 miles! 20 more! gotta run!

Finally, the message arrived that he had finished.

Roland’s journey from finish line to finish line is impressive, not just because of the race itself, but because of the dedication it took to even make it to the start line.  The will power to dedicate himself to a goal, keep at it despite disappointment, and never give up is more than impressive - it is awe inspiring.  It takes true passion to achieve one’s goals after such a long journey.

How did he do it?  Patience, endurance, and humility.  Setting a long term goal like this is hard for modern Americans.  We live in such a NOW NOW NOW culture, planning for the future is difficult.  Keeping our mind focused and free from distraction is necessary to a long term goal; without patience, our chances for achieving a goal so far in the future diminishes.  The threat of boredom, complacency, and procrastination waits at our door step.  The only way to fight them all is a profound sense of patience.

Holding steadfast to a goal is difficult when your body and your mind are fighting you.  Pushing through those low moments, fighting to keep the goal in sight, takes endurance.  Running the race itself takes endurance.  One foot, then the next - for more than 27 hours.

Finally, humility is necessary.  The ego will fight the long term.  It wants satisfaction now.  It wants to do it on it’s own.  It wants no help because it prefers to prove it’s own ability.  Accepting help, guidance, and motivation from others keeps the goal alive and real.  The goal continues to be important instead of the self.  Sometimes you need someone to run next to you and remind you why the pain and fatigue are necessary.

Every race you run, whether it be short or long, can benefit from these three elements.  Incorporate them into your plan and your chances for success jump.  Without them, you are not doomed to failure, but failure increasingly becomes a possibility.  Roland is a prime example of a motivated person who has identified and embodied the necessary elements for success.  I don’t doubt that any goal Roland chooses will be achieved simply because of who he is.  

100 miles is the proof.