Knowing that we all get a little bored with our fitness routines, I tested out six of the most unusual classes I could find in the New York City area. You鈥檙e welcome.

Naked in Motion

What It Is: Nude yoga.
Fatigue Level: 5/10
Shame Level: 11/10
Instructor Quote: 鈥淐lass rules: Nudity is mandatory. Everyone must participate.鈥�
Take This Class If: You鈥檙e tired of washing your sweaty workout clothes.
The Gist: In 2016, Willow Merveille founded 听to create a safe, inclusive space that would 鈥渙ffer a tool for developing a kinder relationship with the mind and body.鈥� I was skeptical. Ten of the eleven students were men. Was this a way to get more comfortable with your body, or yet another opportunity for those already comfortable with their body鈥攎ostly dudes鈥攖o flaunt it? By the end of class, I was surprised to find that I was OK with getting flexible in my birthday suit, surrounded by a classroom full of strangers. Give this a shot at least once鈥攜ou鈥檒l be a hero at parties.

SLT

What It Is: Pilates centered on a reformer that鈥檚 been modified with extra pulleys, springs, and bungees to ensure maximum burn.
Fatigue Level: 7/10
Shame Level: 6/10
Instructor Quote:听鈥淵ou can runner鈥檚 lunge, but you can鈥檛 hide.鈥�
Take This Class If: You鈥檙e a Pilates enthusiast and you鈥檝e wondered, Will more straps, bars, and pulleys increase my leg shake?
The Gist: stands for strengthen, lengthen, and tone. The class comprises eternal planks, deep-as-you-can-go lunges, and pulsing squats, all in an intense 50-minute session. The pace of the reps is measured, but the transitions between exercises are fast, which had me looking around the room to see what contortion I was supposed to be doing. Color-coded numbers gave me Twister flashbacks. It鈥檚 a great workout, but be careful not to sprain your ego when your body starts shaking during a move called the Mermaid.

Brrrn

What It Is: Yoga, slide-board, and HIIT classes in an extra-cold walk-in fridge.
Fatigue Level: 6/10
Shame Level:听3/10
Instructor Quote: 鈥淓veryone grab your sandbag and meet me at the South Pole!鈥�
Take This Class If: You鈥檝e had it with hot yoga.
The Gist:听This was the most genuinely enjoyable workout experience of the bunch. 听describes itself as 鈥渢he world鈥檚 first cool-temperature fitness concept.鈥� In other words, they crank the A/C. I took a slide-board class and not only learned what slide boarding is (repeated lateral movement on a piece of slippery rubber while wearing booties), but also discovered that 55 degrees is my optimal workout temperature. I wore a tank top and for once didn鈥檛 end the class by trying to mop up an embarrassingly large puddle of sweat.

ConBody

What It Is: Boot-camp-inspired body-weight exercises taught by ex-cons who yell at you.
Fatigue Level:听9/10
Shame Level:听7/10
Instructor Quote:听鈥淵ou confused? You better not fucking mess up!鈥� (Directed at me, following an explanation of the exercise progression to the entire class.)
Take This Class If:听You鈥檙e planning to commit a crime and need to be scared straight.
The Gist:听The hardest class I took. The sign by the door said it all: 鈥淐rossFit. Cycling. Pilates. These white collar workouts aren鈥檛 cutting it.鈥� My instructor, Coss Marte, founded 听after developing a workout routine during a four-year prison sentence. He didn鈥檛 particularly care about catering to our egos; he was going to lead us through a difficult workout鈥�60 minutes without a break鈥攁nd we could follow along or not. I was dripping sweat as I struggled through a series of jumping jacks, push-ups, high knees, burpees, suicide sprints, mountain climbers, bear crawls, wall sits, and more. But intense workouts aside, ConBody鈥檚 real mission is championing prison reform, and it hires formerly incar-cerated individuals to teach its classes. As soon as my hamstrings recover, I鈥檒l be back.

Mile High Run Club

What It Is: Like a spin class, but with really nice treadmills instead of bikes.
Fatigue Level:听8/10
Shame Level: 2/10
Instructor Quote:听鈥淲e鈥檙e all on our own run. Run your run, don鈥檛 run anybody else鈥檚 run.鈥�
Take 罢丑颈蝉听颁濒补蝉蝉听If: You like the cardio intensity of spin but are looking for something with a little more impact on your knees.
The Gist: An admission: I鈥檝e done this class before, and I love it. It鈥檚 basically an interval workout on a Woodway 4Front treadmill, a roughly $10,000 machine that is to a standard treadmill what a Tesla is to Fred Flintstone鈥檚 car. Classes are offered at 28-minute, 45-minute, and 60-minute dura-tions. What sets 听apart from other treadmill-interval classes is the special attention paid to your perceived-effort level rather than to hitting specific speeds. A laminated pace chart is mounted onto each treadmill, and it encompasses a wide variety of fitness levels. Pro tip: don鈥檛 choose a machine directly opposite a mirror. Nobody has a flattering tempo face.

AG6

What It Is: A circuit-based class set in the world of Tron.
Fatigue Level:听6/10
Shame Level:听2/10
Instructor Quote: 鈥淭rust your athletic intuition. Uncover your sixth sense.鈥�
Take This Class If: You鈥檇 rather play Candy Crush than go to the gym.
The Gist:听This 45-minute session at , a nonprofit organization dedicated to improving the health of local residents, makes familiar circuit-based workout stations more interesting with light-up tiles on the floor and walls that are responsive to touch. So you鈥檙e not just doing sprints, you鈥檙e doing sprints to illuminate a circle on the ground! You鈥檙e not just doing medicine-ball slams, you鈥檙e doing medicine-ball slams to illuminate a circle on the ground! You get the idea. This class was the most stimulating, but it also made me realize that sometimes all I want is a boring old jog.

The post Notes from the Weirdest Fitness Classes We Could Find appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

A young boy is prone to thinking that his father is the toughest man on earth. 鈥淢y dad could beat up your dad!鈥� is the clich茅d taunt, but there鈥檚 sometimes a truth in the conviction behind it.

鈥淢y dad could beat up your dad!鈥�

鈥淢y dad could bend a steel bar!鈥�

鈥淢y dad could ride a bicycle 120 miles covering 11,000 feet of elevation gain at altitudes that give visitors acute mountain sickness and then do it all again the next day!鈥�

I don鈥檛 think I ever actually sneered that last phrase aloud on the schoolyard, but it was true about my father.

When I was three years old, my dad, Michael, organized a bike ride near our house in Colorado鈥檚 Rocky Mountains called . It was named for the three mountain passes it climbed: Juniper Pass (on Mount Evans, a 14er), Loveland Pass (the Continental Divide), and Vail Pass, totaling 10,990 feet of climbing over 120 miles. He served as the chairman for the ride for the first two years, starting in 1989. In the words of former club president Carol Mickelberg in an article in the local Canyon Courier: 鈥淚t鈥檚 all Michael Dern鈥檚 fault鈥t was an awesome challenge with a great name. He had us all sold on it before anyone had ever done the ride.鈥� My mom, who has completed the ride several times herself, had this quote printed on T-shirts she made to celebrate the 25th anniversary of the ride, five years ago.

In the three decades of its existence, the ride has taken on a life of its own, with more than 3,000 riders each year generating over $2.2 million in donations for nonprofits like the Special Olympics. And thanks to the passage of time, more recent articles about the ride in larger papers like the don鈥檛 mention my father鈥檚 name.

My first two attempts to complete the ride were thwarted鈥攐nce in 2012 by my own fitness level, resulting in a DNF around mile 60, and once in 2017 by wildfires that caused the ride to be canceled the night before. This past July was my third attempt. My father, who is 63, was watching from the side of the road.

I鈥檓 not a serious cyclist. In fact, it would be misleading to call me a cyclist at all. I am an occasional bike commuter. Heading into the ride, I would put my odds of completing it as the same as my chances of remembering which way to hit my shifter to move my chain down on the big ring: 50-50.

国产吃瓜黑料 of cycling, I鈥檝e made various attempts at acts of physical toughness over the years to prove to my myself that I, like my father before me, am a Tough Man. And since we no longer wrestle our dads amid a throng of jeering relatives to prove that we have turned into Tough Men, I鈥檝e had to seek out other avenues.

If I could distill my dad鈥檚 motto into three words, they would be: 鈥淲ork hard, quietly.鈥� My dad stays late at the office, even if the boss isn鈥檛 around to give him credit for doing so. He picks up trash from the side of a busy road, even if thoughtless motorists are just going to litter more the next day. I guess you call that integrity.

I wrestled in high school like my dad did (while I usually lost, our attic is filled with trophies from tournaments my dad won), and I鈥檝e run marathons (still not as fast as my dad鈥檚 fastest, but I鈥檓 gaining on him). Finishing my father鈥檚 Triple Bypass feels like the last obstacle in the father-son challenge that I鈥檝e imagined myself to be competing in my entire life. There鈥檚 been no overt goading from my father, but the example he set is enough.

The sun is just starting to think about rising over the mountains of Colorado on July 14, 2018, and I鈥檓 starting my Triple Bypass journey with a few of my dad鈥檚 riding buddies, who are three decades my senior. After my dad sees us off from the parking lot, his friend John mentions that my dad should be riding with us鈥攕ome health issues have caused him to take a break from riding, and he鈥檚 been slow to return to the saddle. 鈥淵our dad is all or nothing,鈥� John remarks. 鈥淗e needs to be the guy leading the pack or else he sits it out.鈥�

I鈥檓 quickly at the back of the pack. My dad鈥檚 friends are jovial as we start off, talking about frame sizes and gear ratios. I鈥檓 somber, thinking about how I haven鈥檛 prepared as well as I should have, making excuses about a busy work schedule and then mentally berating myself for making those excuses.

As we settle into the ride鈥攁n immediate 6 percent grade climb, with me barely hanging on鈥擨 resist the urge to check my Garmin watch, afraid at how small the distance traveled will be. I attempt to get in the zone and just ride, but I soon give in and look. Too soon. Three miles in, to be exact. The number taunts me. Three miles? It鈥檚 somewhere near 5:30 a.m., and as I slowly spin up the 3,000 vertical feet to the 11,140-foot summit of Juniper Pass, I do the math that I鈥檓 only 1/40th of the way through the ride. I start to think about how tired I feel already. I know that鈥檚 a dangerous avenue of thought to go down, so I try to distract myself.

Out of nowhere, a mantra floats into my mind. In the voice of Ellen DeGeneres鈥檚 Dory character from Finding Nemo, I update her catchphrase for the task at hand: 鈥淛ust keep spinning. Just keep spinning. Just keep spinn-ing, spinn-ing, spinn-ing.鈥� I have the thought that this mantra isn鈥檛 exactly the greatest evidence to prove to myself that I am a Tough Man, but silly as it is, it works. I pedal on, and memories begin to drift through my head.

It鈥檚 1989, I'm almost five years old, and I鈥檓 on the side of the road with my mom somewhere near the base of Loveland Pass. It鈥檚 the first year of the Triple Bypass. My memory is impressionistic, spotty but vivid. I remember that we鈥檙e at an aid station, handing out little paper cups of water and Gatorade to riders who are stopping to rest. They look exhausted, and they鈥檙e not even halfway done. Suddenly, my mom is cheering louder than she was for the strangers. My dad is approaching us at a grueling pace, blowing past other riders. He doesn鈥檛 stop for aid. My mom cheers him on as he rides past us.

Back in the present, I reach the aid station at the top of the Juniper Pass. I鈥檝e fallen off the pace set by my dad鈥檚 friends. Alone, I put on my neon windproof jacket for the descent, and as I approach 40 miles per hour and my hands begin to go numb from pumping the breaks, other memories drift in.

I鈥檓 11 years old, and I鈥檓 going with my mom to pick up my father at a gas station after he got into an altercation with a driver while he was on a ride. The short version of the story is that a driver passed my dad dangerously close, and my dad confronted the driver when he spotted the car at a gas station farther down the road. The driver then attempted to run my dad over, knocking him and his bike to the ground. From the ground, my father ripped the license plate off the car with his bare hands. So even though the car sped away, he was able to give the license plate number, literally, to the police. The driver鈥攚ho turned out to be intoxicated鈥攚as arrested.

After the thrilling descent from Juniper Pass and passing by the picturesque , I begin the long slog up the frontage road past the sleepy mining towns of Idaho Springs and Georgetown. This section of climbing, though not officially a pass ascent, is the most mentally difficult part of the ride for me. It鈥檚 a deceptively steep grade and doesn鈥檛 have any obvious markers of progress or beautiful mountain views to keep you motivated. It was during this section that I quit on my first attempt, five years ago, when I felt myself bonking as I arrived at the aid station at the base of Loveland Pass.

This time, I prevent the option of stopping from entering my mind by keeping up my mantra鈥�just keep spinning鈥攁nd I enter a meditative state. Another memory floats by. I鈥檓 15 and a freshman at Evergreen High School. My best friend Scott and I are putting on self-tanner in my basement for a choreographed lip sync at the homecoming week talent show. You know, just the normal stuff that young boys transitioning into being Tough Men do. We鈥檙e applying the self-tanner, of course, because the costumes that I鈥檝e made require us to be shirtless except for suspenders, and we鈥檙e worried about appearing too pale in front of our classmates. Because that would be embarrassing. My father walks in from work at the moment that I have just smeared a dollop of the product on Scott鈥檚 hard-to-reach lower back. I lock eyes with my dad. He passes us silently as he walks up the stairs, disregarding us like an aid station he did not need.

I reach the base of Loveland Pass and see my mom and dad. Each in character, my mom is cheering for me while my dad looks on stoically. My mom supports me by giving me the support that she would like to receive: She praises me, gives me the option of a variety of drinks and snacks, poses for a photo with me, and asks me if I need anything. My dad supports me by giving me the support that he would like to receive: an affirming nod and a pat on the back, as he then steps back to let me get on with it.

As I ride on, I feel a twinge of sadness that my dad isn鈥檛 doing the ride this year. It鈥檚 a ride he has done 11 times before. Several times, he鈥檚 followed it up with completing the reverse route the very next day鈥攁 鈥淒ouble Triple Bypass.鈥� I always assumed he would keep doing the ride up until he was the age of 120. Just a few years ago, my dad logged more than 10,000 cycling miles for the year, commuting to work on his bike most days. I鈥檝e always admired my dad鈥檚 toughness, but now I recognize that it can be a double-edged sword. The same instinct that led my dad to skip an aid station also led him to put off doctor鈥檚 appointments.

At the Loveland aid station, I realize that I鈥檝e caught up with my dad鈥檚 riding buddies. The section that beat me on my previous attempt is behind me, and I鈥檓 feeling emboldened. I let the rest of the group know that I鈥檓 going to head out alone. An hour later, I鈥檓 on top of the Continental Divide, two out of three passes done. Even though I鈥檓 exhausted and still have 60 miles and another mountain pass to go, I know I will finish this time. I just have to keep spinning.

In the hours of riding through the breathtakingly beautiful Colorado mountains that follow, I think about my dad and what it means to be a man. I think about the difference between toughness and stubbornness, about the strength it takes to keep working when you want to quit, and about asking for help when you need it.

When I got married last year, my father gave me a book called . In my dad鈥檚 characteristic dry wit, he gave it to me with the message 鈥淔rom the co-author.鈥� My dad doesn鈥檛 exactly gravitate toward touchy-feely stuff, so in a way the gesture felt like him asking the author, Kent Nerburn, for some help in that arena. I like the book. Although some passages feel like the sort of platitudes you hear from a friend after a psychedelic experience, other passages feel as profound as the realizations you might have yourself during a psychedelic experience, as trite as they may feel to say aloud.

As I approach the aid station at Copper Mountain, near the 80-mile mark, a chapter from Nerburn鈥檚 book, on sports and competition, returns to me. Nerburn tells the following anecdote about asking a runner friend, upon seeing him retching after a mile track workout, why he puts himself through the misery:

He walked back up the track to a point about ten yards before the finish line, then drew a line in the cinders with the toe of his shoe. 鈥淲hy do I run the mile?鈥� he said. 鈥淚 do it for these last ten yards. In these last ten yards I learn more about myself than I could on any psychiatrist鈥檚 couch.鈥� In that one sentence, he had isolated one of the most profound reasons to participate in sports: 鈥渢he last ten yards.鈥� Every sport has them, whether they be in the form of the last few minutes of a game or the last few inches of a putt. They are the moments when the body and the will are tested to the fullest.

I like many of Nerburn鈥檚 insights, and he seems like a great person to talk about life鈥檚 big questions with over a beer. But I disagree with him on this point about the last ten yards, and I think my dad would too. From my experience, the last ten yards are easy. In the last ten yards, you can see the finish line, people are cheering for you, you鈥檙e almost done. Anyone can be a hero in the last ten yards. The middle of a great effort is the hard part. When the finish line is far off and your suffering isn鈥檛 recognized by anyone. This is the effort of spinning between the peaks. I guess you call that integrity.

国产吃瓜黑料 the Copper Mountain aid station, at the base of the final pass of the day, I鈥檓 riding strong鈥攏ot a grueling pace, but a strong pace for me鈥攚hen I see my father and mother up ahead, cheering for me. I hesitate about whether I should stop and rest. I think about what my dad would do. I wave and smile, and then I keep going.

I finished the ride three months ago. Both of my pinky fingers are still numb, I assume from braking so hard on the descents, coupled with my overall lack of adequate training. It鈥檚 possible that my ulnar nerve has become compressed, a condition known colloquially as 鈥渃yclist鈥檚 palsy.鈥� If it doesn鈥檛 start to feel better soon, I鈥檓 going to go to call the doctor.

The post Finishing the Grueling Bike Race My Dad Created appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

A romantic partnership is a beautiful merging of once separate passions and interests. Research shows that sharing experiences with those you care about amplifies those activities. A study in found that individuals who did something positive together were more likely to enjoy it than those who did the same activity alone. And while Psychological Science sounds like a fake journal name that you鈥檇 make up if someone asked you to say where you got a fishy-sounding factoid on the spot, trust me, it鈥檚 a real journal, and that鈥檚 a real fact. That鈥檚 why doing activities in the great outdoors with your significant other is so very special.

If, however, you find that your partner doesn鈥檛 like every single outdoorsy thing that you like, you might need to trick them into participating.

This was the position I found myself in a year ago, when my wife, Miranda, and I moved to California after decade of living in New York City. After the move, I found that my childhood self, who had grown up frolicking in the mountains of Colorado, was reawakened. I wanted to run alongside elk in mountain meadows! I wanted to cycle the coastline while dolphins clicked me encouraging clicks! And I wanted to do these activities with my wife. For her part, my wife also appreciated our newfound sunshine and proximity to nature, but her enthusiasm didn鈥檛 quite match my desire to sign us up for numerous endurance events that would compel us to enjoy the outdoors. I waited a few months for her to come around, but soon it became clear I would need to resort to more drastic measures.

I used deceit, bribery, and general trickery to get my wife to share a variety of outdoor endurance sports with me, and I broke down my strategies into easy to follow steps that you can apply to tricking your own partner. I know that 鈥渢ricking鈥� sounds bad and not like the sort of thing you are supposed to do to a loved one, but in the end they鈥檒l thank you. Trust me. (not fake) backs me up on this.

#1. Sign Up Your Partner for a Running Event Without Asking

Miranda hates running. I know this because early in our relationship, I asked if she wanted to go for a run with me. She said, 鈥淣o, I hate running.鈥� A good relationship is all about communication like this.

But a good relationship is also about pushing each other to grow as people and do things outside our comfort zones. Have you seen the movie As Good As It Will Be Getting? I did, a long time ago, and while I don鈥檛 remember it exactly, I think there is a lesson in there somewhere about how Robert De Niro loves Jodie Foster because she makes him want to be a better person. What I鈥檓 talking about is like that, except with getting your partner to do physical activities that you鈥檙e into.

Why do I want my wife to run? For one thing, I try to do it every day, and that鈥檚 just daily hang-out time we鈥檙e missing out on. I love my wife, and it鈥檚 fun to do things with her. Also, I鈥檓 hoping that our future children will set various records in distance running. Nothing too crazy鈥擨 just want my first kid to be the first person to run the under 15 hours, and I want my second through fifth kids to form a record-setting distance medley relay team. It will provide a better example for them if both my wife and I are avid runners, don鈥檛 you think?

So, as a first step toward this goal, I decided that Miranda and I should run a fun race together. Heck, not even a race, just an organized fun run. And as all runners know, the most fun of the organized runs isn鈥檛 even called a race or a run. It鈥檚 called a trot.

This brings me to the gaslighting. I know gaslighting gets a bad wrap, but, bottom line, it works. Besides, dear reader, in an earlier paragraph, you already said that by reading on you were okay with gaslighting鈥攄on鈥檛 you remember?

鈥淗ey, I signed us up for the turkey trot like we talked about,鈥� I said to Miranda over breakfast in early November.

鈥淲hat are you talking about? We never talked about doing that. You mean running? I hate running.鈥�

鈥淲eird. Pretty sure we talked about it. Anyway, we鈥檙e signed up for it. I think it will be fun!鈥�

See? A little deceit up top, but then, before you know it, you and your significant other are trotting along in harmony.

At least, in theory, that鈥檚 how it should go. It turns out I went a little too far in the withholding information department. The night before our trot, Miranda was not thrilled to learn that I鈥檇 signed us up for the 10K trot rather than the 5K trot.

鈥淚 never would have agreed to do this if I鈥檇 known we were going to do the 10K and not the 5K,鈥� she said.

See, the great thing about gaslighting is that Miranda has already forgotten she never agreed to do the trot in the first place! I didn鈥檛 bring that up, though. I just double-downed on the gas I was lighting.

鈥淗uh. Really? Pretty sure I mentioned it was a 10K. Anyway, too late to change!鈥�

Heading into any endurance event, from a 10K to a 100K, attitude is important. Miranda鈥檚 attitude was somewhere in between 鈥淚 don鈥檛 want to be doing this鈥� and 鈥淲hy did you make me do this?鈥� To her tremendous credit, however, she completed the trot, all ten Ks of it. Somewhere around the fourth K, it occurred to me that maybe we should have gone on a few training trots together ahead of time, but I didn鈥檛 dwell on that. I had a new distance runner to convert!

Afterward, as we glumly walked past the empty tables where evidently faster trotters than us had enjoyed post-trot bananas, bagels, and Vitamin Waters, I decided to see if my plan had worked.

鈥淪o, what鈥檇 you think of running?鈥�

鈥淪till hate it.鈥�

鈥淲hat? But鈥ou did such a good job! You finished! Why鈥檇 you hate it?鈥�

鈥淏ecause my knees hurt and my feet hurt and I hate running.鈥�

鈥淥h. Right. But, um, do you want to sign up for another run?鈥�

鈥淣o. And no signing me up and then gaslighting me that I agreed to do it again.鈥�

The jig was up. Running was a bust. I鈥檇 need to try something else.

#2. Bribery: Convince Your Partner to Do a Cycling Event in a Place They Want to Visit

The outright deceit of gaslighting hadn鈥檛 worked, plus it made following a training plan a bit tricky. This time, I decided a different method of persuasion: bribery.

Miranda loves the desert landscapes of Southern California. I don鈥檛 especially care for them. I find them wanting for precipitation and hostile to life. However, in an effort to sweeten the outdoor activity pot, I set out to find an organized ride in a place that I knew Miranda would love. I settled on the , a century ride through beautiful 鈥渄esert scapes.鈥� Our five-year dating anniversary was coming up (yes, in the Dern household we honor both our wedding anniversary and our first-date anniversary), so it seemed like the perfect occasion to execute my ruse.

I approached Miranda on the couch, holding my laptop like it was a briefcase full of cash, ready to make the deal happen. 鈥淚 was thinking for our five-year anniversary weekend we could go somewhere. Maybe Palm Springs?鈥�

鈥淚鈥檇 love that!鈥�

鈥淎nd do a bike ride!鈥�

鈥淭hat would be fun.鈥�

鈥淢aybe, like, this 100-mile bike ride?鈥�

I twirled the laptop around to show her the event page. I鈥檇 chosen one of the more beautiful desert scapes from the gallery to have up on my screen.

鈥淥ne hundred miles? How long would that take us?鈥�

鈥淪ome people will do it in under six hours.鈥�

鈥淗ow long will it take us?鈥�

鈥淥h, us? Well, I think the cut-off time is 12 hours, so鈥ot longer than that!鈥�

鈥淒efinitely not. Isn鈥檛 there something shorter?鈥�

鈥淭here鈥檚 a 50-miler,鈥� I said as I twirled the laptop back toward me, lest she notice that technically there were also 25- and ten-mile options.

With the promise of a weekend getaway in a vacation locale, we signed up for the 50-mile ride. This time, we had a couple months to train. However, there was one initial obstacle before we could start training: Miranda did not have a bike. And by the time we got her the bicycle鈥攁fter a couple months of ignoring the problem鈥攖he ride was looming and our schedules only allowed time for one training ride, which makes it less of a training ride and more of a dress rehearsal. I set a goal of 25 miles. A fall in the parking lot as Miranda negotiated the subtleties of unclipping from her SPDs for the first time resulted in a bruised and bleeding knee. Our dress rehearsal was cut short. We鈥檇 once again pretty much have to wing it.

On the day of the ride, everything came together. Perfect conditions, friendly volunteers, and the as-promised beautiful desert scapes. We rode slow and steady, and Miranda was having a fun time. She even ate one of the Gu packets I brought for her while riding her bike. She was starting to look like a real cyclist! Had I done it? Had I converted her? I pictured cycling becoming a part of our routine, with ten-hour sessions filling our Sundays, complete with cute his-and-hers Strava data to match.

But it was not to be.

In the days that followed, the ride had taken its toll.

鈥淢y butt hurts,鈥� Miranda informed me the following day.

鈥淵eah, that鈥檚 normal,鈥� I said reassuringly.

鈥淢y butt still really hurts,鈥� Miranda informed me the day after that.

鈥淵eah, that鈥檚 normal,鈥� I said, not sure if it was.

鈥淚 don鈥檛 think this can be good for us,鈥� she said with finality.

Like so many others, my dreams of cycling glory were popped by a perineum. I鈥檇 need to come up with a method that would result in a more thorough conversion. It was time to start thinking like a true con man.

#3. Conversational Judo, aka 鈥淟istening鈥�: Ask Your Partner What Outdoor Activity They Want to Do and Then Do That

Gaslighting and bribery had fallen short. They focused on outcome, and while that resulted in finisher medals in two endurance events, no long-term habits took hold. I needed to resort to something more extreme: listening to my romantic partner鈥檚 wants and needs鈥nd then using what she told me against her.

Recently, we were walking our newly adopted rescue dog, Hazel, around Echo Park. The sun was shining through the palm trees and the temperature was in the seventies. It was mid-January.

鈥淚鈥檓 really happy here in California,鈥� I ventured.

鈥淢e, too,鈥� Miranda said.

鈥淚 feel like we could take advantage of it even more, though. Don鈥檛 you?鈥�

鈥淪ure. Maybe we could go to the Broad museum soon.鈥�

鈥淥h.鈥� We were getting off track. I needed to casually, subtly steer this back to being about activities we could do outdoors, but, like a true con man, make it seem like taking the conversation in that direction was her idea. 鈥淏ut are there any, like, outdoor activities you鈥檇 want us to do more?鈥� I asked, nailing it.

鈥淗mm. Maybe more hiking? I think Hazel would like that, too.鈥�

Hiking. Of course. It combined the slow and steady enjoyment of a long bike ride with the satisfaction of the bipedal locomotion of running to get your body across a stretch of earth. I looked down at Hazel and anthropomorphized her panting to be a smile of approval.

鈥淗iking. Let鈥檚 do it,鈥� I said.

The past few weekend mornings, I鈥檝e put my latest plan into full swing. The times when I previously might have headed off on my own for a few hours with my bike or my running shoes have instead been spent on hikes with my family. We even just put our names in for the lottery to hike Mount Whitney this summer. We probably won鈥檛 get it, but if we do, we鈥檒l have actually trained a bit for that endurance event.

Yes, I鈥檓 happy to report that my romantic partner and I are enjoying the outdoors, exercising our bodies, and having a great time sharing experiences together. And she doesn鈥檛 suspect a thing.

The post Tricking Your Partner into Liking Outdoor Activities appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Some people will tell you that having your name on the top of a 0.9-mile segment leaderboard doesn鈥檛 matter. I suggest that you remove these people from your life. They are what the youth today call 鈥渉aters鈥� and what I call 鈥渁thletic dilettantes鈥� who don鈥檛 understand what it means to have a goal worth pursuing.

The idea to break the 5:01 record for the 0.9-mile 鈥淓cho Park Lake – Anticlockwise Lap鈥� Strava segment first occurred to me when, after some haphazard mile repeats while training for a marathon earlier this year, Strava alerted me that I had a new segment personal record. My time of 5:29 put me at 12th on the overall leaderboard. I began to wonder how much higher I could climb.

Casual wonder quickly turned into obsession. I checked and rechecked to see if the record had been broken. The fact that the crown (literally: Strava puts a crown emblem next to the segment leader鈥檚 profile photo) was worn by someone else in my own backyard gradually began to feel like a declaration of war. I researched the record holder, , an Olympic Trials鈥搎ualifying semiprofessional distance runner. She didn鈥檛 even live in Los Angeles! True, she may not have realized that she had the record since she ran it as the seventh mile in a 13-mile training run. And, yes, if she actually was competing for the record, she likely could have done it a full minute faster. But still. It felt like she was taunting me. And I had to respond.

In a slight fit of ambitious mania, I laid out a plan of attack on the evening of my 33rd birthday. Then I made my future self accountable to that plan with one of the oldest tricks in the book: I sent an email.

SUBJECT: The Nate Dern Inaugural Birthday Party / Solo Footrace

Dear friends,

Today is my 33rd birthday. My birthday party, however, has been delayed until Thursday January 11th to allow for additional training time. Training for what? Great question. Answer: a footrace. You see, my party will take the form of me running a 0.9-mile footrace (the distance of one lap around Echo Park) while my friends and loved ones cheer me on. Who am I racing? The clock! Why? Look, it seems like you have a lot of questions, so please consult the FAQs below.

鈥婹: Are we allowed to run with you?
A: No.

Q: This sounds like a boring party. Can we at least get drinks after?
A: Yes. After we will go get drinks (either celebratory or conciliatory, depending on the outcome) at the nearby Holloway bar.

Q: Cutting 30 seconds off your current best mile time sounds hard. Are you sure you can do it?
A: No, I am not sure, but I think I can do it. I鈥檇 put the odds at 60%/40%.

Q: Have you ever run a mile that fast before?
A: Yes, a few times about 16 years ago when I was in high school.

Q: Will you be bummed if you fail?
A: Yes.

Q: Genuinely bummed or ironically bummed?
A: Genuinely.

Q: For real genuinely bummed or jokingly genuinely bummed?
A: Look, I don鈥檛 want to talk about how bummed I鈥檒l be if I don鈥檛 get the record anymore. Just take a look at this map of the course.

If you have any additional questions, please let me know.

Thank you,

nate

Once the email was sent, I had no choice but to commit fully to the effort. My professional and personal life would surely suffer, but it would be worth it in the end, once I had that crown.

Before I started training, I visited the Reddit community to ask for advice. Specifically: Was it unrealistic to take 30 seconds off my mile time in two months? I provided info about my previous marathon training (about 30 miles a week, with workouts inserted at my discretion), high school PRs (4:24 for the 1,600 meters), and my weight (180 pounds, approximately 40 pounds more than my high school racing weight). The comments ranged from criticizing my marathon training in a way that made me feel like I should quit running entirely to telling me to just throw in some striders after my regular runs and that鈥檇 be enough. But one comment stood out, from a user named Alan_Webb. Was this the Alan Webb, American mile record holder with the truly otherworldly time of 3:46:91? It seemed possible. His tough-love advice also seemed fitting with the impression of him that I鈥檇 gleaned from Chris Lear鈥檚 Sub 4:00. His comment: 鈥淲orth noting that Willis was your age when he won bronze in the 1500 in Rio last year.鈥�

Somehow both shamed and inspired (#shamespired?), I set to work developing my training plan. I Googled 鈥渇aster mile plan eight weeks鈥� and clicked the first result. By chance, it was a Nike+ Run Club training plan that said it would help me . The first page promised to give me advice with some help from friends. I anticipated that in the pages that followed, these friends would take the form of distance runners like Galen Rupp and Shannon Rowbury. Instead, the advice came from the stable of Warner Brothers cartoon characters.

Week 1, Bugs Bunny: 鈥淓hh, what鈥檚 up, doc? I hear you wanna run a faster mile. Well, you鈥檙e in luck: This rabbit鈥檚 here to help you get off on the right foot.鈥� Thanks, Coach Bugs. So, a 5×400-meter interval workout?

Week 4, Tweety: 鈥淭hat bad ol鈥� puddy tat will never catch me. He鈥檚 just too slow. When I see him coming, I spread my wings and fly away. Bye-bye, puddy tat!鈥� Meaning鈥ill repeats at goal mile pace? You got it, Tweety Pie.

Week 7, Daffy: 鈥淭he thing you gotta know about me is I always give 110 percent, even when Bugs is getting all the attention. When we line up to run our fastest miles, I鈥檓 finally gonna beat that rabbit.鈥� Understood, Mr. Duck, I鈥檒l go do a fartlek with two-minute bursts at VO2max.

The eight weeks passed. I trained hard, but I also skipped some workouts and drank a lot of weight-maintaining beer. If my overall training could be translated into a single utterance, I think Taz would give me a speech bubble filled with various punctuation marks.

As race day loomed, I met up with a few friends who鈥檇 agreed to help. My pacer, Ben, joined me for my warm-up as we navigated Echo Park鈥檚 usual evening crowd of joggers, loud-but-friendly fixed-gear cycle gangs, skittish leashed dogs, pot-smoking teens, and the homeless. Both former competitive distance runners, we automatically forewent our usual joking demeanor in favor of the prerace solemness that our muscle memory dictated. As requested, Ben wore his former Kent State racing singlet, which had the anticipated effect of stirring up my competitive spirit. On our first warm-up lap around the lake, I watched as Pat, our emcee for the evening, began to corral the crowd of friends who鈥檇 shown up. He read off of a list of prepared remarks I鈥檇 written for him into a megaphone.

鈥淭he current mile world record holder is Morocco鈥檚 Hicham El Guerrouj, with a time of 3 minutes and 43 seconds,鈥� Pat announced. 鈥淣ate thinks it鈥檚 a bit of a show-off move to break a four-minute mile. Gentlemen, stick to attempting to break a five-minute mile.鈥�

As we finished our second and final warm-up lap, I stopped 50 meters short of the Echo Park boathouse, where my friends were waiting. I started my watch to make sure it would connect to GPS in time for the start of our race. I jogged ahead to talk with our timekeeper, Jason, who would use his phone to announce to the crowd if I was to be shamed or lauded when the lap was complete. I explained to Jason and the crowd that due to the occasionally fuzzy GPS, I would start racing 50 meters ahead of the start of the segment and keep going for 50 meters after it. Still, Jason was to base my time on when I passed the boathouse.

鈥淭he fastest a ten-year-old child has run a mile is five minutes and one second. That鈥檚 a real fact, folks. The record was set by Jonah Gorevic in 2003. Will Nate be able to run faster than a ten-year-old tonight?鈥� Pat said, as I neared the starting line.

Finally, Ben and I checked in one final time with our video cyclist, Zack (yes, we really arranged for a video cyclist鈥攊t wouldn鈥檛 be a birthday-party solo race without one), who would record the proceedings and stream them live to my friends鈥� phones, hopefully alleviating the boredom as I ran on the other side of the park.

All was in order. There was nothing left to do now but run.

My time: 4:22. Or 4:24. Or maybe 6:01. Let me explain.

By my watch, I ran the 0.9-mile loop in 4:22. Jason鈥檚 phone timer had me at 4:24. Then, when I uploaded the effort from my Garmin, Strava put me at 6:01, a minute and half slower than I鈥檇 timed myself and a full minute behind the top spot on the leaderboard.

I did what I had intended to do. I ran a sub-five-minute mile. But according to Strava, I hadn鈥檛.

I couldn鈥檛 figure out what went wrong. The Strava GPS was always a bit off, but there was usually no more than a ten-second discrepancy.

At the bar we went to afterward, I accepted back pats from my friends and thanked them for coming. I was genuinely touched that they showed up to support me. But I was also genuinely bummed that the race ended without my name at the top of the leaderboard.

The bartender delivered a bowl with three scoops of chocolate ice cream, adorned with a cocktail umbrella, a fortune cookie, and a shot of tequila on the side. I opened the fortune cookie. It was empty. Not a blank fortune, mind you, but empty. No paper at all.

鈥淪o, what was your fortune?鈥� the bartender asked.

鈥淚t was empty,鈥� I said.

鈥淥h, cool! I think that means you get to write your own fortune.鈥�

But the metaphorical omen feels far more sinister to me: I am fortuneless.

Later that night, before I went to bed, I emailed Strava customer service, explained the situation, and even included of the event that my video cyclist Zack captured. A few days later, I received a reply:

鈥淎round 15 minutes into the activity you turn back down the lake (clockwise) and then turn around again (counter-clockwise) in the direction of the segment. [鈥 Our matching process has to be a little loose to account for GPS issues, which is why this extra bit was included. Unfortunately I鈥檓 unable to adjust your segment effort time.鈥�

I鈥檇 given the app so much. Ounces of sweat. Molecules upon molecules of RMAT-blended rubber EVA outsole. A $59.99 annual Premium membership. And Strava repaid me by brushing off my jaw-dropping, record-smashing effort with a shrug of the shoulders, as if running around a lake path was something people did every day instead of something remarkable that should be documented for the ages.

As the days passed, I stopped running. What was the point?

Dejected and seeking solace, the words from our curly-haired bartender came back to me. I could write my own fortune. I could forge my own crown.

I logged into my Strava account, found my effort, and created a new segment. I named it 鈥�.鈥�

As I write these words, I am currently the leader and sole participant of this 0.9-mile course. I invite all challengers to dethrone me. Although, on second thought, maybe I鈥檒l make this segment private. I would be genuinely bummed if one of you came out and stole my glory.

The post One Man’s Pointless Attempt to Rule a Strava Segment appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

The last thought I have before I throw up in the bathroom of the CrossFit box is, Oh, what a clich茅. I鈥檓 about to throw up at CrossFit. Then I throw up. I had rushed to the toilet after Coach Kevin remarked that I looked a little green, which he said just moments after yelling at me to 鈥淕ive it all you鈥檝e got!鈥� That directive came during the intervals on the assault bike, which followed the quarter-mile sprint with the medicine ball, which followed the sets of squats, burpees, lunges, crunches, and elastic band鈥揳ssisted pull-ups.

The exercise class I鈥檓 barfing through is at , just one stop of many on my quest to find the most intense workout class in Los Angeles. I set out on this journey after a monthlong sojourn at a vertical-climbing machine studio called Rise Nation. I reluctantly signed up for the classes after a running injury. However, I ended up enjoying the classes so much that I went from a curmudgeonly distance runner鈥攕keptical of any form of exercise that required a fee greater than the shoes on my feet鈥攖o a full-on boutique gym convert. I started to wonder: Was there some silver-bullet fitness class where, if I followed the instructor鈥檚 impassioned plea to give it all I鈥檝e got, I would push myself to the edge of my physical limits and determine how tough I really was? I wanted to find out.

I really didn鈥檛 want the answer to be CrossFit, though. I mean, how clich茅 can you get?

Stationary Bikes in a Dark, Crowded Room

I begin my quest with the trailblazer of the boutique gym movement: .

鈥淥K, now tap it back!鈥� the instructor intones.

In unison, my classmates 鈥渢ap it back.鈥� The movement involves reaching your butt behind the back of your seat and bobbing downward while continuing to spin the pedals. For some reason, it reminds me of a bird attempting to quickly lay an egg without anybody noticing.

I attempt a tap-back or two, and then stop. I don鈥檛 like it. The candles in the studio smell nice, but the New Agey dance vibes are not for me. My quest continues. I try other spin studios: , , and (Yoga and Spin).

FlyWheel emerged as my spin class of choice. Slate 鈥淪oulCycle for uber-competitive sadists,鈥� on account of the TorqBoard, a ranked display of each rider鈥檚 power output. In effect, you can 鈥渨in鈥� at exercise, which, as an aspiring uber-competitive sadist, I found to be highly motivating.

I left FlyWheel feeling comfortable with the idea of adding the classes to my weekly running regimen. However, I was suspicious of my comfort. How intense could it be if I enjoyed it? I felt the urge to try something outside my comfort zone: weightlifting.

鈥淭hese Shoes Feel Like Ski Boots!鈥�

In my daily life, I鈥檓 as awkward as a baby giraffe in a bouncy castle, so to avoid decapitating myself while doing a bench press, I looked into my options for lifting with a personal trainer.

A friend recommended a trainer who, to keep prices lower, worked out of his garage rather than a corporate gym. This seemed sketchy as hell, which sounded like it would be potentially great for my mission. Enter LIFT, a private gym on L.A.鈥檚 east side.

My trainer was Dirk (the Platonic ideal of a personal trainer name), who owns along with his wife, Chenell. Dirk鈥檚 website bio: 鈥淒irk is 50. 6 feet, 215 lbs. He鈥檚 been strength-training for 20 years. He hasn鈥檛 done cardio in 10 years.鈥�

When I arrive for my session, Dirk and I talk about the cardio I鈥檝e been doing in spin classes. He scoffs. Dirk condemns cardio with the same intensity that precocious kindergartners announce to their classmates that they don鈥檛 believe in Santa Claus.

鈥淲e don鈥檛 do cardio here. Can you do a pull-up?鈥� he asks.

鈥淣ope!鈥� I say, a little too enthusiastically.

鈥淥K. You got weightlifting shoes?鈥�

鈥淲hat are鈥 mean, I鈥檓 wearing running shoes. So, no? I鈥檒l say no.鈥�

鈥淵ou can borrow a pair of mine,鈥� Dirk says, tossing me a pair from around the corner.

I put them on. 鈥淭hese feel like ski boots!鈥� I say, again improperly modulating my enthusiasm.

Squats. Lunges. Deadlifts. Biceps curls. Jump press. Bench press. Negative pull-ups. Ab-wheel rollouts. Dirk is attentive throughout, correcting my form and giving me encouragement. The shoes are incredible. I feel bolted to the ground and like I鈥檓 doing squats properly for the first time.

Ultimately, though, since the weightlifting road seemed to lead to a body that was, while super-jacked, not exactly ideal for distance running, I wasn鈥檛 sure it was a road I wanted to keep going down. Plus, I like cardio. It was time to move on.

Learning How to Hurt People

鈥淓asy!鈥� my Muay Thai instructor shouts. 鈥淲e鈥檙e not trying to knock anybody鈥檚 head off. Yet.鈥� My classmates chuckle.

It鈥檚 my first class class at the . My partner has more tattoos and more experience than I have, and he is not bothering to hide his annoyance at the piss-poor job I鈥檓 doing holding pads for him.

鈥淣o, not like that,鈥� he says for the fifth time. 鈥淢eet my punch with the glove, otherwise I鈥檒l knock your hand back like a flipper.鈥�

To illustrate his point, he hits the pad I have strapped to my forearm, and, as he prophesied, it knocks my hand back into my face. In effect, I鈥檝e punched myself.

The studio offers a variety of martial arts instruction. The jiujitsu class is the most outside my comfort zone. The instructor, Gavin, looks and sounds uncannily like Sting, if Sting spent a few decades of his life fighting for a living. We dive right into practicing armbars and choke holds.

鈥淟et鈥檚 review the guillotine!鈥� Gavin croons.

The guillotine, otherwise known as the Mae Hadaka Jime, is a choke hold performed from the front in which you encircle your opponent鈥檚 neck with both arms, thereby compressing the trachea and blocking airflow.

We practice the move. I am timid. Gavin notices and tries to get me to be more authoritative. I demure. Gavin leans in and whispers in my ear, in what must be the only time when this is an appropriate thing for a teacher to tell a student: 鈥淐hoke him like a motherfucker.鈥�

Those words do the trick. I choke him. My partner taps out. I release. He coughs and gives me a nod of approval. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 it!鈥� Gavin says enthusiastically. 鈥淥K, now do it again.鈥�

国产吃瓜黑料s in Sticky Socks

鈥淔irst time doing barre?鈥� the cheery woman at the counter asks me.

鈥淗ow could you tell?鈥� I reply with a grin. I am the only man in this Pure Barre studio, and judging by their Instagram feed, I am also the only man who has ever taken a Pure Barre class in the history of the world.

鈥淒o you have sticky socks?鈥� she asks.

鈥淲hat are鈥 mean, I鈥檓 wearing running socks. So, no? I鈥檒l say no.鈥�

I buy a pair of $12 sticky socks.

The micromovements of barre were taken from ballet and adapted into a general fitness program, popularized nationally by studios like , , , and others.

I was skeptical that barre could be intense. In its own words, 鈥淧ure Barre fitness studios offer the safest, most effective way to transform your body.鈥� Safest? That sounded easy.

Turns out, safe can be hard. Excruciatingly hard.

Barre uses isometric movements. Planks, static lunges, or hovering a leg just above the ground, then pulsing that leg up and down an inch. It鈥檚 easy to do once. It鈥檚 difficult to do for a minute. By the end of the hour-long class, you wonder how you got a full-body workout while apparently doing so little.

Around 40 minutes in, my legs began to shake during a wall squat.

鈥淚鈥檓 shaking,鈥� I say apologetically to the instructor as she walks by.

鈥淭he shake! Yes. That means this muscle group is reaching fatigue. That鈥檚 good! It leads to long, lean muscles! It will make your butt look like the peach emoji!鈥�

Impressed by the surprise intensity of barre, I took my sticky socks and decided to see where else they could grip me.

When I arrived for my free intro class at , I was surprised by what I saw: a whole bunch of gear. I think that I pictured Pilates to be like yoga, except maybe standing, and with waving your arms around. OK, I guess I was picturing tai chi. I was not picturing the feng shui torture chamber of devices that I saw, the centerpiece of which was a series of coffin-sized machines built from wood, pulleys and cushions: the reformer. The reformer looks nearly identical to the rack, a medieval torture device consisting of a rectangular wooden frame and straps used to pull a person鈥檚 limbs off. Interesting coincidence.

If barre is excruciating, Pilates is agonizing.

鈥淪tretch your legs out straight, to a 45-degree angle. You want to make a V with your body,鈥� the instructor tells me. I attempt to make my body into the V. I briefly attain Pilates perfection. Then my abs start to shake. I look over to see if my instructor is watching to get her approval, but she has already moved on. The shake becomes too much, and I let my body collapse from a perfect Pilates V to a dour, dilapidated O.

I was intrigued by the 鈥渟afe yet hard鈥� concept, and I was curious how much more intense it could get it. I tried the at . The Supraformer is on a hydraulic suspension system that adjusts the pitch, tilt, and yaw of the platform to intensify the sought-after shake. Next, I tried the at , where Pilates-style exercises are performed on a small platform that vibrates 25 to 50 times per second to utilize 鈥渢he body鈥檚 natural reflexive response to vibration.鈥� In other words, it鈥檚 like doing crunches on top of a dryer with a boot inside.

These classes all exceeded my expectations for how challenging 鈥渟afe鈥� could be, but any class that didn鈥檛 end with me in a puddle of my own sweat and a chance to experience at least a mild case of DOMS was not going to fill my Exercise Holy Grail. Would I ever find what I was looking for?

A HIIT to the Gut

What has the cardio intensity of spin, the targeted resistance training of Pilates, the musculoskeletal benefits of weightlifting, and the intensity of choking strangers? High-intensity interval training.

I took a variety of HIIT classes, and each left me sweaty enough that I felt like a public health nuisance taking the city bus afterward. Now I was getting somewhere. , , , , , and 鈥攖hey all involved some combination of alternating between intense cardio for a short burst (treadmill, spin bike, or rowing machine) and strength training.

They were all fantastic, but Orangetheory Fitness struck me as the chosen one. In addition to top-notch equipment, skilled instructors, and well-designed workouts, the feature that sets Orangetheory apart from other boutique HIIT gyms is its incorporation of customized heart rate monitoring. With and nearly half a billion dollars in annual revenue, I鈥檓 not the first person to deem it the fitness class of choice.

At Orangetheory, they have effort level down to a science: Individual heart rate monitors project data in real time onto a monitor. An algorithm converts the data into 鈥渟plat points,鈥� or minutes spent in an anaerobic zone. A typical class goal is 12 splat points. Students can adjust their pace to achieve their splat goal by following personalized, laminated pace cards that are distributed at the start of each class. An improvement in precision over a spin instructor shouting, 鈥淕ive me all you got!鈥�

As it turns out, I was on a fool鈥檚 quest all along. Orangetheory was great, but it wasn鈥檛 the hardest exercise class I took in Los Angeles. CrossFit was. Sorry, the clich茅 is true. Don鈥檛 tell Coach Kevin, but I think I might just stick to running.

The post My Search for L.A.’s Toughest Fitness Class appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

A year and a half ago, I proposed to my beautiful girlfriend, Miranda. Once you get engaged, married types who have been through a wedding themselves will emerge from the nooks and crannies of your life to give you advice, solicited or otherwise, about the event.

Again and again, a common theme emerged in how the wedding day was portrayed: It would go fast, and it would be exhausting. The advice usually took the shape of telling me to be mentally prepared so it wouldn鈥檛 feel like a personal shortcoming when I became stressed and tired during what was supposed to be the best day of my life.

鈥淒rew and I were totally jazzed after the ceremony, so we were like, 鈥榃hat are people talking about? We鈥檙e not tired. We feel amazing!鈥欌�� my sister recounted about her nuptials. 鈥淭hen our parasympathetic nervous systems gave out, and we crashed so hard. Don鈥檛 feel bad when it happens to you.鈥� Aaron, a friend who is never afraid of honesty, told me not to feel bad if we weren鈥檛 up for visiting the marriage bed (not how he put it) after the ceremony. 鈥淪am and I were so tired, we just went to sleep,鈥� he concluded.

The message to me was clear: My wedding would be an endurance event, a test of my physical stamina. I decided to adopt a four-part training plan to be in peak physical shape for the big day.

Imitate What You鈥檒l Be Doing on Race Day

We often allow the habits of our routine to dictate our training. When preparing for a hilly 5K, we run only the flat sidewalks around our neighborhood, and then wonder why we bonk as we crest a climb.

In Hal Koerner鈥檚 , he suggests that you become intimately familiar with the conditions you鈥檒l be facing on race day and, as closely as possible, incorporate those conditions into your training regimen. In other words, if your race includes dirt trails, hills, humidity, and altitude, but you train on roads in a cool, dry climate, you won鈥檛 know how your body will react to all the additional stimuli when it comes time to toe the line.

I applied this same logic to the key moments of the wedding. As I saw it, the two points where I would require peak performance: reciting the vows and the first dance.

It was the dance that made Miranda and me especially nervous. Dancing is not something we had done听as a couple. Ever. Publicly or privately. So, in the same way that Shaq habitually worked on his free throws in the off-season, we saw this as a weak area to be drilled.

A few months out, practice began. We played the Beach Boys鈥� 鈥淕od Only Knows鈥� on Spotify, turned on my laptop鈥檚 camera for future analysis of our performance, and听started dancing.

鈥淎re we doing it right?鈥� Miranda asked as we shifted our weight.

鈥淵es. I mean, I think?鈥� I said.

鈥淚s that where your hand is going to go?鈥� she asked.

鈥淢aybe? I could try it somewhere else,鈥� I said, moving my hand.

鈥淣ot there! My parents will be watching.鈥�

The song ended, and we checked the footage. We looked like two middle-school students wearing Forrest Gump鈥搒tyle leg splints.

鈥淥K, maybe a little looser this time?鈥� We tried again.

Test Your Gear Ahead of Time

We鈥檝e all been there. You bust out that exciting new tech T-shirt with the funky pattern on race day, thinking it will wick away sweat while making your fellow competitors give you kudos all the way to the finish line, only to realize one mile in that this particular fabric creates a .

The lesson: Race day should never be the time to try out your gear for the first time. Early on, I knew that footwear would be a gear hot spot for me. Whenever I have to make a choice between fashion and comfort, I choose comfort. With footwear, I typically wear running shoes or orthopedic walking shoes, so I was nervous about the prospect of slipping into a pair of fancy new untested shoes on wedding day.

A month out, I purchased a pair of Johnston & Murphy dress shoes from Macy鈥檚. I started breaking them in. First while watching Netflix on the couch, then while walking around the apartment. They rubbed my heels a bit, but I thought they were ready for a street test. I started with a one-mile walk around a nearby park. I headed out wearing the dress shoes, paired with the sort of dress socks I鈥檇 be wearing on the big day. I estimated I would walk approximately five miles on my wedding day, the walking-in-dress-shoes equivalent of an ultramarathon across the desert. I needed to break them in.

The one-mile loop I embarked on was overly ambitious, and I limped back to my apartment with blisters forming.

鈥淲hat are you doing?鈥� Miranda asked as I staggered in the door.

鈥淭esting my gear. And good thing, too. Not a very breathable upper, plus an overly rigid midsole. Definitely feeling some unwelcome friction in the heel. I鈥檒l need some Moleskin for these.鈥�

鈥淏ut why are you wearing running shorts with dress shoes?鈥�

鈥淥h. Just for fun.鈥�

Assemble an Ace Support Team

During , he was able to withstand the 135 miles in temperatures reaching 120 degrees Fahrenheit with the help of a great support team. Specifically, his sag wagon followed him with a cooler of ice water in which Jurek would periodically submerge his entire torso to reduce his core temperature.

As Jurek detailed in his memoir, , a key part of success on race day was communicating his needs with his team ahead of time. That way, even when the heat drove away his appetite during the event, his team knew how many calories Jurek needed.

I attempted to apply Jurek鈥檚 wisdom to my groomsmen, whom I began to think of as a veritable听sag wagon of well-dressed helpers. I knew my mind would be thinking about things like whether I鈥檇 said hi to every relative in attendance and making sure Miranda and I got a cute Instagrammable photo in front of the Van Leeuwen鈥檚 ice cream truck we鈥檇 rented, so I assigned eat-and-drink assignments to my team.

Co-best men Todd and Isaac were on water duty: glass of water replaced whenever they saw it running low, and if after 30 minutes I had failed to drink at all, they were directed to pry my jaws open and pour ice water down my throat. Tough love in the form of screamed encouragement like 鈥淒ig deep! This is the happiest day of your life!鈥� or 鈥淭ough it out! You are blessed!鈥� was also requested. Other co-best men Courtney and Chris were on fuel duty: cup of mixed nuts delivered to me every 45 minutes; (Jet Blackberry flavor, my favorite) delivered to me 45 minutes before vows. Once I stopped crying and got my composure together, I was able to recite my practiced three-minute vows relatively smoothly, a success I attribute in part to the 450 milligrams of amino acids, 55 milligrams of sodium, and 40 milligrams of caffeine delivered to my system right when I needed it.

Win the Mental Game

On the big day, I was feeling physically prepared and confident. The pace of the evening felt sustainable, and I could sense the finish line听approaching. We were going to make it. But then I remembered that we hadn鈥檛 been warned just that the wedding would be exhausting; we鈥檇 also be warned that it would go by fast.

I鈥檇 spent so much time in the months prior worried about logistics, making sure that we鈥檇 be able to get hitched without a hitch, I now felt the end of it all hurtling toward us way too fast.

The worst races during听my years of competitive distance running听at one point included听a moment when I started to yearn for the ending. The 2002 high school regional cross-country championships in Kenosha, Wisconsin, was one such race. It had been raining all week, and a practice run of the course revealed it to be a mud pit. Last minute, at the suggestion of an acquaintance on another team, I substituted longer spikes into my racing flats than I鈥檇 ever run before. The night before the race, temperatures dropped and the previously soggy course froze solid. I felt like I was running a 5K in crampons across an ice field, and my calves quickly cramped up. By the end, I detached myself from the moment in an attempt to endure. I was just waiting for the pain to end.

In contrast, the best races of my life contained moments of what psychologist terms 鈥渇low,鈥� a state of being 鈥渇ully immersed in a feeling of energized focus, full involvement, and enjoyment in the process of the activity. In essence, flow is characterized by complete absorption in what one does and loses sense of space and time.鈥� This state is more colloquially referred to by athletes across a variety of sports as a feeling of being 鈥渋n the zone.鈥� Musicians, actors, and other performance artists know it too, and its sublime satisfaction is possible in moments of our daily life when we鈥檙e fully present.

Now, on my wedding day, I found myself in a third state. I was not wishing the moment to be over, nor was I in the moment; rather, I felt an intensely bittersweet longing for the moment not to end. I was unexpectedly overwhelmed by the love and support I felt from my friends and family, as well as the gratitude I felt toward the universe for allowing me the happiness I had found with my partner. The clich茅 that your wedding day is the happiest day of your life was coming true, and I didn鈥檛 want it to end. It was a sort of anticipated nostalgia. My brain was going on overdrive, working to actively create a lasting memory of every moment, so much so that it began to feel like I was watching a surreal preview movie screening of future memories. I tried to be in the moment, but it kept slipping from my hand. I鈥檇 entered a phase unheard of in sport, something my training hadn鈥檛 prepared me for. I had no choice but to appreciate what I was experiencing and hang on.

We said our vows. We exchanged rings. We kissed. We thanked our friends for being there and gratefully accepted their love. We did our first dance. We still probably looked teens swaying at a middle-school dance, but we at least looked like teens very much in love swaying at a middle-school dance. Our loved ones joined us on the dance floor to dance to the Village People鈥檚 鈥淵MCA鈥濃�ive times (our friend and DJ Arthur Meyer was inspired in the moment, and we think he made a great choice). We drank water and ate trail mix throughout, the carbohydrate/fat/protein mix helping us to stay energized and able to attend a nearby dive bar for an impromptu after-party. Thanks to our training, support crew, and mental preparedness, we achieved marriage. It鈥檚 my understanding that it鈥檚 smooth sailing from here on out.

The post How to Train for Your Wedding appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

I twisted two E-A-Rsoft Yellow Neons earplugs into place, bracing myself against the music, which was louder than could possibly be enjoyable or medically recommended. The thumping bass assaulted me as I waited in a line of people who were all younger and better-looking than me. Once I was inside, the intensity of the sound increased, causing my sinuses to vibrate like I was humming. The air was thick with the moisture of perspiration. All eyes were directed to the stage, where a perfectly sculpted human stood illuminated, her voice amplified via headset microphone.

This was not Coachella. This was class one of twenty in the Coachella Challenge听package听at , a boutique climbing-machine gym in Los Angeles. The idea was that taking this series of vertical-climber classes would prepare me for the long-running California music and arts festival by 鈥済etting your bod Coachella-ready.鈥� I鈥檇 never had a Coachella-ready bod,听and听while I was dubious that such a thing could be achieved听in a month, I accepted the challenge. Proof of success: a Coachella attendee must compliment me on the听transformation of my 32-year-old, slightly overweight, asymmetrically hairy听figure at the April 2017 festival.
听
Rise Nation is a group exercise class that uses a giant climbing treadmill called the VersaClimber, which it describes听as听鈥渢he most effective, complete, total body workout available of any cardio equipment.鈥� In other words, it鈥檚 hard. Picture a spin class, except instead of pretending to ride a bike, you鈥檙e pretending to climb听an endless chain-link fence, using a听coat-rack-like contraption with听handles and pedals stuck to its sides that you move up and down in tandem. New students can expect to 鈥渃limb鈥� 700 to 1,500 feet in their first class. The most I ever logged was 4,200; the most I ever saw anyone else log was just over 6,500. That鈥檚 a tall fence.

I鈥檓 not someone who goes to workout classes. I鈥檓 a distance runner and an occasional cyclist. However, after the mostly downhill second half of the Death Valley Trail Marathon this past December left me with an aggravated IT band, I started looking for a way to do some strength building and cardio work with minimal impact. I recalled听my college track coach鈥檚 suggestion that a StairMaster is a good training tool, and a short Google investigation led me to the Rise Nation website. My initial reaction was that this was not meant for me. The homepage featured听the shadowed silhouette of a naked woman on a VersaClimber machine. For some reason, her hair appeared to be slicked with grease.听

Scrolling down, I saw the ad for the Coachella Challenge,听which made the entire enterprise seem even less suitable, since I am also someone who does not go to Coachella. But then I remembered that this year I was going to Coachella. I signed up on the spot.听

I fall on the agoraphobic side of ambiversion, so music festivals (The crowds! The noise! The difficulty of leaving and getting back to your couch to pet your cat!) do not immediately strike me as a fun time. However, I鈥檓 engaged to an introvert who has the decidedly extroverted tendency of loving music festivals. Coachella is her favorite. She鈥檇 been three times before we met听and had been wanting to go back for years. The triple threat of听(1) our recent move to Los Angeles from New York City; (2) Beyonc茅 () being on the bill this year; and (3) the fact that I would be less and less interested in doing this as I entered my mid-thirties听all convinced us that this was our year.

When we arrive at our campsite on Friday afternoon of the three-day festival, my worst fear is immediately realized: the group next to us is encroaching on our space. As our three neighbors unpackage their newly purchased , I can鈥檛 help but eavesdrop while听they grasp that they will not be able to fit their gargantuan setup within their spray-paint-delineated allotment听of space. I start to get annoyed, then听realize: This could be a good trial run for some strangers to notice my Coachella bod. Perhaps I鈥檒l sweeten the pot with some neighborly kindness.鈥�

鈥淵ou guys can spread out into our space if you need to,鈥� I say, gesturing to our area with one of my arms鈥攁n arm unencumbered by any sleeve, I might add, thanks to the tank top I鈥檇 worn for the occasion.

鈥淩eally? Are you sure?鈥� replies one of their crew, a twentysomething gal with gold flash tattoos and retro circular sunglasses.

鈥淥f course!鈥� I say, putting a leg鈥攁 leg that was half responsible for the simulated climb of approximately 60,000 vertical feet鈥攗p on the bumper of our car.

鈥淐ool. Thank you so much. And feel free to use our shade, too,鈥� retro sunglasses says as she hauls out an even larger canopy from the trunk of her group鈥檚 SUV. We help them set it up. It covers half our site.

There was a learning curve with the VersaClimber鈥檚 mechanics, as I discovered at my first Rise Nation class. While I听nervously waited for the class before mine to end, the music literally shook the wall I was leaning against. I turned to one of my Lululemon-clad classmates.

鈥淚t鈥檚 my first class. Anything I should know?鈥� I asked.
听 听 听 听 听听 听
鈥淥h, welcome! You鈥檙e going to love it. They鈥檙e super nice here. Just tell the instructor it鈥檚 your first time,鈥� she said.

鈥淐辞辞濒.鈥�

鈥淎lso, don鈥檛 be worried if your hands and feet go numb鈥攖hat鈥檚 super common the first few times.鈥�

鈥淣umb? Really? Wow.鈥�

鈥淛ust stick with it鈥攊t gets easier. Do you ever hike Runyon?鈥� she asked, referring to the in the Hollywood Hills. 鈥淎fter I did Rise a bunch, I could, like, fly up hills no problem.鈥�

As directed, I told the instructor that it was my first time. She, however, did not explain to me what to do. Instead, she gestured to some sort of workout doula standing near the door. The WD walked over and explained how to use the machine.

鈥淧ut your feet in the straps and grab the handlebars. When you move your right foot up, the right handle听goes up and the left side goes down. When you move your left foot up, the left handle听goes up and the right side goes down. Got it?鈥�

鈥淚 think so,鈥� I said, tentatively inserting my feet into the pedal straps.

鈥淕reat! Now just try to move your hands up and down!鈥� she said.

I gave my best approximation of the movement.

鈥淣o, not like鈥攗m, faster?鈥� she said kindly.

I tried to speed up. By the expression on her face, I could tell that I was still not doing it right.

鈥淭ry to go as fast as she鈥檚 going?鈥� she said, gesturing to someone warming up on a nearby VersaClimber. I tried and immediately realized the problem: my legs do not move that fast.听

鈥淥K, Rise Nation, are you ready?鈥� the instructor鈥檚 voice bellowed over the speakers, accompanied by听an onslaught of music. The WD gave听me a thumbs up and retreated听out the door. Electronically operated blackout shades lowered over the windows. The ceiling鈥攚hich looked like a giant Dentyne Ice wrapper鈥攃ame to life with manically blinking neon lights. My classmates all rhythmically pumped their arms and legs in unison to the beat. I tried to keep up.

鈥淥ne, two, three, four, five!鈥� the instructor called out. People changed the rhythm of their climbing accordingly. After three minutes, my hands went numb.

鈥淣ow鈥� rip!鈥� Everyone in the class but me complied with the command. 鈥淩ipping鈥� looks a lot like climbing, but with a more herky-jerky attitude, as though the instructor had said, 鈥淥K, now move like you鈥檙e trying to strain the joints in your elbows and knees at the same time.鈥�

After 11听minutes, my feet went numb.

鈥淣ow鈥� sprint! Show me what you got, Rise Nation!鈥� To my amazement, my classmates moved even faster.

鈥淐ome on, Rise Nation! I want you to feel it! Do you feel it?鈥�

Several members of the class whooped in affirmation. I did not whoop. I did not feel it. Nor did I know what 鈥渋t鈥� was. I was just trying to keep up. I could not. Whether on account of my numb extremities or my seemingly inadequate lung capacity, feeling it听was just not in the cards for me.

Thirty minutes passed. The music softened slightly听and the shades went up, revealing a sweaty condensation we鈥檇 collectively exacted onto the windows. I staggered out of class. Without first asking how it went, the WD took one look at me and said, 鈥淪tick with it! It gets easier.鈥�

She was听right, of course. I went听back the next morning to one of the dozen classes offered daily. By the end of the first week, my hands and feet didn鈥檛 go numb. By the end of the second week, I had听calluses from gripping the handles听and was听genuinely looking forward to going to class each morning. Aspects听I initially found cheesy started to seem like an integral听part of the听experience. The loud music helped me focus on the workout instead of how tired I was. By week three, I started to see my numbers go up, and instead of feeling wrecked after class, I felt only very, very tired. By week four, although it might have just been in my head, I thought听I could actually feel myself getting stronger.

For one of my last classes, I took听a Level 3 Extreme听with Rise Nation founder Jason Walsh. The Extreme class was 45 minutes long instead of 30 and听was rumored to be even more intense.

鈥淥K, Rise Nation, are we feeling it?鈥� Walsh shouted at the start of class.

We whooped our affirmation back. And when I whooped I meant my whoop听wholeheartedly, because I was feeling it. I was wrong before when I thought I wasn鈥檛 someone who went to workout classes. I am someone who goes to workout classes and loves them. Which is good, because now it was time for Coachella, which meant that it was time for me to show off my Coachella bod.听After my final class, I looked at myself in the mirror. All I could determine for sure was that I looked very sweaty. I鈥檇 have to let the experts be the judges. 听

What does it mean to have a body ready for a music festival? It seems unlikely that fans of Jimi Hendrix were doing crunches in the weeks leading up to Woodstock. How did music festivals become听places where corporeal aesthetics are a salient factor?

In a word: Instagram.听

The first Coachella festival was in 1999. It was a one-weekend event with $50 single-day tickets. Thirty-seven thousand tickets were sold鈥攆alling short of the 70,000-ticket goal鈥攁nd Goldenvoice, a concert promoter in听Los Angeles, lost $850,000.听Fast forward to 2017: general admission wristbands cost $399, and VIP entry is $899. Tack onto that the cost听of getting there, the hiked-up hotel and Airbnb prices in the area,听and your standard inflated food and drink prices ($10 quesadilla, $13 beer, $17 lobster roll), coupled with the standard no-outside-food-and-drink rules. The festival is now spread over two weekends, and this year it drew an estimated 250,000, which will likely lead to a sizable increase over last year鈥檚 $94 million in revenue.

There鈥檚 a business explanation for this growth: in 2001, AEG Live鈥攖he world鈥檚 second-largest presenter of live-music events after Live Nation鈥攑urchased Coachella. But there鈥檚 also a broader explanation: Facebook was founded in 2004, and Instagram was founded in 2010. Instagram now has 150 million daily users, and 1.2 million of them follow听.

Without a doubt,听people go to Coachella to see and be seen. On the final night of the event, as headliner Kendrick Lamar sang 鈥淒NA,鈥� a song about black heritage and culture, I watched as two white twentysomethings recorded a dancing selfie video. They appeared听emotionally engaged by the song, but then, moment captured, they听immediately stopped to scrutinize听the recording they鈥檇 made as Lamar continued听to perform in the background. After posting it, they turned from the stage and walked听away.

But the influence of听Instagram听can鈥檛 be the entire explanation. For starters, there are easier, far less expensive听ways to amass digital likes. Coachella is difficult to get to, and once you鈥檙e there听it鈥檚 hot (over 100 degrees) and dusty. A bandana to cover your face and nose is on the list of recommended items to bring.听Even with this precaution, I blew a brown string of snot every night that now, as I write these words, seems to be developing into a nice little bronchial infection. On top of that, simply walking from stage to stage across the expansive grounds can be exhausting. My pedometer told me that I clocked more than 56,400 steps over three days, or about 28 miles.

So there must be more to it than that. Maybe it鈥檚 this: the inorganic attempts to craft the experience one is supposed to have at Coachella鈥攁 magical euphoria of music and art, that just so happens to have an available for purchase from iPads on the premises鈥攎ight succeed, in spite of themselves.听

That鈥檚 because, amid all听the corporate shilling, there are also 125,000 humans doing something out of their normal routine. This routine breaking, of course, lends itself to the kind of social-media navel-gazing that makes events like Coachella 听听. Walking around the festival, I felt听the pull to ironically distance myself, to leave the moment and start composing in my mind. But every time that happened, I听witnessed something that jostled听my jadedness. On the first night, my fianc茅e lost her voice after belting out two full hours of Radiohead. On the second night, the crowd laughed听along with Justin Vernon, the stout, bearded听Wisconsinite who performs as the unexpectedly falsettoed听Bon Iver, as he attempted听a choreographed dance with special guest Francis Starlite. On the third night, three teenagers shimmied and twirled while holding lit sparklers, and听get this, none of them took out their phone听the entire time. My goal, of course, had been to get a Coachella ready bod鈥攂ut it hadn鈥檛 occurred to me that I would also start developing a Coachella-ready mind. The experience was beginning to grow on me.

By day three, I still haven鈥檛 completed my own personal Coachella Challenge. Now is not the time to get distracted. My attempt at a Coachella-ready bod remains听woefully unacknowledged. The closest I听came is when a security guard commented on my neon pink compression socks on day two. 鈥淢y man, those socks!鈥� were his exact words. So, with both time and options running out, as we slowly march away from the festival grounds on the final night, I shamelessly fish for a compliment from my fianc茅e.

鈥淒o you think that taking all 听those Rise Nation classes improved my body at all?鈥� I ask. She looks me up and down, then carefully considers her answer before replying.

鈥淲hen we were sitting on the blanket waiting for Lady Gaga to start, I noticed that your thighs felt, like, harder,鈥� she says, a notch below convincing.听

I consider her words. Harder quadriceps. Does听that count? Not quite the ovation to my rockin鈥� six-pack that I鈥檇 hoped for, but an听affirmation from a multiple-Coachella attendee nonetheless. Or maybe she听just observed that my IT-band issues had returned. Either way, I think I might keep going to those Rise Nation classes. Only 50 weeks left to get my bod Coachella-ready for 2018. I hear Beyonc茅 is headlining.

The post My Absurd Quest for a Coachella-Ready Body appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

It鈥檚 4 a.m. on Saturday morning, and I鈥檓 five miles into my fourth loop of the at Wawayanda State Park, in northern New Jersey. I鈥檓 supposed to be running. It鈥檚 a trail-running relay race,听after all. That鈥檚 why we鈥檙e here. That鈥檚 why I convinced seven of my friends (actually, in the end, I was only able to convince six of them) to be on my听team.

But at this moment听I am not running. Even the most generous description of the physical activity I鈥檓 currently engaged in could not include that word. 鈥淏aby-deering between wet rocks and mud鈥� would be a more accurate account. So would 鈥渨alking鈥� or 鈥渂eing a basic bitch.鈥�

I鈥檓 walking because it鈥檚 dark and slippery. I鈥檓 wet and cold. And I don鈥檛 want to fall. Again. In my bouncing field of vision, there鈥檚 a sharp divide between the misty illumination from the 75-lumen oval beam shooting from my forehead and the dark forest beyond. There鈥檚 a rumor that someone saw a bear cross the trail, and earlier on my run a particularly vocal bird from some unseen tree sounded to me, temporarily, a lot like what a bear might sound like. A mutant bear, sure, but wouldn鈥檛 that be even scarier?

It鈥檚 precipitating, which is an optimistic way of saying that it鈥檚 raining. It鈥檚 been precipitating relentlessly since we arrived听36 hours ago, when the sky decided to see how long it could ooze pure moist misery.

The Ragnar听is an听overnight relay in which听teams听of eight take turns running three loops鈥攔unners on the team rotate until each one has completed all three听loops as听quickly as possible. The website for the event told us to 鈥淕et Ready For The Best Weekend EVER!鈥� It featured a beautifully shot video with DSLR footage gliding along on a Steadicam, showing fit people running on dry dirt trails in the shining sun. As inspirational music tinkled along with commercial-quality footage, text on the screen suggested, 鈥淔ind YOUR #RagnarMoment.鈥�

My team has been invoking the 鈥淩agnar moment鈥� phrasing frequently this weekend, although perhaps not in quite the way the race organizers imagined.

鈥淢y Ragnar moment was when I saw the huge open blisters I got on both of my arches during my third loop.鈥�

鈥淢y Ragnar moment was when the Xanax that I took before I ran my first loop in the dark to overcome my serious fear of bears finally set in.鈥�

鈥淢y Ragnar moment was when I realized I鈥檒l be better able to relate to my great grandfather听because now I know what trench foot feels like.鈥�

As I gingerly make my way down a particularly steeply graded trail, my body temperature diving because I鈥檓 not able to maintain a pace fast enough, given听the current trail conditions, to keep my heart rate up, I think that perhaps I鈥檝e found my Ragnar moment.

And my Ragnar moment is this: I don鈥檛 want to be doing Ragnar anymore. I don鈥檛 want to do it anymore because I鈥檓 worried that my USB-charged headlamp will die at any second听and I鈥檒l have to face the fact that, at the ripe old age of 31, I am still very much afraid of the dark. I鈥檓 worried that I鈥檒l twist an ankle or a knee and have to limp the rest of the way back to camp and get hypothermia. I鈥檓 worried that the friends I convinced to do this are, at this very moment, regretting their decision to listen to me and sign up for an overnight trail relay in which we will collectively run 128 miles. I鈥檓 worried that doing this trail relay will not be, as I had hoped,听my triumphant return to distance running following a decade of a sedentary lifestyle after tearing my quadriceps on the cross-country team in college, but rather the last echo of the bell lap on the distance-running part of my life. I鈥檓 worried that I won鈥檛 ever be a distance runner again because I鈥檓 just a mediocre, out-of-shape writer for a comedy website who鈥�

A sharp burst of pain brings me back out of my head and into the reality of the wet trail I鈥檓 failing to run down, as I kick a rock and go tumbling. I scream an expletive into the darkness, the steam from my profanity joining the obscuring fog hanging in the beam of my headlamp. I鈥檝e broken my left big toe before, and my first thought is that I鈥檝e done it again. I take an exploratory step, testing if I can put weight on it. Then I realize, with something like a smile but not quite a smile, 鈥淥h, wait, this is my Ragnar moment.鈥�

The Ragnar Relay Series is the largest relay series in the United States. Ragnar Events LLC is based out of Salt Lake City, Utah, which was also the end point of its first relay race in 2003, a 188-mile, point-to-point, car-supported road race to be completed by a team of 12. In 2013, Ragnar added trail relays into the mix. There are three loops that go out and back from a base camp: a “green” loop of 3.9 miles, a “yellow” loop of 5.5 miles, and a “red” loop of 6.7 miles. Over 24 hours, each member of the eight-man teams run each of the loops. Yes, that’s as confusing and hellish as it sounds.

Ragnar was introduced into my life in early 2016 when my friend Colin sent an e-mail about it to me and my friend Ben. Colin, Ben, and I are comedy writers living in New York City. Over the course of the previous year, the three of us had听been slowly adding running into our routines.

For Colin, distance running was new. Colin writes for The Tonight Show and is the self-described 鈥渕ost obese member鈥� of our team. Though an experienced hiker and long-distance walker (Colin completes 30-plus-mile day-long walks around听New York City with regularity), Colin wasn鈥檛 sure if his body would allow him to run longer distances. So earlier this year, he signed up for the . Then, the very next day and听without any training, he ran 13 miles in Brooklyn, just to see if he could do it. He could.

Ben was a collegiate runner like I was, but with much more impressive PRs. He ran at Kent State and has a sub-15-minute 5K under his belt. He is tall and has the slender frame of a natural distance runner. When Ben started as a writer at my place of employment, , we began talking about distance running, and in particular about the distance-runner identities we each used to inhabit, back in a former life before we started doing comedy. Then, instead of just talking about it, we began running together after work.

After Colin sent the e-mail describing Ragnar, I couldn鈥檛 get it out of my head. I missed the camaraderie of the distance-running brotherhood I鈥檇 known on my college鈥攁nd especially my high school鈥攃ross-country and track teams. I鈥檇 grown up running trails in the mountains of Evergreen, Colorado. Back then听trail running was quite possibly my single favorite thing to do, but now, ten years later, living in New York City, it was something I never did. How had I become a Brooklyn comedian who rarely exercised, had no connection to nature, ate $1 pizza slices, and drank beer like it was the base of the food pyramid?

I had let the running part of me get away, and I missed it. The solution was clear: I would sign us up for Ragnar. Never听mind that there were only three of us and the team required eight people. I figured it鈥檇 be easy to find five other New Yorkers to join us on this quest. The Ragnar slogan is 鈥淐onnect. Conquer. Celebrate.鈥� New Yorkers love doing that stuff.

Getting five other New Yorkers to join the team was not easy. In the end, actually, it was impossible. We started the race with a team of seven, meaning three of us would have to pick up an additional leg to complete the loops.

In total, I asked 18 friends to fill the final five slots on the team. Some said yes initially, then backed out over e-mail. Most expressed polite interest in the idea of doing something like this with me in the future听but couldn鈥檛 do it now because they were too busy with work. A few said no because of their current fitness level. Only one person, my friend Arthur, said no because it didn鈥檛 sound like a good time. Arthur was the smart one.

鈥淚 don鈥檛 mean this in a negative way, but this is truly miserable,鈥� Colin says as we stand packed in a cluster of wet strangers, like nesting emperor penguins next to the bonfire in the Ragnar Village.

The bonfire has become the de facto gathering point of this soggy affair. It鈥檚 by the transition zone, the dual starting point and finish line where runners hand off the team bib between loops. And it鈥檚 the only semi-warm place to be, outside of a sleeping bag. The trade-off is getting a lung full of smoke before you head off on your run, but it鈥檚 worth it. The bonfire is bordered by the enclaves of the event鈥檚 various sponsors: the REI听Pour-Over Coffee Lab, the Salomon Shoe Demo Experience, the Nuun Hydration Station, the Port-a-John Alleyway of Stench.

I knew rain was possible, but the relentlessness of the precipitation is astounding. We got wet and cold upon arrival, and so have we remained.

It鈥檚 hard not to feel as dreary as we look.

鈥淩agnar Nation, how are we feeling?鈥� a host says jubilantly over the PA听system from an undisclosed location. 鈥淚t鈥檚 almost midnight, so that means no more music, but since I know there might be some damp spirits out there, if you鈥檙e looking for a morale boost, we鈥檒l be playing Top Gun in the mess-hall tent starting in five minutes.鈥�

It strikes me that this is probably the first time that playing Top Gun has been used as a morale booster outside of a birthday party for a ten-year-old who is just a little too into the Air Force.

Colin leaves to get ready for his next leg, and I take off my jacket and hold it close to the fire, trying to dry it as much as possible鈥攁 pointless听task, as the night air continues to spit down upon us鈥攚ithout melting it.

鈥淢an, I love Ragnar!鈥� a more gregarious runner than myself says to a new friend he鈥檚 just met. 鈥淓specially the camping part. The running part sort of sucks, but the camping is fun.鈥�

I wonder if this person knows that he is allowed to just go camping without signing up for a Ragnar event. But it is not the way of Ragnar Nation to question such things.

What, then, is the way of Ragnar Nation?

Part of the ethos is an encouraged Crazy Costume听mentality. In the about section on the Ragnar website, the phrase crazy costumes听is used twice, the same number of times as the word run.听Part of the fun of Ragnar, it seems, is to wear a silly article of clothing, possibly in coordination with听the other members of your team, while you run. Since the majority of the Ragnar event happens in the dark, while you are out alone on a trail wearing a headlamp, the utility of this tradition escapes me, but it does make for some party-vibe promotional photos for the website.

Ben joins me at the fire. 鈥淚鈥檓 saying this as a liberal runner, but I honestly think I鈥檓 more similar to Donald Trump than I am to a runner who would want to run in a crazy costume,鈥� Ben says to me as a team of tutus walks past us. 鈥淣o part of me would ever want to do that, and no part of me understands why a person would want to do that.鈥�

I鈥檓 on a similar page. Heading into the weekend, I听expected the typical Ragnarian to be a crunchy outdoorsman, a collection of borderline-monastic runner types who shun听the many sicknesses of our modern culture. There are some of this ilk, but many of the attendees appear to be more of the Car-Camping Huntsmen variety鈥攖hose who want to be in nature on the weekends while minimizing physical exertion and maximizing the creature comforts of home they鈥檙e able to bring along with them. Next to our site, there鈥檚 a tent that is larger than my Brooklyn apartment, complete with mudroom vestibule, Christmas lights (interior and exterior), an inflatable tyrannosaurus rex, and a myriad of expensive-looking gadgets.

Our shared smug superiority warms me almost as much as the fire does, but it doesn鈥檛 completely inoculate me from the elements. I am feeling discouraged. Our rented two-burner stove has stopped working, I can feel the itch of what I鈥檓 guessing will be bronchitis, and as a team we haven鈥檛 even started our third and final leg.

I put my jacket back on, zip it up, and turn to Ben. 鈥淲as this a mistake?鈥� I ask him.

Ben seems surprised by the question, which instantly fills me with shame, like I broke some code of distance-runner toughness. Before he can reply, our teammate Ryan, a multiple marathoner, a vegan, and probably the fittest person on the team, bounds up and throws his arms around us.

鈥淕uys. Listen up. Race talk,鈥� Ryan says in mock seriousness. 鈥淚 was thinking about it, and I decided that my strategy on this next loop is going to be to just go out there …听and freaking bomb it.鈥� Ryan flashes an impish smirk, then speeds off to the transition tent to start our last leg. I鈥檓 up next.

After a beat of silence, Ben turns to me. 鈥淣o, I don鈥檛 think this was a mistake,鈥� he says. 鈥淚n fact, I think we should do it again next year. I mean, there鈥檚 no way it could be worse than this.鈥�

Nate Dern () lives in New York City. His first book, , will be published by Simon and Schuster in August.

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