Day 12 - Show Me What You've Got

I've always been a respecter of technique and a supporter of passion. Combine the two and there's a magical uniqueness that happens in that marriage.

Technique without passion is mechanical, clinical, hits the right spots, but not the right notes, goes all the way, but doesn't satisfy.

Passion without the discipline of technique is sloppy, muddled, dangerous sometimes to itself and others. The moments of brilliance can't be sustained, and in the end, the same thing happens: no true satisfaction.

I had to stop by a store today to pick up a guitar (it's not one of mine, it's a gift for a very beloved youngling) and on the way out, stopped dead in my tracks: I'd seen a pod (it's an effect module for the guitar) that I've wanted for a while.

The owner saw my gaze, and next thing you know, we were discussing makes and models, then the conversation stripped down a bit more, to amps and tones, from clean to fuzz to mud, what we like, why we like it, the amps that do it for us and the amps that don't.

And then...we went from tone to bone: the axes we play. He put one guitar in my hand, then another. He watched me play, examined the angles I held my hands, my arms, my head at, the difference in all of those from sitting to standing. "You've got long arms--long legs, long arms."

"Yeah, but I've got a short torso," I said.

He shook his head. "You're fine - I was just noticing that you're not a six foot bass player, is all. Just means your guitar is gonna be different than someone elses, is all."

And we talked about "our sound," the way we each play. Like he said, it's not something that's handed to you in the store just before you walk out.

You spend hours, days, weeks, months, learning to play the basics, then months, years, taking them and shaping them into something. You expand your world, you change your amps, your rigs, your set ups, experiment with picks and finger tips, play with strings and pickups.

All of this is done so that one day, one fine day, you're able to turn around and say, "That's my style."

You wrestle and fight for it, slide, sweat, and bleed. There is frustration. There are flying towels, and even sometimes, a can or an ashtray. Your soul is pouring out from your fingertips, the tune in your head, and if it's not right, it's just not right.

What in the world does this have to do with running? Everything. Robyn Benincasa (who happens to be one of my personal heroes--and if you don't know who she is, find out, seriously!) once said, "Commitment starts when the fun stops."

Let me repeat that: commitment starts when the fun stops.

Passion gets you started, the spark that sets the flame to begin learning, and passion can carry you through the initial stages of learning technique.

But its commitment that marries those two, that permits the creation of "that's my style, my sound, my soul."

Breakfast: 2 soft boiled eggs, orange juice

Lunch: about 1/4 of a ham steak (hey, it's protein!)

Dinner: chicken with tomato, avocado, and lettuce.

The run started out uncomfortable; I don't know why exactly, but my feet and parts of my legs hurt--not bad enough to stop, but enough to notice. I figured it out a few seconds later: the soaking run from the other day had affected my sneakers.

Okay then - I could either stop, ruin the training module, and "fix" them (which would take more than a minute or two), or I could keep going and focus on something else. I did. Technique. I paid strong attention to my stride, to the way my foot would fall, and like guitar scales and drills, I did it over and over again.

For the first time since I've started, I hit 20 minutes not including warm up or cool down, as well as the two mile mark.

While I very clearly, happily, and proudly know what sort of musician I am, my style and my sound, I don't know what type of runner I'll be--yet. I do know this, though: I'm committed to seeing my passions through, and to do them right, I've got to perfect technique.