Health

The App I Built Is the Opposite of Everything I’ve Been Warning You About

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“This phone is the devil”

— a childhood friend, via text, this morning

He’s getting off Instagram. Can’t say I blame him.

I’ve spent years writing about your phone. Specifically, about what it’s doing to you. (And to me.)

In January 2024 I wrote about Johann Hari’s Stolen Focus and the trillions of dollars arrayed against your ability to pay attention. In February 2024 I went deeper on why it’s so hard to focus — the dopamine dependency, the slot-machine mechanics, the infinite scroll engineered to exploit our evolutionary hard-wiring. In October 2024 I wrote about Jonathan Haidt’s The Anxious Generation and what the smartphone has done to our kids. And before all of that, Cal Newport’s Digital Minimalism convinced me to deliberately downsize my iPhone use, strip the social media icons off my home screen, and mute the notifications pulling my attention toward that hunk of plastic and glass in my pocket.

The research is clear. Maggie Jackson, in Distracted, put it as starkly as anyone: with our attention scattered among the beeps and pings of a push-button world, we are cultivating a culture of distraction and detachment.

I didn’t just write about this stuff. I lived it. A while back I documented my own month-long attempt to break up with my iPhone — the rubber band around the phone, the grayscale screen mode, a Giants game where I didn’t look at a screen once (one of my prouder moments). The whole messy field report is in the Phone Breakup series if you want to go down that rabbit hole. The short version: it’s hard, it’s worth it, and I failed more than I succeeded. But I kept trying.

And then I went and built an app.

I know.

Here’s the Thing I Had to Reconcile

When I first started thinking seriously about building the Coach Keir AI app, I had a problem. Not a technical problem — that was my developer Alex’s department. Rather, I had to address a philosophical one.

I had spent years making the case that our smartphones are attention-harvesting machines designed by very smart, very well-funded people to keep us glued to screens as long as humanly possible. I had written about Anna Lembke’s Dopamine Nation and the way pleasure-seeking loops get forged into deep neural grooves. I had cited the Center for Humane Technology and Tristan Harris’ warnings about what engagement-maximizing technology is doing to human cognition. I had recommended Catherine Price’s How to Break Up with Your Phone to pretty much every athlete I coach.

And I was about to add another app to the App Store?

The only way I could do it in good conscience was to build the opposite of what everyone else was building.

So that’s what I did.

What “The Opposite” Actually Looks Like

No infinite scroll. No push notifications engineered to pull you back. No streaks. No engagement metrics. No algorithmic filler designed to keep your eyes on the screen.

The app gives you what you need and sends you back to your life. That’s the design spec. Use it as a springboard, not a slot machine. Remember Patagonia’s famous “Don’t Buy This Jacket” ad in The New York Times? Same energy. I want you to use this app. I also want you to use it for two minutes and then go to sleep.

Speaking of sleep.

Meet “Julie”

One of my longtime Foghorn athletes — I’ll call her Julie — has a bedtime habit that will be familiar to a lot of you.

She gets into bed at 10:30. She picks up her phone to “check one thing.” An hour later she’s still on Instagram, heart rate quietly elevated, nervous system humming, cortisol doing what cortisol does when you’ve been consuming a high-speed feed of other people’s highlight reels for 60 consecutive minutes. She falls asleep somewhere around midnight. Her Whoop recovery score the next morning is dismal. She’s groggy, short-tempered, and reaching for an extra cup of coffee by 9 a.m.

We’ve talked about this in our sessions. A lot. She knows the science. She’s read the posts I’ve sent her. She knows that the blue light from her phone suppresses melatonin, that the emotional arousal of social media keeps her sympathetic nervous system activated exactly when she needs to be downregulating, that the unpredictable reward schedule of Instagram is the same mechanism that keeps people at slot machines.

Knowing isn’t the same as doing.

So a couple weeks ago I told her to try something different. Instead of reaching for Instagram when she gets into bed, open the Coach Keir AI app and type in what she’s feeling.

Here’s exactly what Coach Keir said:

Julie, put the phone down right now. Instagram at 10:30pm is gasoline on the anxiety fire — the algorithm is literally designed to keep your nervous system activated. I know it feels like comfort but it’s the opposite.

Here’s your downregulation breathing protocol. Do this right now: Close your mouth. Keep it closed throughout. Start with a quick body scan from head to toe — wherever you find tension (jaw, shoulders, chest), let it dissolve on your exhales. Now breathe:

• 4 counts in through your nose, belly-led

• 8 counts out through your nose, slow and controlled

• No aggressive pauses, circular and gentle

• When your mind wanders to work anxiety, gently bring it back without judgment — no self-criticism, just return to the breath. The extended exhale is the physiological key — it directly activates your parasympathetic nervous system. Your body cannot stay in fight-or-flight with a long nasal exhale. This isn’t woo, it’s autonomic nervous system science. Do this for 5 minutes. Then finish with one big inhale all the way to the top, slight hold, then the longest possible nasal exhale you can sustain. That final exhale is your reset.

One more thing: If you want guided support for this, Headspace has excellent sleep meditations that pair perfectly with this protocol. It’s the only meditation app I use and endorse. Your move: Phone face down across the room. Lights out. Start breathing. You’ve got this Julie. Goodnight.

Two minutes to read that. Five minutes to do the breathing. She was asleep by 10:45. That’s not a miracle. That’s a tool.

The Irony Is Intentional

Yes, this requires using a phone to stop using a phone. I get it. That’s a real tension and I won’t pretend otherwise.

But here’s what I’d offer: the problem was never the device. It’s what the device is typically used for. Instagram, TikTok, and the news feed are engineered for maximum engagement. A breathing protocol is not. One is a slot machine. The other is a tool.

Catherine Price’s framework — ask yourself “What for? Why now? What else?” before you reach for your phone — is the right instinct. Most of the time, the answer to those three questions is damning. But occasionally the answer is: I need a downregulation protocol so I can sleep. And for that, a phone can actually help.

The Slowfit Method® has always been about intentional choices. Being deliberate about how and why we are living our lives, rather than just pouring more water into a glass that is already overflowing and hoping for the best. The app is the method in your pocket. Use it intentionally. For two minutes. Then put it down.

That’s the whole pitch.

Download My App

What “Julie” Said Last Week

“Honestly? I forget sometimes and I end up on Instagram anyway. But when I remember to open the app instead, I’m asleep in under 15 minutes. When I don’t, I’m awake until midnight and I hate myself a little.”

Not a case study. Not a controlled trial. Just a Foghorn athlete who found one thing that works slightly better than the thing that wasn’t working.

Which is more or less what the Slowfit Method® is for.

My buddy from childhood is getting off Instagram. Good for him.

The phone doesn’t have to be the devil. But it’s up to us to make sure it isn’t.

Stick around.

Best,

Keir

P.S. The app is free to download. Coach Keir AI is available to all users. The full Vault — 270+ books, podcasts, tools, and on-demand workouts — unlocks with a paid subscription. Download here.

P.P.S. Want to work on sleep, distraction, or any other pillar of the Slowfit Method® with a real human coach? That’s what the 1:1 work is for. Book a session at foghornfitness.com. I have availability. Hit that button.

Book a Session

P.P.P.S. Paid Substack subscribers get the deeper dives and the full resource library behind every pillar. Upgrade here.

P.P.P.P.S. The new Foghorn Fitness site just launched. All ten pillars, the full method, everything in one place. foghornfitness.com.

What Do You Want Written on Your Tombstone?

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I know. Dark opener for a fitness newsletter, right?

Bear with me.

This is the first in a series of deep dives on the ten pillars of the Slowfit Method®. My framework for being as healthy and happy as possible, developed over thousands of hours of coaching, reading, and frankly experimenting on myself and anyone who’d let me. If you’re new here, the full method is at foghornfitness.com — worth a look before or after you read this.

I’m not kicking off with a workout. Not with a supplement protocol. Not even with a breathwork technique, though that’s coming.

I’m starting with a question about your funeral.

Because everything else flows from the answer.

Pillar #1: Purpose

When I designed the Slowfit Method®, I had to decide where to start. Ten pillars, each important. But one has to come first.

The answer was obvious: If you don’t know why you’re here, nothing else is oriented correctly. You can optimize your sleep, nail your Zone 2 training, build a meditation practice. And still feel like you’re running on a treadmill going nowhere if the whole machine isn’t pointed toward something that matters to you.

So we start with purpose. Your mission. Your reason for being.

Your answer to: Why am I here? And most of us have no idea. That’s OK! Keep reading, let’s see if I can help get you there, or at least pointed in the right direction.

The Tombstone Exercise

World-renowned performance psychologist Dr. Jim Loehr has spent his career thinking about exactly this. His book Leading with Character: 10 Minutes a Day to a Brilliant Legacy puts it plainly: at the end of your life, people won’t be praising your money, your title, or your status.

They’ll remember your character. What you gave. How you made them feel.

Loehr’s companion piece, The Personal Credo Journal, walks you through the hard work of crystallizing your life’s purpose. Prompts like: What are the major themes in your life? What words describe you at your best? At your worst? Are you more of a giver or a taker?

I’ve been working through the journaling myself. I won’t pretend it’s comfortable. Nor that I’ve got this thing dialed. I basically find myself disappointed in myself about something I’ve done or not done every single day. But I’m developing a much clearer sense of what I’m actually meant to be doing here. And that clarity is making me more intentional about how I spend my time. The things I choose to do that serve my purpose. The things I choose not to do that don’t. Where I direct my focus and attention (and where I don’t).

I’m also mindful here of Tsutomu Ohshima, the founder of Shotokan Karate of America (the school to which I belong), who famously said: “We must look at ourselves with the strictest eyes.” That’s the work. Not brutal self-criticism. Clear-eyed self-knowledge. Being honest with yourself, no BS. You don’t need to be a karate-ka (though it helps!) to appreciate this one.

This is why Pillar #1 is Purpose. Not double-unders. Not red-faced Tabata on a spin bike. In fact, this heavy topic is something I’ll address with new Foghorn athletes fairly early in a new training relationship. Because everything else flows from there.

Arthur Brooks on Happiness and the Second Curve

A book I kept coming back to while developing this pillar: Arthur C. Brooks’ From Strength to Strength: Finding Success, Happiness, and Deep Purpose in the Second Half of Life. Brooks is a Harvard professor, social scientist, and The Atlantic’s happiness columnist.

The book resonated with me personally. It helped put into perspective my own career arc. Big firm litigator to sports entrepreneur running a major big wave surfing contest to human performance coach. On paper, this doesn’t look like a clean trajectory, does it?

Brooks’ framework made sense of it.

As we age, our “fluid intelligence” naturally diminishes. The dynamism, the raw idea generation, the ability to out-grind everyone in the room. That fades.

But our “crystallized intelligence” rises. The ability to draw on a lifetime of experience, synthesize knowledge, teach, and mentor. If you can let go of your attachment to the first curve and lean into the second, you’re on the road to a different kind of success. And a much deeper kind of happiness.

This is where I’ve landed. I’m here to share what I’ve learned (and continue to learn). This is my purpose, and in it I’ve found a sense of peace.

Brooks defines happiness not as a feeling but as a combination of elements: enjoyment, satisfaction, and purpose. That third ingredient is the one most people skip. We optimize for enjoyment. We track our accomplishments for satisfaction. But purpose is the ballast. Without it, the good days feel thin and the hard days feel bottomless.

His prescription is strikingly aligned with what I built the Slowfit Method® around. Detachment from empty rewards. Genuine service to others (like you!). Deep relationships. Some form of contemplative practice.

Not hustle more, achieve more. That’s an endless treadmill. Instead be thoughtful—mission-focused—along the way. And slow down, go deeper, figure out what actually matters. Focus your efforts on that.

What the Science Says

Just like everything else I write about here, this isn’t soft stuff. The research treats purpose the same way it treats sleep quality or exercise frequency. It’s a health variable.

A 2024 peer-reviewed study found that purpose in life is a more robust predictor of mortality than life satisfaction itself. People with the highest sense of purpose had a 46% reduced risk of mortality compared to those with the lowest. They were 24% less likely to become physically inactive. And 33% less likely to develop sleep problems.

Then in the fall of 2025, UC Davis published findings from a 15-year study of more than 13,000 adults. People with a stronger sense of purpose were 28% less likely to develop cognitive impairment, including mild cognitive impairment and dementia. The effect held across racial and ethnic groups and remained significant even after controlling for education, depression, and the APOE4 gene—a known genetic risk factor for Alzheimer’s.

As lead researcher Dr. Aliza Wingo put it: purpose helps the brain stay resilient with age. Her co-author, UC Davis neurologist Dr. Thomas Wingo, added something I’ve been saying for years in different words: purpose is something we can nurture. It’s never too early or too late to start thinking about what gives your life meaning.

And the biological punchline: people with higher purpose scores show reduced epigenetic aging. They are aging more slowly at the cellular level.

So yeah, purpose isn’t a soft goal. It’s a physiological variable.

So What Do You Actually Do?

Start with Loehr’s tombstone exercise. Not morbidly. Seriously.

Sit somewhere quiet and write out, in three to five sentences, what you’d want your obituary to say. Not your title. Not your achievements. Not your stock portfolio. The kind of person you were. The impact you had. What people will remember.

Then ask: is the life I’m actually living pointed toward that?

Not perfectly. Nobody’s life is perfectly aligned with their stated values. But roughly. Generally. Is the trajectory right?

If yes: keep going with more intention.

If no, or “I’m not sure”: that’s useful information. That’s where the work starts.

That work, figuring out why you’re here and structuring your life accordingly, is in my view one of the most important health interventions available to you. More important than your VO2 max. More important than your sleep score. More important than your supplement stack.

What to Read

Want to dig a bit deeper on your own? Start with Leading with Character and The Personal Credo Journal by Jim Loehr.

Then From Strength to Strength by Arthur Brooks. And his follow-up, Build the Life You Want (co-written with Oprah Winfrey, which sounds odd but is genuinely good).

For a more philosophical angle: Iddo Landau’s Finding Meaning in an Imperfect World. His central argument is that most of us are far too hard on ourselves when we conclude our lives lack meaning. Your life is almost certainly more meaningful than you think.

Next up in this series: Mindset—specifically, why the story you tell yourself about your own abilities, how you perceive stressors, how you view the world around you— is one of the single most important variables in your health and performance.

Stick around.

Best,

Keir

P.S. Want to work through Purpose — and all ten pillars — with a real human coach? I work with clients 1:1 in person in San Francisco and via Zoom. Book a session at foghornfitness.com.

P.P.S. Paid Substack subscribers get deeper dives, workout programming, and access to archived content behind the paywall. Upgrade here.

P.P.P.S. Want the Slowfit Method® in your back bpocket? Coach Keir AI is trained on all ten pillars and ready to answer your questions 24/7. Download the new Slowfit Method app.

P.P.P.P.S. Plus, the new Foghorn Fitness site just launched! All ten pillars, the full method, and everything else in one place. Check it out at foghornfitness.com.

What Now?

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“You have power over your mind–not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength.”
-Marcus Aurelius

“In life, we can’t always control the first arrow. However, the second arrow is our reaction to the first. The second arrow is optional.”
-Buddhist parable

Greetings, friends. It’s been a couple years since my last Lemonade Chronicles post, sorry about that. (Or maybe, you’re welcome.) But I thought today might be a good day to pick the pencil back up. I’ve been writing plenty over the past few years, including finishing a 106,000 word memoir manuscript that I am actively shopping to literary agents (who have yet to nibble the bait). But I’ve also been writing in more of an email campaign format, with something of a different purpose from what I have written starting 10 years ago with this particular blog. The existential angst, butt-of-my-own-jokes prose familiar to TLC readers? Well I’ve managed to evolve that after a good hard look at my lifestyle, digging into the science about health and wellness, starting a new company called Foghorn Fitness, and even developing an entirely new approach to this stuff that I’ve coined The Slowfit Method™. Over the past five years, I’ve morphed into a human performance coach who trains about 100 people a week across group exercise classes, private coaching, and corporate wellness programs. And I send out semi-regular email missives to another 500-ish folks on topics like meditation, improving one’s sleep, physical training, mindset, breathwork, recovery, nutrition, drinking (less or not at all), building resilience, etc. More importantly, as a result of all this work, I’m waaaaay happier and healthier than I’ve ever been, living with an equanimity that I didn’t know was possible.

So now that we’re all caught up (and I hope all is well on your end, by the way), why am I posting on TLC after ghosting the platform for years?

Because things are different now. I should say at the outset that this is not a political message. I’ll leave the Monday morning quarterbacking to folks who are much more astute on that topic than I. Rather, and consistent with this new chapter of my own life and profession, I want to talk about how you can choose to respond to this new reality that we have all woken up to yesterday morning. Regardless of your political leanings, things are different now. By definition, we will be making our way in an environment with the stress dial turned up to eleven.

So what now?

First, notice that I wrote the word “choose” above. On purpose. As the Stoic philosopher and Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius said, we really can choose how to respond to stress. The Buddha, too, is credited with a similar sentiment, his regarding the pain of a second arrow that we effectively inflict on ourselves. In other words, we don’t have to scream and pull our hair out and go all googly-eyed, foaming at the mouth, emotionally hijacked by external circumstances. It doesn’t have to be that way. We have a choice. Your reaction–the next arrow–is up to you. 

Second, we have a whole grab bag of useful tools to manage stress. Any kind of stress. The hundreds of athletes I’ve coached over the past five years are probably tired of hearing me say this. But it’s true. Yesterday I wrote about a bunch of them at our disposal sort of in-the-moment: Breathing, moving, eating (real food), connecting, and sleeping. For my part, I took my own advice. I doubled down on my regular healthy habits yesterday, and I genuinely felt less overwhelmed by the political events. I’ve started the day the same way today, and I feel…calm. I’m not naive; there will be much ongoing vigilance required and plenty of work to do. From all of us. But I am not consumed by it. I am ready for whatever comes. I am choosing my response. 

Third, let me share a bit more about that response. Please know that this stuff is all science-backed, folks. Nothing woo-woo or otherwise outlandish here. And it’s more relevant now than ever. Because this new political reality is a textbook example of an “evolutionary mismatch” the likes of which is responsible in large part for what ails our species. Metabolic dysfunction, cognitive decline, mental health issues, obesity, lesser longevity, loneliness, and so on. Our brain is on high alert, being chased (over and over again) by a saber-toothed tiger as we peruse our favorite news sites, social media sites, TV news, etc. I can pretty much guarantee that you’re breathing rapidly through your mouth even now just thinking about it all. You are, right? Close your mouth and take a long exhale. 🙂 The “mismatch” is the unhealthy combo of a perceived stressor without the moving around part. Unlike our on-the-go ancestors, we run the risk of being stuck in a chronic state of arousal while sitting at our desks, curled up on our couches, iPhone stuck in our face, smashing Snickers bars, yada yada. Nothing good will come from that, if we let that happen and leave things there. 

So I’m not going to let that happen. And neither should you. I’m going to lean into my meditation, breathwork, physical training (swimming, surfing, cycling, running, lifting, karate, etc.–the photo at the top was taken during a little morning walk today), journaling, mindset, mobility, clean nutrition, proper sleep hygiene, meaningful social connections, building resilience, improving focus and minimizing distraction, etc. Details on all of this stuff can be found here. If you want to deep-dive into the science underlying this Method of mine, go for it; I’ve got links to enough primary sources to keep you occupied for years.

And this is really important: Please do not be intimidated or scared off by all of this. You don’t need to try to be me. This is not about me. It’s my job to do all of this stuff. All you have to do is make a positive change in the right direction. One change. Baby steps. Walk. Take the stairs. Back away from TikTok for a bit. Drink more water. Cut back on the booze a bit. Learn some downregulation breathing. See the sunrise. Or the sunset. Hide the Snickers out of sight. Lift something heavy and put it back down, right where you found it, then do it again. Everything helps! But you do not need to do everything all at once. Just start somewhere. You have so many choices. Make one.  

Lastly, let’s not forget the whole point of this thing. By “thing,” I don’t mean democracy or the United States or the world. Nope. I’m referring to life. Your life. As in, what is the purpose of your life? Nothing that happened yesterday should have had any negative impact on your purpose. In fact, it may have actually strengthened your purpose. It did mine. As I wrote over a year ago, my purpose is to learn and to teach. It can be easy to lose sight of one’s purpose, though, in the mundane day-to-day, or in the perceived crush of new stress.

This past week I received an unsolicited email from a gentlemen whom I’ve never even met. Here’s what he wrote (and yep, I have his permission to share this, but I’m still anonymizing it a bit)–

***

Keir,

Thank you. Thank you for what you do.  What you do is important and it matters! Although we’ve never met face to face you’ve had a huge influence and impact on me!  I began a similar “no IPA / no wine” journey in late November 2022.  I was on a trip to Phoenix with E. and a couple other high school buds in March 2023. During that trip E. asked why I wasn’t having any beer or wine.  I mentioned that it was driven by health concerns and I was making progress in my quest.  He then said “A friend of mine is doing the same thing.  I’ll forward you his newsletter”.

From the point I read your first newsletter you’ve been a part of my journey.  Through giving up alcohol and starting to move my body a lot more I’ve lost over 40 lbs and my body has responded.  My doctor is no longer pushing me to be on diabetes medicine or statins.  My other blood tests that were very concerning have all returned to healthy levels.  While all that is important the one thing giving up the IPA and wine has given me that was very unexpected is the feeling of accomplishment and it may sound simplistic and very basic but…happiness.  Life is good again.

I look forward to each newsletter you send.  Your message in October regarding your two years IPA free was fantastic…congrats!  I look forward continuing my journey and exploring your Slow Fit Method further in late 2024 and 2025.

I’m including a couple pics.  My family is the most important thing to me.  With my newfound health we are hiking and getting outdoors more (S. and I having fun at the top of a small mtn in upstate NY).  I’m even in the process of completing the Spartan trifecta with my two “boys” (J., M. and I after finishing the “beast” at Killington in VT).

This email may be a bit over the top but you’ve had an impact on me.  What you do is important and it matters.  Thank you!

Today is “day 700” of my IPA/wine free journey…thank you for the gift you’ve given me!

Sincerely,
Joe  

***

If I needed a reminder of my purpose (and we all do), why I put my feet on the floor every morning, Joe graciously provided that. I’m grateful for his note, and humbled by it. Sometimes it feels like I’m shouting into the wind with all this Slowfit human performance stuff. But Joe heard me. Thanks Joe.

And Tuesday’s election has inspired me in a similar way, believe it or not. I feel the same sense of purpose that I felt during the Pandemic when I first started Foghorn Fitness. In my view, now more than ever, we need to figure out how to survive and thrive in this new super-charged, stressful environment. Remember your purpose. Move forward, one little step at a time. Oh, and put that second arrow down.  Let’s do this. 

-Keir

PS Keep your eyes peeled, as I aim to do a bit more posting to this here blog. Thanks for reading.

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The Important Stuff of Surfing

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Screenshot 2017-08-25 08.12.57

It’s easy to malign surfing. A seemingly whimsical endeavor evoking images of far-off sandy beaches, warm sunshine in tropical destinations, seas teeming with leaping dolphins, and an enviable apparent disregard for what’s going on in the “real world.” An irresponsible undertaking. Polar opposite of a structured, land-based existence — the only one that truly matters.  An exercise in frivolity. What’s the point?

I’m glad you asked. 

I consider myself a surfer, though my skills in the water are meager.  I believe the skills part may actually be of secondary importance. And the perceived whimsy has, more or less, nothing to do with it. Rather, I reckon it’s a classroom out there. And I’d like to think that introducing my own sons to surfing has delivered up a host of genuinely important, substantive, life lessons. Vital, timeless stuff to be handed down from one generation to the next.

First, there is the commitment and suffering part.  You must shoulder (or armpit, or head-balance) your own board for the schlep from the car to the beach. Sure, it’s heavy, and your arms ache, and it’s not easy to sprint past the breakwall when a wave at high tide is about to slap you and your board against it.  But that ache with a touch of suffering marks your investment in this. Anything lastingly worthwhile requires some tolerance for suffering. Embrace it.

Second, slow down, breath, and take it all in. No matter where you actually are, this is the place to be.  How lucky are we to be striding out into this water?  Straddling a board in the flat of a channel.  Feeling the sea undulate beneath you.  Smelling the mix of saltwater, seaweed, organic decay from the receding tide, surf wax and neoprene. Absorb what your eyes see — the divebombing pelicans, curious seals, and the landscape sliding by as the tide and current have their way with you. Inhale.  Listen to the waves’ roll and delivery to the land. Hear the seagulls squabbling for the darting sardines. Inhale. Exhale. Slow down. And take it all in. 

Third, face your fears. Feel the tickle of anxiety and nervousness and uncertainty as a wave rolls up behind you, suddenly much more menacing than it appeared from shore.  Know that you are not even close to being in charge out here. Face that fear.  Welcome it, even.  It means that you are alive. Alive in a way where the deluge of Instagram updates, goofy Snapchat lenses, and group text threads fades into the background. Alive in a way where the only moment that matters is this moment. Fear is your friend here. 

Fourth, be humble. Observe the conditions, and the actions of other surfers out there, as you stand on the shore, so as to keep your own role low-profile and studied. Take pleasure in the earlier-arriving surfers’ pleasure. Understand that you are about to slide into territory that doesn’t really belong to you.  Be humble, whether you bob in endless lulls, get spun and pounded under a wave, or manage to stand up and glide for what seems like an eternity. It’s not about you out here, and that is a good thing. 

Fifth, don’t be greedy.  Leave something in the reserve tank to fuel your post-surf obligations.  If you can’t muster the strength to reach up and around your shoulders to unzip your wetsuit back on the beach, well, you probably stayed out too long.  I’ve been there.  Maybe you unwisely ignored the unfavorable current, in the throes of your gluttony for more waves, and spent your reserves fighting back across the channel. Know when it’s time to go.  There will always be more down the road and on the horizon (at least I hope so). And on this note, don’t forget you’ll need to wrap your leash tightly around the fins and cart your own gear back to the car once again. This time with tired shoulders, cramping hands, ear canals stuffed with sand, and saltwater in your belly.  The session’s not done ’til we’re back in the car, locked and loaded.  And remember it’s your job today to hose down the wetsuits at home in the backyard.  So pace yourself out there, and save a little extra for after. 

Finally, experience real fulfillment and gratitude. All of the above ingredients, mixed properly, will produce an overwhelming sense of well-being and satisfaction. A new collection of memories, just forged, swims in the head. A well-earned, deep physical fatigue sets in. The bloodstream seemingly spiked a bit from the saltwater immersion. Give in to the exhaustion.  Go ahead, son, fall asleep suddenly in the backseat. Mid-conversation. The hint of a satisfied smile playing across your face.  I’ll grip the wheel for the winding ride home along the coast, grateful for this singular experience.  Marking the occasion in my mind.  Hoping you’ll pass these same lessons along to your own children. After all, this is important stuff. 

On that note, it’s just about time to strap some boards on the roof rack, fill up some old milk jugs with warm water, and saddle up.  Class is in session. 

Thanks for reading. 

 

The Sky Is Cryin’.

black labs, el niño, Health, parenting tips, san francisco View all 6 comments

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It’s not exactly “Snowzilla,” “Snowpocalypse,” “Jonas,” or whatever monikered meteorological phenomenon bulldozed our East Coast brethren these past few days.  But El Niño to-date has proven a persistent pain in the ass.  It’s great for the drought, in theory.  Though I’m mindful of Paul Giamatti’s thirsty gulp from the Sideways spit bucket.

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Yeah, it’s a bit like that.  Only instead of a shawl of spitty Cabernet, we end up with puddles in the garage from an unfortunately sloped driveway.  Actually, we don’t.  My wife had the forethought to pick up a half-dozen super attractive sandbags awhile back. These we’ve configured to capture and hold Lake Beadling from the rain runoff, restraining the beast from washing our flat into the Bay.  They are also a fine addition to our homestead, surely sending up the value of our home on Zillow considerably. 

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The sandbags have been in place for so long now, I forget they are there.  So each time I back the Prius out of the driveway,  hyper focused imagining getting t-boned by a speeding SUV, the sandbag speed bump spikes my adrenaline, as I assume for a split-second that I have run over our dog.  I have fallen for this trick at least a dozen times.  Probably will happen again today, too.  

I’m saying I’m weary of the incessant rain.  It keeps me out of the Bay, since swimming amidst the King Tides, storm “runoff,” and random tree-sized pier pilings holds little appeal.  It keeps me off the bike, since one ride across an unexpectedly deep puddle up to one’s ankles is one ride too many. And the dog is unhappy, too.  Her normal weekly walks are cut short. When they do happen, she’s force-marched through pelting rain. The result is that Wailea seeks thrills by eating things in the house that are not meant to be eaten. This results in X-Rays, ultrasounds, and meaty vet bills.  

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Thank you, El Niño.   The kids are fairly stir crazy as well.  All of the screens in our house are hot to the touch, streaming non-stop mind-numbing content into the boys’ (now slowly) developing dorsal anterior cingulate cortices. At least whatever area of the brain is responsible for feelings of guilt and contrition still functions in our 10 year-old —

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We’ll apply this $6.75 towards–you guessed it–our “Rainy Day Fund.”  In other words, we already spent it. Gone.  Depleted.  

Alright, time to run. On a squeaky treadmill. In the garage. Huffing on dangling and exposed puffs of fiberglass insulation.  Waiting for the dog to inadvertently clip my ankles, sending me to the human hospital as payback for the aforementioned unscheduled vet visit and belly shaving. 

No rain, no rainbows?  Thanks for reading.

Back in the Saddle Again.

cycling, Health, san francisco View all 2 comments

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One of the best things about living in the San Francisco Bay Area is access to some truly fantastic road cycling. Even better if you can finagle a way to live close enough to the good stuff that you can leave the car and Thule at home. Pop up the garage door and shoot out into the street.

Fortunately, we have figured out how to so finagle. Example: While I haven’t done it in years, the ride to Mount Tam’s East Peak from my front door and back is almost exactly 50 miles. Something interesting about that nice round number. I have some very fond memories of that long ride, a reasonably regular excursion maybe 10 years ago.

I memorized the sketchiest corners that warranted whipping around in a short sprint so as to avoid surprising a following motor vehicle that might otherwise see me too late. In certain spots — sharp and blind corners — a surprised driver might swerve into the opposing lane to avoid a suddenly appearing rider just in front of him. Or the driver could quickly calculate his odds of injury and collision repair expense, then decide instead to bounce the rider off his car’s windshield. As the sign on Camino Alto says, “Lycra Is Not Body Armor.” So if the driver follows this particular branch of the decision tree, that is gonna leave a mark.

I have yet to experience this kind of unpleasant contact. I prefer to ride in the early morning when the roads are generally clear of those kinds of hazards. I’ll gladly trade a pungent dousing from a startled skunk than a run-in with a Land Rover’s bumper. Plus, like I say, I haven’t suffered my way up to Mount Tam in quite some time. So my odds of meeting up with that Land Rover are looking pretty good. “Good” as in, not going to happen.

I love a Tam ride facsimile much closer to my house — the Marin Headlands. A 14-ish mile round trip. Plenty of up for about 15-18 minutes. Ridiculous views of the Golden Gate Bridge, SF Bay, and the Pacific Ocean. Occasionally an intriguing run-in with a thick layer of fog. Obscuring everything beyond, say, a 20 or 30-foot circumference. Climbing up Conzelman in a blanket of fog turns a familiar route into a guessing game.

Was that tree always there? Is this the halfway point? What’s that noise on the rocky bluff above me?

I love it.

And I’ve missed it.

Until this past week, it had been more than two months since I last rode any kind of meaningful route. And probably a year or more since I last pedaled up into the Headlands’ fog. It’s generally not a good idea to go from zero riding to several Headlands rides in a week. The lower back will remind me of my age, aching for a day or so afterwards, regardless of how many Advils I chew.

But that kind of ache I’ll happily tolerate. I’m back in the saddle again.

Thanks for reading.

I am not an animal.

baseball, Health, little league View all 4 comments

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I think I know how the “Elephant Man” felt.

The Englishman Joseph Carey Merrick suffered from a rare, never-quite-determined illness or two that caused a number of grotesque deformities, formed the basis of a traveling show featuring Joseph as a human curiosity, and later inspired at least one theatrical plan and feature film.  Joseph was evidently miserable, and evidently also of enormous interest to showmen, doctors, royalty, and ticket-holding penny gaff patrons.

For nearly two weeks, I’ve been staggering through my days trying to remember when, exactly, I was struck by a car while riding my bike.  Or tackled unexpectedly by an overzealous, old friend.  Or inadvertently struck in the side of the head with an aluminum baseball bat.  Or maybe bitten by a blood-thirsty tick carrying one or another malevolent species of bacteria. Those are the only logical explanations I can can conjure up to explain how I’ve been feeling. But as far as I can remember, none of those potential explanations are based in reality.  None of them happened.

I have been knocked sideways by what feels like a dislocated shoulder, a sore sternocleidomastoid neck muscle consistent with the aftermath of swimming the English Channel, and an intermittent throbbing below my ear.  There are far worse health problems than mine, absolutely.  But I am not accustomed to this.

I haven’t taken a stroke in the Bay, a jogging step in my zero drop shoes, or a spin on my bike for nearly two weeks.  I have a race less than two weeks from today.  It’s not that I’m worried about finishing the race, or being adequately trained.  It’s that whatever ails me is preventing me from moving my body the way it has to move for a couple hours to even do the race.  I couldn’t zip up my wetsuit right now if my life depended upon it, for example, let alone go out and crawl around the Bay with 1,000 others.

More importantly, we’re in the heart of Little League playoffs season right now.  Both of my sons’ teams are playing.  They and all of their teammates are all kinds of fired up.  I live for this time of year.  In my current condition, if I foolishly burn through a bucket of ground balls with my fungo, the next morning will give me a hint of what it must feel like to be shot in the shoulder.  So I don’t hit infield.  Normally, my throwing shoulder is bone-weary by now, just from the sheer number of balls thrown during batting practice and father-son games of “catch” over the past few months.  In the past, I’ve complained about that seasonal ache.  I now ache for that trivial, seasonal ache.  At the moment, I am unable to raise my hand above my shoulder without wincing in pain.  So that means no throwing BP, no “coach-pitch” relief during my Little League games when our pitcher has been overly wild on the mound, and no easy game of catch with my boys.  Sure, I can catch just fine.  It’s the throwing part.  I’m reduced to underhand tosses.  And even those don’t feel particularly good.

In short, I’m miserable.

And apparently, like Joe Merrick, quite a curiosity to doctors.

My own doctor has been a champ through this.  Chatting with me after-hours on the phone. Speeding blood work results through the lab’s otherwise arthritic process.  Assuring me that eating ibuprofen like M&Ms is OK for the time being.  And showing genuine empathy for my situation, even though I know she has patients with far more serious maladies.

All of that is true.

But I am now beginning to suspect that I’m not far from the penny gaff myself.   This mysterious, pain-inducing thing knocking around inside of me is a Rubic’s Cube for my doctor.   I just want it to go away.   But my doctor has begun saying things like “infectious disease specialists,” “more blood work,” and “my colleagues.” Saying those words with a barely-detectible hint of excitement in her voice that I would rather not be detecting.

I think she is already working on the creative brief for the P. T. Barnum-style poster announcing my imminent arrival in your town.  I think she has begun drafting the speech for the barker posturing out in front of the tent.

“Step right up, folks.  You won’t want to miss this.  We have the death-defying Human Cannonball.  See him shot right out of a cannon before your very eyes.  We have Fire-Boy. The man who eats and drinks fire same as you and I eat a hearty meal.  We have Billy, the famous two-headed goat. And get this folks, for the first time ever, we bring you our newest, feature attraction:  The Whimpering Little League Coach. Reduced to throwing underhand!  That’s right, you’ll have to see it to believe it!  Has the devil taken hold of him?  Could be, folks, could be. Step right up!”

So like I said.  Miserable.  But evidently, too, of enormous interest.  Step right up.

Thanks for reading.