Failure to pace yourself.
12.2.21 #article #blog #kfo #thisisthenew.me #hardware #holiday #family #computers
I have a series of states that communicate to me where my headspace is.
In blood science (ok, dude), they can analyze the current about of glucose in your body, they can also test to understand what your average glucose level was for about two months. Getting a “workup” of your blood is akin to reading a computer log file.
I love photography. It is a way that I express and also take in the world. Photographs and video are a form of engagement and memory for me. If I’m not obsessively taking pictures it always means I’ve “tightened” up and stopping reaching out to the world.
I tend to load myself up with so much stuff. For a time I can really juggle everything and make it work. I inevitably though begin to mentally and physically wear out.
If we start to think about it in spurts though…Uhm. If we start to think about it in sprints. A computer processor can be greedy and inefficient with power and really crunch a lot of data. A computer processor can also be very economical and reserved. It will process and work well, even sprint(ramp up the processor), to try to chug through a heavy task, but then it will “ramp” down before overheating.
“As a baby someone cares for you. As an “Old” whatever provisions you hurled into the future are what you’re left with.”
If I can’t see to take pictures I’m maxed out. The free space in my mind that allows me to wonder and a imagine like a child, has no room to spread out. This is ok for a time, I guess, in the sense that this temporary sacrifice of part of my headspace is being devoted to crunching a lot of task.
Sprint.
When I would run The Peachtree Road Race I was always so excited. You’re packed in like animals going to slaughter. Everyone in their own colorful, synthetic swirl of moisture wicking fabric. How do you pace yourself at the beginning of an event where thousands of people are directly in front of you and thousands more are behind you. I run like hell. My first mile is thrilling, I barely feel it. My second mile is good about halfway through, then the klaxons start to go off, the adrenaline is gone, the sprint is turning into a unsustainable descent. Once I’m at mile 3 I’ve regulated to my normal pace, the problem here is that I’m only able to sustain that for about another half mile.
At mile 3.5 I’m always in trouble. Every body part in distress is demanding I stop. My heart, not the smartest of organs is just revving away, demanding fuel to continue. If we imagine our body like a hybrid engine. Again, the battery portion of the hybrid is highly efficient, it steps in when the ICE* is less efficient. Sitting at a stop light? Turn the ICE off and just let the battery do the initial work. Once your’e going down the road, the highly efficient ICE is going to go as long as you have fuel in it.
Now, let’s look at a different hybrid engine of sorts. The ICE combination of dinosaur juice and nitrous is a different story. In this instance, the sprint, those first few miles is the engine revved up to its maximum ability, and it is also a tank of nitrous which is being piped right into the combustion chambers, allowing the ICE to produce even more power, this is until the ICE fails catatrosphically cause you’ve stressed it.
You can use your nitrous at the beginning of a race, or at the end of the race, but you only have so much of it, once you run out you can keep going, but you’ve lost that peak power and further more, you’re running on reserves.
I am so excited I live the life of a faster more capable person, for a time. I then spend the rest of my experience beat down and exhausted, until about the end of the journey and this is when the excited is so strong, you proudly do everything you can to overcome your “let’s just survive” mind and you push yourself again. You walk through coal, you break the waves, you straighten your back and proudly do more. This is all going on inside your head, in reality what really happens is you take two or three very enthusiastic strides, go right back to about where you were before. You are more dignified, present, even excited again, the accolades, some part of them really are for you. You’re just making a good show, before your heart attack.
I don’t run the Peachtree anymore. I never figured out how to pace myself. I always die on the hill. Every year my heart (a slow dim witted fell), would muse aloud about our chances, and rattles a little more than it used to.
I can’t stop life.
I can’t stop this ride I’m on. It happens regardless of whether I’m pacing myself or not. I set up all these goals and efforts, to make money, to make moves, to prepare for the time when I won’t be able to work again. It seems like a small period of your life to have to send so many resources to care for things.
“As a baby someone cares for you. As an “Old” whatever provisions you hurled into the future are what you’re left with.”
I have failed more than I’ve succeeded. Life. Life experiences, where does the sprint power go? When do you pace yourself. If everything was Logans Run, your palm glows, you go out at the top of your game, would that be better?
It is winter time and we continue to tear away at the house, while building. What I have accomplished in this project is a feat. Staying in place while on the exterior (and interior), people tear and add to the house at the same time. This is a marathon, it always has been. I gotta stop with all of these sprints.
ICE* Internal Combustion Engine
