Friday Ramble 01/29/21

When plans go awry, make new plans

Each week, the Friday Ramble offers a training snapshot along with whatever else is happening in my brain. This week: A sublime snow run, and a tribute to my friend, Sekou Smith.

After feeling lost and adrift last week, I needed to introduce some structure into my life so I put together a detailed training plan for the next four weeks. The specifics aren’t really important. Simply having a plan gave me much-needed agency, and it carried over to the rest of my life. My wife and I cleaned the house with abandon over the weekend and knocked a bunch of things off the to-do list. I even got ahead on work projects.  

All of which left me feeling pleasantly optimistic heading into the week. I executed all my runs while staying on top of things on the homefront, and was primed for a big midweek effort on the Skyline Trail. Then it snowed. I have to admit, it caught me off guard. I mean, I knew it was snowing when I went to bed, but for some reason I didn’t expect there to be so much actual snow on the ground. 

My mood turned sour and I thought about bagging the run because running in fresh snow is tricky business. I didn’t want to lose the positive momentum I was building, so I started coming up with a new plan, which was to have no plan. I headed out completely unsure of what I would be able to do or how it would go, but pledged to keep an open mind. 

Some of this may sound obvious to a lot of you. Stuff happens and you figure out a solution. No big deal, right? My brain doesn’t work that way. When confronted with the unknown, I tend to get tense and anxious. I make detailed plans about everything from running to unloading the dishwasher to help me feel safe and comfortable. It’s like the old John Wooden saying: “Failing to prepare is preparing to fail.” 

Yet, all that preparation can bring me to some dark places when things don’t go just exactly right. What do you do when your carefully constructed plans collide with an uncontrollable variable like a couple of inches of fresh snow? In my worst moments, I fall to pieces. In my better ones, like this particular morning, I simply headed out the door and allowed things to happen. 

It was pretty clear early on that I wouldn’t be able to run Skyline in these conditions. It was too slippery and there was just enough snow on the ground to obscure, but not bury, all the loose rocks and roots that make Skyline such an adventure. I gave it an honest try, but detoured quickly back to a more accessible path. 

I hooked up with another trail to see if that was any better, but it was a little dicey, as well. The only thing I could run confidently was the wide open paths that I usually avoid because they’re not as challenging and they tend to be a little more crowded. It’s not much, I told myself, but it’s something. 

It then dawned on me that I was making completely fresh tracks. The snow was soft and forgiving, like running on a pillowy cloud. There was more coming down, not too much, just the right amount to heighten the mood. Suddenly, this wasn’t just another run in the training plan. This was a special event that happens only a few times every year if you’re lucky, and gets put in the memory bank forever. 

As stoked as I was to be out in this Winter wonderland, I still needed some kind of plan or else I’d be (literally) running in circles. In order to meet my mileage goal for the day, I’d have to be creative and break out of old, established patterns. I went up and around a nice-sized hill to make up for some of the climbing I was missing and criss-crossed my way back to an intersection where I went left instead of right like I usually do. 

All the while, I was recalibrating time, mileage, and vert into the larger goals I had made for the week. It took a few miles for this new plan to settle into place, but when it did I embraced the day in all of its snowy splendor. Where else would I rather be than right there at that moment? 

I’m proud of that run because in working through some anxiety, I allowed myself to experience such a sublime morning. It also reminds me that while having a plan is crucial for my maintaining my mental state, the ability to adapt is divine. Just as important, my ability to adapt derived entirely from the fact that I had such a solid foundation already in place. 

There aren’t many happy accidents in running. Only opportunities. 

In memoriam: Sekou Smith

My heart is heavy this week with the passing of Sekou Smith from complications related to COVID-19. If you follow the NBA, you undoubtedly know about Sekou. Maybe you read his columns or listened to his podcast or saw him on NBA TV. He was the rare writer who could do everything well. You may have also seen the outpouring of emotion from his friends and colleagues, of which there were many. Everyone has a Sekou Smith story. This is mine. 

It was June of 2014, the NBA Finals, and I was one of hundreds of media members sweltering in South Texas somewhere off the highway at the San Antonio Spurs practice facility waiting for the Miami Heat to arrive. I don’t remember why they were late. Maybe they had a problem with their flight, or maybe they just didn’t feel like talking to the press again after getting run out of their own building by the Spurs. Trust me, the feeling was mutual. Everyone was ready for this series to be over so we could go home. 

I was particularly anxious to get back because this was the longest I had been away from my son, who was then nine months old. My wife had just texted me a bunch of photos to cheer me up, but it was having the opposite effect. I was off in the corner trying to keep it together and was startled when I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Sekou. 

We were friends the way everyone in the league was friends with Sekou. He had a rare ability to connect with people on a deep, spiritual level. Players, coaches, GMs, agents, ushers, media colleagues, it didn’t matter. Sekou had time for everyone. He could bust your chops and cut you down to size while making you laugh the whole time. At heart, he was the living embodiment of the golden rule: treat others the way you would like to be treated yourself. 

But it wasn’t like we were close friends. That didn’t matter to Sekou, either. He saw I was hurting and came over to ask what was wrong. I told him about missing my family and he smiled and showed me photos of his kids. We talked for about an hour that day, about life and the job, but mostly about fatherhood and not losing sight of what was truly important. There’s always another practice, always another game, he said, but you only get one chance to be there when they grow up. 

Sekou made me laugh that day. He made me think. Most of all he made me feel better. He did that for a lot of people over the years. I can’t think of anyone who spent time with him who didn’t feel like a better person afterward. 

There was no one in the NBA I respected more than Sekou -- he could work a locker room better than anyone -- but most importantly, I looked up to him as a man. When I got off the NBA grind a few years later mainly because I couldn’t stand being away from my family so much, I sent him a note thanking him for that conversation in San Antonio. 

We never did get that dinner. In his way too brief time on this planet, Sekou Smith made the world a better place and I can’t believe he’s gone. I’m angry and frustrated that Sekou, like so many other people, died a needless death from COVID. Most of all I’m sad, and I wish he was here to put a hand on my shoulder and tell me something good.

My heart goes out to his family who he loved so much and to all his friends who were touched and inspired by his spirit and kindness. RIP, Sir. Thank you for being the realest one out there.