On Thursday, I had one of those training sessions.

My brain stayed out of it. I did not struggle to focus, nor did I try to stay in the present moment. I did. Producing movement quality and grace and precision that was way above my normal.

Exploring movements that I do all the time but from a different focal point, I found myself learning and connecting.

All with the overwhelming sensation of getting something right.

Laundry list

This does not happen often. A handful of times a year, if I am lucky.

Most often, I find myself trying too hard to make things happen.

Giving myself a laundry list of instructions. The never-ending list that keeps growing, instead of shrinking, as I read and analyse more and more. Note to self: Distil. Don't enumerate.


Like Neo, I find myself searching for something. Something behind the curtain. Just over there. Right there.

That feeling of feeling the thrusters fly up that one fateful day under Kelly's watchful eyes.

That feeling of jumping down the track and hitting my first ball of an innings for four (wherever did that come from?!?)

Hacker binary attack code. Made with Canon 5d Mark III and analog vintage lens, Leica APO Macro Elmarit-R 2.8 100mm (Year: 1993)
Photo by Markus Spiske / Unsplash

It exists. I've felt it. Bypassing my thinking, my brain and its set of instructions and DOs and DONTs.

It surfaces occasionally. At work. And in training sessions. I find the smaller universe of training to be my perfect sandbox. If I can understand it here, I can take it over there. There being life or work or whatever the larger universe is.


Even as I am engrossed and exploring this state of body and mind, mundane thoughts floated in.

When is dinner?
Should I be writing something down?
How long has it been? If it is 30 minutes, you can cap it. Right?

Normally, there are two outcomes from here. One, I listen to the thought. Two, I berate myself for having the thought. Lo and behold, a miracle happened. Instead, I just focused on one relaxed, long inhale-exhale and went back to what I was doing.

After I finished my training session, I spent the next 15 minutes writing thoughts and emotions down in my training journal.

Feeling of joy, of amazement, and one of "yep!"

But they were also crowded by "What are you going to do about it?" and "How can you ensure you always train this way" and "Can you make a routine out of this?"


I ruin things by over-thinking.

I had a great training session.

Yes, it would be wonderful to have my brain shut up and to have this more of this altered state of training.

But even if it never ever happens again, I still had an amazing experience.

Photo by Derek Thomson / Unsplash

I understand that it is not zero or one. There are days when my body feels like a duck-billed platypus. And then there are these kinda days.

I think it is possible to have more days like this. Until I remind myself to stop thinking. To stop trying.

Whatever my mind and body have learned from that experience, my brain thankfully doesn't really understand and won't meddle with it. One hopes.

A question

What are you over-thinking?

Find something small and specific. Not something large and life-encompassing.