Training Theory for Lobsters and Dummies

"People get stronger if they voluntarily expose themselves to things they're afraid of".

In a different context, the above quote - from Jordan Peterson, who, love him or hate him, made an exceptionally moving defence of free speech at a recent UofT forum - represents the underlying principle behind the impulse-response model upon which virtually all modern endurance training theory is based on. In a controlled fashion, you break yourself down and let the body repair itself - coming out just a little bit stronger at the end of the it. Rinse, repeat, and you have my training plan: voluntarily exposing myself to those dreaded sessions, a nearly visceral fear getting hold of me ahead of every Tuesday morning date with the trainer. Yet, frankly, the day I stop fearing those, I might as well as hang up the wheels, such is the passion I've come to develop with this process.

Being a proponent of high-intensity interval training, I tend to go balls-to-the-wall as often as I can. The body's hormonal response is much stronger, and besides, the whole fun is in going fast anyway. My recent bout of fever, however, served to highlight that this approach works only as long as you can handle it - obviously, and yet so often prone to be overseen. Dig a hole too deep, and instead of bouncing back incrementally stronger the next day, you end up in bed (or in the operating room, which - knock on wood - was not the case this time). One needs thus a controlled approach to madness - perhaps I can lay claim to "reasonably unreasonable"?

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Peterson's argument can nevertheless be taken into a much more broader sense. We grow, professionally, emotively, or in virtually any other dimension, through similar dynamics.

Making use of the recent lobster analogy, I was left wondering whether it was not the case that new shells are rebuilt ever stronger the more often one breaks older ones down? Or, maybe framing it differently, perhaps the more one grows used to being subject to the discomfort of this exogenous growth process, the more malleable the shell becomes? Or even - perhaps such constant stream of impulses could ultimately make the shell itself unnecessary?

I would venture that also my caveat pledging for moderation holds in such cases - just as well as the conclusion I reached while convalescing: In dubia pro audax. When in doubt, go all in. Expose yourself. For if, by failing, one still learns something new, then it's not a failure at all. The shell will take care of itself.

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The northern slopes of the island were covered with clouds, temperatures falling slightly. I dread Puig Major, not the climb, but the descent, and on a cold afternoon no less. Already the ascent was frigid enough, with few cars and fewer cyclists seen on that last day of the year. Reaching the top, I zipped my windbreaker, looked at the village almost a thousand meters below, and even if shivering, as if to make a point to the fading year, went for that which I'm afraid of.

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Happy 306th prime.