Context

Inspired by American Olympic glory, I've been hitting the pool lately, swimming laps while fantasizing about racing this fall (I've always been a non-committal, late-entry type when it comes to racing--something I strongly advise against).  This morning I was at the Y, happily paddling along, when I realized that by all rights, swimming should be dead boring.

There I was, traversing the same 25-meter length of pool over...and over...and over again.  If my fellow swimmers and I had been walking back and forth instead of swimming, we would have looked like we'd lost our minds.

But I was enjoying the hell out of it.  And why?

Because of the clock. 

Now, many people go to the pool and ignore the huge timing-clock.  They barely notice it.  Last week a lifeguard saw me coming and brought the clock over to the end of my lane, knowing that no one else would notice or care.

And that's a shame, because without the clock, pool swimming is mind-numbing.  Sure, you're reinforcing your swimming skills.  You're working some muscles.  It's not entirely useless.  

But add the clock and suddenly a pool workout means something. You can do sprint intervals.  You can get instant feedback on how well you're faring in the war against fatigue and pain:  how was that lap?  And that one?  Can I shave a second or two off by kicking harder or breathing differently, or lengthening my stroke an inch or two or ducking my head lower?  Suddenly a world of challenges presents itself.

The clock gives the workout stakes. 

Everyone reading this has bowled, I imagine, a few dozen times in their lives at least.  I'm not a bowler at all, and yet I never turn down a chance to go.  Why? 

Because of the scoring system.  Bowl well and there's a built-in incentive to bowl even better:  you'll score even more points.  As you go, the pressure mounts:  will you stay in the groove or fall miserably apart? 

Without those compounding bonuses, though, you're just rolling a ball down a wooden lane. 

Stationary bikes were dying the death until someone decided to add techno music, a peppy cheerleader, and the imaginary challenge of 'keeping up' with a group (a group that, conveniently, would never outdistance you, but well).  Suddenly it was called Spinning, and everyone loved it.  Martial arts classes would be nowhere without the seductive hierarchy of the belt system.  I know a trainer who doubled his fee--and his clientele--by shrewdly tacking the word "Bridal" onto the title of his "Boot Camp." 

A good exercise program is not all that complicated:  go out and work yourself into a good, panting, sweating froth for an hour or so five days a week and you're 90% there.  Everything else is details:  optimization, periodization, progression, balance, injury prevention. 

It should be easy--but  most exercise programs fail because people lose their stake in what they're doing.   They've settled into a routine that's dull and uninspiring because there's no brass ring, no light at the end of the tunnel.  Surprisingly, what KEEPS you coming back is not necessarily all that drivel about blood pressure and cholesterol and Type-II diabetes that your doctor--or trainer--tells you.  What gets you going is going to be something that sparks your imagination, be it a belt or a clock or a race or a wedding.

The change doesn't have to be monumental.  You don't have to go from strolling around the block to climbing Everest.  You might just have to add a clock.

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Speaking of stakes, Rannoch Donald has a cool post equating a good workout to hunting for big game.  Evolutionarily, it makes sense.  If our ancestors did their workout well, there was a nice big helping of antelope waiting for them; why wouldn't you and I need a little tangible reward to get us going as well?