training: hallowing over wallowing

My beloved brother Lee tells the story of showering down in the Harvard Red Top boathouse after a long, painful practice for the Yale-Harvard Regatta, a grueling 4-mile, 20-minute race. Rinsing off next to Lee, a scrawny frosh rower by comparison, he says, were two of the very top rowers in the world: Steve Brooks and Fritz Hobbs. It was June, 1968. Lee was in awe of them, these two extraordinary athletes who would soon go on to row in that summer's Olympics.

Both men at this moment were exhausted, nearly spent. Lee overhead one confess to the other, about his 4-mile sprint on the river, "Fritz, sometimes I'm just not sure I can make it." And Fritz answered, "I know. You just have to have faith in your training."

As I stepped out of the hair-strewn shower this morning, here in Farmington in 2010, I thought of my own training, coming as it has in lessons both goofy and grim. I try to remind myself that Life has trained me in how to get through this moment. That I am getting training right now, too.

I confess I've had some training that doesn't serve me well as I go through a bad chemo episode. I have extensive training in getting things done. It means that today's task of stillness is more challenging than marching through a to-do list. My to-do list today is to not-do. I feel underprepared, but am trying to trust that either I am somehow trained for this type of self-care, or that this is training for the next challenge.

How do you tell the difference between self-indulgence of the wallowing type and self-care of the hallowing type? I am finding that the distinction is in a flavor: the hallowing process has a bittersweet quality that you don't find in lonely self-absorption. When you feel bittersweetness -- both joy and loss -- I think you are close to the heart of things. I can't always get there, but I recognize it when I arrive.

I am having trouble with asthma right now, and just can't seem to beat this aftermath of a cold and get a good breath. I am gearing up to work at a 3-day counseling retreat at Mt. Holyoke beginning on Saturday night, and I need to be well for it. So my current task is to stay as still as possible, not to trigger my lungs into overdrive. Yesterday I tried the alternative -- took a long walk, and came home exhausted. Dang. Wrong training regimen.

There are thousands more hairs to fall from my head, but my "hair" is nearly gone. A young, bald client of mine suggested this morning that I shave, her strategy on more than one occasion for taking the reins when baldness is inevitable. I tried just now: took shaving cream and spread it all over my head, but the hair is too long and the razor can't cope. What a mess. I will have to wait for the missus to help tonight. She is getting lots of training, too.