Rhythm Method

Music: Siuil a Run, by Clannad; and Rising of the Moon, by Column MacOireachlaigh

"I bear orders from the captain, get you ready quick and soon, for the pikes must be together by the risin' of the moon. By the risin' of the moon, by the risin' of the moon, with your pike upon your shoulder, by the risin' of the moon." - Rising of the Moon, Column MacOireachlaigh

In his classic book, Running and Being, George Sheehan says that if the game is played in your rhythm you will win, and if it is not, you will lose, and the real trick of life, and running, is to make sure it is always played in your rhythm. I have felt this for years in my running, in guitar, more recently in fencing, and flying. There is that moment in all four experiences where you reach perfect rhythm with yourself, let go, and fly. Everything becomes easy. The piece of music is in your perfect key and your voice and your instrument vibrate as one. Your legs seem to lengthen, your breathing becomes deep and ancient, and you never have to stop. Your weapon flies, you score every touch and laugh because it is so easy. Your muscles relax and the plane almost flies itself. These moments are special, and you remember them, not so much for their rarity, but because it is favored country, the place where you live, the place that is cellular home, deeply true in your DNA. You remember it, you seek it, you're a little in love with it, if the truth be told, because you know the difference between it and a game that is played not in your rhythm.

For three years, in my doctoral program, I was a fish out of water. A mid-life career changer, I was surrounded by twenty-something college athletes and cheerleaders. Yes, the kind who build pyramids and win awards in national competitions. As you might imagine, we had a lot to talk about. Over the three years, I came to enjoy and respect them for their many good and unique qualities. If they thought about me at all, I think they relied on me for what I could always be counted on to do: come through. Be older. Carry the conversation. Teach the class. Volunteer. Take big chances and make a fool of myself in front of big crowds. And in the end, win awards for doing just that. My best friends were a few others who were just like me in that we were all unique. A pediatrician from Russia. An orthopaedic surgeon from China. A chemist from Nigeria. An engineer who runs marathons. We stuck out because we were older, more experienced. Introverts in a sea of extroverts. We stuck out because we stuck out, the thing an introvert hates most yet cannot help but do.

Three classes of 40 students each, pressed together in a few classrooms on the top floor of a converted parking garage. No windows, sweltering in summer, freezing in winter, smelling year round of formalin and formaldehyde, cadavers, athletic sneakers and sweat. An only child, I suddenly had 39 younger brothers and sisters with whom I spent every waking moment. We saw each other in the best and worst of circumstances, successes and failures happened together, with everyone watching. When you succeeded or failed it was in front of the crowd. Tears and fears and feelin' proud were shared with the entire class not always by choice but because we were hard workin' sardines in a can. What I had always hated most, being human in front of others, I gradually came to trust, because I trusted them.

We made allowances for each other, and over the course of three years, I gradually found a way to integrate my own rhythm into the larger class. Before every exam I ever took, I could be found on my own, separate from the chattering crowd, with my headphones in my ears listening to Irish drinking songs, in traditional Gaelic, and non-traditional English. They knew not to bother me as I paced the halls, playing the bodhran drums to blow off steam, or busily running my hands over an imaginary skeleton or body, tracing nerves, combining music with kinesthetic learning, visualizing everything in my head for later recall. However odd it may have seemed to others who relieve their anxiety by talking, it was my rhythm and when I played in it, I always won. When the high scores and awards came, and the inevitable surprised looks, I found it was best just to smile, shrug and put my headphones back in.

Find a way to play the game in your own rhythm. If you do, you will win. If you don't, you will always be at odds with yourself, and you will always lose. Find your rhythm, stand in it, and then start running.