We all have good days and we all have bad days. We have days where we are firing on all cylinders, clicking, buzzing, emitting vast clouds of potent energy out into the world. We know and embrace those special days, and acknowledge when we are lucky enough to experience that. We live out that day in the Zone, and go to bed, curious(or oblivious) to what the next day will hold.
We wake, and wait, and see what comes our way.
I'm trying to break this pattern. I'm tired of being on top of the world one day, and dangling in space at the tip of some Antarctic icicle the next, jutting out into oblivion at the bottom of this spinning orb. I'm tired of inconsistency. Aren't we supposed to be at our best every day? Is that even possible?
We wake, and wait, and see what comes our way.
I'm trying to break this pattern. I'm tired of being on top of the world one day, and dangling in space at the tip of some Antarctic icicle the next, jutting out into oblivion at the bottom of this spinning orb. I'm tired of inconsistency. Aren't we supposed to be at our best every day? Is that even possible?
You can relate these thoughts to any aspect of your life, whether it's your job or you relationship, or simply your existence. I relate the good days and bad days in terms of hockey.
We love the days when you effortlessly glide around defenders and move in slowed time and in different dimensions all together, and slide pucks back and around, and ripping a shot past the goalie. We love these days when it comes so easy to be great. After a day like this, are we doomed to grit through fumbling curses, bobbled pucks, and sloppy skating the next day?
I have made it a priority to work on consistency over the past two or three years. I realized that inconsistency was one of my flaws early in my career. To be a real pro means to perform day in and day out. You don't have to be great every day. But you sure as hell need to be good, really good. And being bad? It's simply not acceptable, because there are a hundred other guys who are more than willing to come in and take your job from you.
Training camp with the Providence Bruins opened up this week, and like any training camp, it has been strenuous, rewarding, frustrating, scary, exhilarating. You can add just about any adjective you want, you feel them all, over the course of a whirlwind week of hockey action.
Day one was insane. It's the most dreadful day of the year. Fitness Testing, where you are poked and prodded, and calipers pinch fat folds on your stomach, pecks, and thighs.
You are standing shirtless in line of twenty men. You are talking to yourself and hoping to be under 10% body fat, or there is going to be hell to pay. All the NHL brass, coaches, and management are there. They have their notepads, and everyone is watching. You start sweating, but tell yourself to calm down. You were a savage beast this summer. You trained harder than you thought possible. I flash back to the conditioning portion of MMA training at Combat Training Center in Green Bay. I just did a minute of burpies, and now I have to hold this plank for the last minute until class is over. I must have blacked out because I don't remember what drill we did before this. I just remember a lot of punching on the heavy bag. I remember grunting a lot, and putting my mind somewhere else, onto the hockey rink, and I'm there in the Bruins uniform, taking the ice, preparing for war, while my body mechanically slugs away at the black canvas bag.
I'm looking at my reflection in a small puddle of sweat that has pooled under my face as I hold this plank.
“Time!”
And now, finally, the torture is over. Off to the ice bath, then off to bed, and ready to do it all again tomorrow.
And I remember the diligence and dedication, and then have no fears about fat testing, or pull ups, or vertical jump, or flexibility testing, or bench press. I'm ready to show it. To bring it. Here I am!
But I am scared of the shuttle run. Who isn't scared of that vile beast?
Two cones, 25 yards apart. Run there and back, six times.
The dreaded 300 yard shuttle test. Do this three times in under one minute each, or you fail.
The doubts and fear begin to surface again, but you remind your body that you have trained for this, you have prepared.
And so you crush that run, but then feel the quaking pain in your legs, like some ghoulish hands are clawing out your quads from the insides, digging away, searching for those bones and marrow.
After testing and a day or two of shaking out the rust, you get in your routine of practicing. But this year something was different, and I came to a realization.
I always expected to have good days and bad days, good practices and bad practices. My first good practice of training camp felt so effortless. I felt no fatigue. Everything flowed. When I went back to the hotel, I started thinking about my performance for the day, and started preparing for the day tomorrow.
I told myself that I was going to be excellent tomorrow. It didn't matter what the circumstance was. I was going to be excellent. It was as honest a statement as ever. It was the truth.
Practice came the next day, and I was at the top of my game.
The same thing happened in the hotel as I thought about the day. I told myself that I was going to be excellent again tomorrow. And when I took the ice on the third day after discovering my new mantra, I felt horrible. My legs hurt, and skating fast was a struggle. I just felt off in every way. But as I got into line for the first drill, I told myself that I didn't care about any of that, I made a promise and I am going to be excellent today.
I'd love to tell you that I snapped out of it and summoned the ghost of Toe Blake, but I threw a grenade pass that missed by about five feet. I still didn't let it phase me. In that past it would have, and I see now how the snowball of negativity starts rolling and creates and avalanche of a bad day. The next pass, still off, but I didn't miss by much. My next pass was a missile on the tape, and I experienced a small victory.
But it was a big lesson. I told myself I was going to be excellent today, and I did it. Day four was another excellent day, and that's when my realization happened. On my way home from the rink today, I realized that if you string together excellent days, one after the other, at some point, you become excellent, you become that person. I don't know what the time table is. It could be a week, or month, or years, or a lifetime.
The most important thing is that you be excellent today. Now! In this moment. Then start knocking off those small victories one after the other and get the avalanche moving. Have that avalanche cover up any past version of yourself that wasn't excellent. Bury that person, and start your new trek on this virgin snow, one foot in front of the other.
Experiment:
Let's all make a promise to ourselves to be EXCELLENT tomorrow. Wake up and say it, “I'm going to be excellent today.” Repeat it as many times as necessary, believe it completely, and get that snowball rolling. -RRR
We love the days when you effortlessly glide around defenders and move in slowed time and in different dimensions all together, and slide pucks back and around, and ripping a shot past the goalie. We love these days when it comes so easy to be great. After a day like this, are we doomed to grit through fumbling curses, bobbled pucks, and sloppy skating the next day?
I have made it a priority to work on consistency over the past two or three years. I realized that inconsistency was one of my flaws early in my career. To be a real pro means to perform day in and day out. You don't have to be great every day. But you sure as hell need to be good, really good. And being bad? It's simply not acceptable, because there are a hundred other guys who are more than willing to come in and take your job from you.
Training camp with the Providence Bruins opened up this week, and like any training camp, it has been strenuous, rewarding, frustrating, scary, exhilarating. You can add just about any adjective you want, you feel them all, over the course of a whirlwind week of hockey action.
Day one was insane. It's the most dreadful day of the year. Fitness Testing, where you are poked and prodded, and calipers pinch fat folds on your stomach, pecks, and thighs.
You are standing shirtless in line of twenty men. You are talking to yourself and hoping to be under 10% body fat, or there is going to be hell to pay. All the NHL brass, coaches, and management are there. They have their notepads, and everyone is watching. You start sweating, but tell yourself to calm down. You were a savage beast this summer. You trained harder than you thought possible. I flash back to the conditioning portion of MMA training at Combat Training Center in Green Bay. I just did a minute of burpies, and now I have to hold this plank for the last minute until class is over. I must have blacked out because I don't remember what drill we did before this. I just remember a lot of punching on the heavy bag. I remember grunting a lot, and putting my mind somewhere else, onto the hockey rink, and I'm there in the Bruins uniform, taking the ice, preparing for war, while my body mechanically slugs away at the black canvas bag.
I'm looking at my reflection in a small puddle of sweat that has pooled under my face as I hold this plank.
“Time!”
And now, finally, the torture is over. Off to the ice bath, then off to bed, and ready to do it all again tomorrow.
And I remember the diligence and dedication, and then have no fears about fat testing, or pull ups, or vertical jump, or flexibility testing, or bench press. I'm ready to show it. To bring it. Here I am!
But I am scared of the shuttle run. Who isn't scared of that vile beast?
Two cones, 25 yards apart. Run there and back, six times.
The dreaded 300 yard shuttle test. Do this three times in under one minute each, or you fail.
The doubts and fear begin to surface again, but you remind your body that you have trained for this, you have prepared.
And so you crush that run, but then feel the quaking pain in your legs, like some ghoulish hands are clawing out your quads from the insides, digging away, searching for those bones and marrow.
After testing and a day or two of shaking out the rust, you get in your routine of practicing. But this year something was different, and I came to a realization.
I always expected to have good days and bad days, good practices and bad practices. My first good practice of training camp felt so effortless. I felt no fatigue. Everything flowed. When I went back to the hotel, I started thinking about my performance for the day, and started preparing for the day tomorrow.
I told myself that I was going to be excellent tomorrow. It didn't matter what the circumstance was. I was going to be excellent. It was as honest a statement as ever. It was the truth.
Practice came the next day, and I was at the top of my game.
The same thing happened in the hotel as I thought about the day. I told myself that I was going to be excellent again tomorrow. And when I took the ice on the third day after discovering my new mantra, I felt horrible. My legs hurt, and skating fast was a struggle. I just felt off in every way. But as I got into line for the first drill, I told myself that I didn't care about any of that, I made a promise and I am going to be excellent today.
I'd love to tell you that I snapped out of it and summoned the ghost of Toe Blake, but I threw a grenade pass that missed by about five feet. I still didn't let it phase me. In that past it would have, and I see now how the snowball of negativity starts rolling and creates and avalanche of a bad day. The next pass, still off, but I didn't miss by much. My next pass was a missile on the tape, and I experienced a small victory.
But it was a big lesson. I told myself I was going to be excellent today, and I did it. Day four was another excellent day, and that's when my realization happened. On my way home from the rink today, I realized that if you string together excellent days, one after the other, at some point, you become excellent, you become that person. I don't know what the time table is. It could be a week, or month, or years, or a lifetime.
The most important thing is that you be excellent today. Now! In this moment. Then start knocking off those small victories one after the other and get the avalanche moving. Have that avalanche cover up any past version of yourself that wasn't excellent. Bury that person, and start your new trek on this virgin snow, one foot in front of the other.
Experiment:
Let's all make a promise to ourselves to be EXCELLENT tomorrow. Wake up and say it, “I'm going to be excellent today.” Repeat it as many times as necessary, believe it completely, and get that snowball rolling. -RRR
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