Double, Double Toil and Trouble: 200 Miles, One Day
Doubles on the Menu
Four years ago at a lunch stop at my first Tour DaVita ride in Wisconsin, I asked Paul Dorsa, a DaVita Vice President, ride organizer and avid cyclist, about his longest ride. He mentioned casually that he had completed a 260 mile ride in a day. I was floored, and tried to make practical sense of that number. How do two human legs pedal a bicycle that many miles in a single day?
A few months later, at dinner with good friends of mine Barbie and Ken Lucas, Barbie shared many colorful stories about her experiences on various California Triple Crown double century rides (200 miles, 1 day). I smiled, laughed and empathized with the pain and trying circumstances she and Ken encountered on their long endurance rides. The seed was planted. I wasn’t ready yet physically for that challenge, but in my mind I began to prepare.
Three months ago I completed my longest ride on my bicycle in a day: 140 miles, as part of the global Rapha Festive 500 challenge (640 miles, 9 days) and vowed to complete my first double century in 2012, a dream goal for the last 3-4 years. Two weeks ago I completed my second Solvang Century. (The prior year I completed the half century and the Solvang Prelude metric century). Two days later I signed up for my first double century under all sorts of duress, trickery, manipulation (ok, I lied).
Two days ago, I pulled into the finish line with a huge smile plastered across my face, a strong sense of pride, and tremendous gratitude for all the folks who have pushed me to perform at my best, and for the circumstances which made this all possible.
Solvang Spring Double
Relaxing in the jacuzzi of the King Frederick in in Solvang, CA two weeks ago after completing the annual Solvang Century (100 miles, 5,000 feet of climb), I met John Long, a 92 time finisher of California Triple Crown double centuries. One of the many good laughs I had that evening was about a comment he made on the approach to rest stops along the route for double centuries: “If you stop too long at the breaks, rigor mortis sets in. And if you lay down to rest on a double century, they might start shoveling dirt on you.”
I mentioned John’s comment to Barbie over a text message, and she responded, “I know John Long well and have done many rides with him. He is very funny. He rides in sandals-they clip onto his pedals. U gotta c to believe. He lives in Fullerton. U should ride with him.” I didn’t need any more of an endorsement than that.
The Planet Ultra site says that the Solvang Spring double century is a “fairly flat course.” I’m not sure if I laughed or grimaced when I read that. I had never climbed over 6,000 feet in a day, and this ride has 7,500, not to mention TWO HUNDRED horizontal miles.
A conversation I had with my Mom shortly before I signed up (thinking there were 10,000 feet of climb):
Me: “I’m thinking about signing up for a double century in Solvang in 2 weeks.”
Mom: “Over how many days?”
Me: “One. With 10,000 feet of climb.”
Mom: “What, all downhill?”
Me: “No, 10,000 up and 10,000 down.”
Mom: “WHAT??”
Me: “I’m freaking out just thinking about it.”
Mom: “Alright then, freak out and forget it.”
Me: “Mom, I’m really nervous.”
Mom: “That’s crazy. You should be.”
The Ride
I headed out the door of our hotel room, gear packed, checked and ready to roll at 4:45am. Teresa Beck (a.k.a. “Tiger”), my awesome roommate and carpool buddy for this ride, gave me a once over and took my picture before I said goodbye. (She would be riding a tandem with Roland Hoffman, “RoHo,” and didn’t need as much time to complete the ride.)
Jason Pierce, a fellow rider on a fixie, was warming up doing donuts in the parking lot of the Motel 6 while waiting for his riding partner Becky Berka before the ride when he exclaimed jovially, “Anybody ready to ride their bike an inappropriate distance? I am.” He went in a squeaky, sarcastic tone, “I’m tired. My ears are cold…”
There were several bicycles lined up along the balcony at the Motel 6 before 5am.
After a short speech by Debbie Bowling, organizer of the Planet Ultra events, we rolled over the start line and began our journey. I was eager to get started, and enamored by the flickering taillights and bright bicycle headlights sported by everyone around me in the dark.
The first 100 miles from Buellton, through Solvang, up to Los Olivos, Santa Maria and San Luis Obispo to Morro Bay were a breeze. I took all the advice I was given about moderating my pace and took it easy, mentally and physically pacing myself, and trying at the same time to take around the beautiful scenery around me. I almost literally took to heart the advice to eat, pee and fill up my water bottles all at the same time at the rest stops to avoid “rigor mortis”. (ALMOST.) It seemed that just about every time I looked down at my GPS, we were traveling at a negative grade (which indicated steeper climbs than descents – just how I like it).
The day was going well, and we were on course to finish with a substantial buffer before the 10pm cutoff, but I reminded myself many times that we were at the mercy of the elements. Rain, wind, long climbs, flat tires, malfunctioning equipment or any number of other misfortunes could throw a wrench in any grandiose plans.
Wind, Wind and More Wind
If you are starting and ending a ride in the same spot, it’s important to remember that any favorable conditions are likely to turn into UN-favorable conditions on the way home. In our case, we had a lovely tailwind propelling us forward the entire first 100 miles. The weather forecast had promised southbound winds, so I didn’t think to savor the tailwind on the first half of the journey. As John and I crested the northernmost part of the ride in Morro Bay about halfway through, I felt a gust of wind and recoiled when I looked confirmed with my GPS that we were traveling southbound – the direction of travel for the next 100 miles.
John pulled me through many miles of brutal wind, and finally about 50 miles from the finish told me his legs were giving out and that he was starting to get concerned about making the cutoff time. He told me to hop on with another pack of boys who were keeping a comfortable but good clip for me. For the first time during the ride, my sense of calm disappeared. John may not be the fastest thing on the road, but he’s steady, reliable and great company. And I knew in that moment that he wanted nothing more than for me to finish my first double century with an honorable completion instead of a DNF. So I reluctantly parted ways, but felt like I was leaving a soldier in the dust. And I felt suddenly lonely. From there on in, it was a mad race against time.
Mary, a woman who had been drafting off of John and me as well, hung on as I braved my way through 25-30 mph headwinds. When I got tired out, she volunteered to take the lead and we switched off for the next 20 or so miles until the final rest stop. I paused between my exhales and inhales, not quite on the verge of tears, but close. A speed under 10 mph was sudden death. Anything above that made hope possible. It was the difference between chasing a goal moving closer to us or further away. I remembered a quote a friend had posted, “Pain is temporary. Failure is forever.”
Into the Abyss
There were many memorable moments, observations and challenges on this ride, but there is no way to capture even a fraction of them in a short blog. Riding a double century is an experience that transcends words and can only be fully appreciated with experience. However, I will share one memory which stands out in my mind, one which made me smile then and makes me smile now.
Pulling out of the final rest stop with Mary, determined as ever to plow through the final 30 miles of the ride as the sun was setting, we decided to tack on to a group of guys for safety and increased efficiency. As the sun set, I struggled to keep a clear head and resist the urge to fall off the train – making up miles on my own without the benefit of a group riding two by two blocking some of the wind, the ride would have been slower and more difficult, but worst of all demoralizing.
Hyper-vigilance was extremely important in a tightly formed pack after dark, with potholes all over. Any mistake could cost time and risk danger. I tried to drink sparingly and placed my water bottle back in its holder more carefully than ever. The lights from the other bikes gave a psychedelic feeling. After some time, I pulled up to the front of the group and pulled for a few miles through the last of the flats and the final big climb up Foxen Canyon after sunset.
Eventually I felt strong enough to charge ahead, and found myself screaming down Foxen Canyon alone in the dark. The experience was perfectly magical. In front of me, the street was lit up with my 350 lumen NightRider headlight. Behind me, all was nearly pitch black, a great abyss with an ever-so-faint outline of a gray cloud above the mountains. I must have looked back at least 10 times to savor the experience. (It also made me realize that riding at night with one headlight, however good, was not a good idea. Next time, I will have a backup just in case.)
I crossed the finish line with 20 minutes to spare, and John waiting for me at the finish line, visibly overjoyed that I had finished. That was a real treat.
Road Warriors
Double centuries are classified as “extreme endurance activities.” If a century is equivalent to a marathon, a double century could be compared to two consecutive marathons in a day. John Long says, “It seems like the more you pay for them [organized bike rides], the more they hurt.”
The singles and doubles have some things in common (namely, pedal, pedal, pedal), but there are also many distinct differences, beginning with the fact that on a double, you are typically riding in the dark on both ends of the ride, which presents all sorts of challenges and thrills. Also, the risk of things going wrong (significantly) more than doubles from that on a century.
The community is very small and tight knit. As much as I’ve taken to the larger cycling community, it is easy to fall in love with the road warriors that make up the double century community. Most of these folks are well-seasoned cyclists, some with 50, 90, even upwards of 100 double centuries under their belts. Some are riding the double centuries in training for events with even higher levels of difficulty (RAAM – Race Across America, The Grand Tour 300 and 400 mile rides, etc.). They all have endless stories, great ethic and a tremendous respect for the road and for their fellow riders. They look after each other like brothers and sisters.
Left to right: John Long, Sharona Guggenheim, Teresa Beck, Roland Hoffman
These are not your average casual riders. (It feels a bit premature to call myself one of “them,” but since I relate fully embrace the endurance mentality, I will.) WE are all plagued by an insatiable drive to beat ourselves up for the noble cause of pushing our limitations. These things keep us up at night. I don’t quite know what riding a double century actually proves to anyone, but I do know there is a great satisfaction in doing one – physical, mental, emotional and even spiritual. The road is a magical place.
Strava Stats
Here is a link to my ride with a map, mile by mile breakdown, etc.:
http://app.strava.com/activities/5729010
My stats for this ride were nothing to write home about, but I did finish without a DQ – I’m very proud and relieved about that:
Distance: 198mi
Elevation gain: 7,549ft
Elapsed time: 16:36:05
Moving time: 14:43:37
Average speed: 13.4mph
Average cadence: 66.05
Average power: 80 w
Calories burned: 4,742
Strava Suffer Score: 339
Next on the agenda: Davis Double, Grand Tour, Hemet, maybe even Eastern Sierra…Death Valley? Perhaps Knocksville if I’m feeling strong by the end of the season. Breathless Agony will happen sometime soon. Eventually I’ll do Mulholland and Hearbreak too. Those last few sound crazy to me now, but one day they will become a reality.
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I found a (Rapha) twin along the way!
Rest stop 3 with Ron Wolfe
Are we related?
Within each family, personalities vary from one individual to the next. My family is no exception in that regard. The term “diversity” is most commonly used to describe variations in cultural standards and choices. Among the three siblings in my immediate family, there is more diversity than in many communities. This diversity has been a great source of amusement to my analytical mind, with my appreciation for deviation.
Sitting next to my brother on my gradfather’s couch yesterday taking turns answering questions about our experiences, decisions and beliefs reminded me of how very different my brother Willy is than I in his beliefs and preferences, yet in personality we share many similarities. I expanded the thought to my older brother Shlomo as well. When you look at the three of us based on our major life choices and lifestyles to date, it is almost incomprehensible that the three of us would be related in any way, much less share a common set of parents. (I’ll leave half siblings out of this discussion since the three of us provide enough of a spectrum to make most folks who know us scratch their heads.)
I will caveat this post by noting that people do change over time. Also, different circumstances shed light on personality characteristics. As people naturally encounter different situations, at different points in their lives and with different chronology, nothing can be measured with complete objectivity. The personality characteristics I share here are not set in stone, and are only from personal observation. My conclusions are obviously only from my vantage point. (I do think it would be interesting to ask both my brothers to walk through this same exercise, but I have a feeling it would be hard to convince either to do so.)
We grew up with a rather unusual set of circumstances (parenting models, community guidelines, familial challenges, etc.), and on top of that, there was a significant amount of deviation among experiences had from one sibling to the next, further skewed by our idiosyncratic coping mechanisms. All of these factors help explain why we turned out so very different, as measured by objective standards (e.g. place of residence, leisure activity preferences, religion and spirituality, sexual orientation, etc.)
In demeanor the three of us may come across as similar to one another. That is, if you can normalize for any influence dress may have on the observer’s impression.
Shlomo wears a white button down shirt and a black suit with a velvet Yalmake and/ or a traditional black felt hat everyday. Willy wears a business suit to work and has a unique, self-directed sense of fashion. On rare occasion you may even catch him in drag. When I’m not in a cycling jersey and padded spandex shorts, these days you might find me wearing a button down shirt and slacks for work, perhaps with a belt and cufflinks, or in a t-shirt and jeans if I’m not adorned with sport-specific apparel apart from cycling. (My wardrobe over the years has been the most diverse of the three of us.)
I will give a synopsis of the kids, not in chronological order. When I took pen to paper, Willy was the one I started scribbling about. He’s the most comical to describe, and most straight forward of all of us, albeit the most deviant. Shlomo is the oldest. I am two years younger than Shlomo. Willy is four years younger than I.
Willy (my “little brother”)
Willy is the most spontaneous, self-assured, uninhibited of the bunch. His misgivings with authority have gotten him into plenty of trouble as a child and teenager. Anyone who knows him knows what a boat load of fun he is. His impulsive, fun loving nature could never be contained or repressed. (When we visited friends’ houses for Shabbat meals, his shoes were the first to come off. I recall my Mom calling him “hot feet.”)
Willy jumped from one school to the next either because he got into trouble or did not thrive in the particular environment. Constantly challenging authority and boundaries of acceptable behavior, he set himself up for lots of drama and punishment. However, as my father used to say about Willy, all things were like “water off a duck’s back.” He was impervious to negativity, and he managed to weasel himself his way out of harsh consequences.
To gain credibility (especially with my Mom), he would tell stories that painted him in a more compliant light than he actually was. For example, he retorted that he had walked 20 miles one Shabbat when my Mom prodded him how he got home, and she believed him (and still does). (The use of electronics is forbidden on Shabbat.) I recounted this to Willy yesterday, insinuating that he did not actually walk all those miles. (Even back then, before he came out of the closet religiously, and long before he came out sexually, I saw right through his stories, half amused and half jealous that people believed him.) Willy chuckled as he told me he actually did walk most of it with his friends, but only for adventure’s sake. However, he used his cell phone all the way home, and took a cab for the last few miles.
Willy’s sense of humor is contagious. He has a knack for toying with gullible folks. A few years ago, my Mom called me at work and repeated the following report from Willy: “Hi Mom, I got arrested since I drove a go kart onto the freeway.” Immediately I began rolling with laughter. I knew my brother too well to believe a story like that. My Mom was befuddled that I caught on, as she hadn’t. (Now he’s about as honest as anyone else, but still enjoys a good prank every now and then.)
Unlike Shlomo who got lots of negative attention growing up, Willy’s trouble was not getting enough attention, which he made up for by seeking out negative attention outside the family. None of his attention-seeking behaviors were ever malicious. They were always, however, commotion provoking and highly creative. Anytime he could get a stranger to turn their head, he felt a sense of triumph. Some of his misdeeds growing up (far too many to list here) include hacking the computer system at his elementary school, setting off fireworks from our back yard, ordering a hamburger from a fast food joint with a megaphone, and the list goes on and on. In middle school, he bought a lovely bouquet of flowers, which he signed with the teacher’s name, and put it on his headmaster’s desk. Apparently he didn’t get along with either of them.
Despite the constant comedy surrounding Willy, as his older sister, I know there is a lot of pain that went into the making of who he is. Most notably, he lost his father right after his Bar Mitzvah. I witnessed many tearful sessions where he tried to speak his mind but was shut down every time. He was pressured to fit a mold all through his childhood that he could not tolerate, but he did not let it crush his spirit. He was also gay, and the community we were in did not tolerate homosexuality. Willy’s computers and his friends (not necessarily in that order) kept him sane through tough times.
Willy is highly entrepreneurial. He started his first company at age 10 called “Boosting the World,” selling microchips online to boost cell phone reception. At age 12, he gingerly told my Mom that he would be getting a dog the next day and had already arranged the financing and delivery of the animal. (I’ll save the story of how and why we got a cat instead for another time.) He bought and sold electronics for profit on Ebay, did computer programming in exchange for money or services all through his teens, and now as a Senior Network Administrator, he has been quick to secure terrific job offers from the likes of Google, Amazon, Ebay, Oracle and others.
Above all else, Willy has an incredibly big heart and a giving nature. It’s heartwarming to see how far he has come, and that he has found a place and a community where he feels he belongs.
Shlomo (my “big brother”)
Shlomo is the most intellectual of the three kids. In his childhood, he won national math competitions and some of his hobbies were design and architecture, in technology and otherwise. At age seven, he decided he wanted to become a structural engineer. He was drawn to all things complex, requiring precise, systematic thinking with extreme detail orientation. This also comes through in some of the art work he has done. You would never catch him drawing a circle without a compass. Ever. Shlomo is by all accounts a brainiac.
At this point in his life, Shlomo almost entirely devotes his intellectual aptitude to his study of Torah in Jerulasem, Israel, where he lives happily with his wife and two children.
Shlomo finds comfort in a community masterminded by a select group of individuals (chief Rabbis). As seems common for eldest children, he thrives in a highly regulated environment with lots of rules and rituals. Shlomo has rarely been one to challenge authority. His deference and awe for sages and elders is notable. Not surprisingly, he is the one who has done extensive research on our ancestry.
Because of his focus on cerebral endeavors, Shlomo was a late bloomer. He began dating at age 24, and was engaged only a few months later, to a woman whom he had dated for a total of two weeks. Shlomo is the only one of us who has settled down with a family so far.
Underneath his zealousness and piousness when it comes to his religious practice, Shlomo has a tender soul. He is kind and loving, and in my observation, along with his wife, a wonderful parent to their children. I love that I can talk and laugh with him for hours, just as I can with Willy (though obviously the content of the conversations is worlds apart).
Me Myself and I
Although I am probably the most introspective among my siblings, in this context I’m actually finding it most difficult to define and describe myself since I am most reserved about latching onto names, groups, communities and so forth (other than the cycling community, as well as another community which is largely defined by undefined individuals).
I find myself happily wedged at a junction between the business world and the mental health field. I also have a keen interest in arts and adventure, and don’t know what I would do with myself without sports. (Some of my favorites are cycling, gymnastics, tennis, snowboarding and swimming.) I think it’s fair to say that my interests are the most varied among my siblings.
Like Shlomo, I have a deep respect for people with more years and/ or experience than I do. I love to observe and to learn, and to play with ideas and words. Reading and writing are some of my favorite downtime activities. Unlike Willy who winds down with intense commotion, I have a fairly strong need for personal space and relaxation. Without those things, I feel like I have a hammer banging at my brain from the inside. (Not surprisingly, I live in Irvine, CA, in a quiet, family oriented community, while Willy lives in the center of the action, around the corner from at least five gay nightclubs in Hollywood.)
Although I have not been diagnosed with ADHD like my brothers, I have a tendency to get distracted sometimes. I went to my garage three times this evening to remove my Garmin cycling computer from my bicycle so I could charge it and upload my ride stats, but since I occupied myself with other things while I was there, I simply forgot and berated myself each time I got back to my apartment.
My high pain tolerance, patience and endurance have gotten me through some rough times, and difficult physical feats. I have a self-destructive streak, and it’s easy for me to go overboard and disregard my needs and feelings. It is a constant challenge to set limits for myself and adhere to them.
My analytical and somewhat distrusting nature keep me from clinging to any item, person or identity too strongly, as I alluded to earlier. I like to feel self-sufficient, even though I know that I am highly dependent on others by nature of being human. Like Willy, I have a strong drive to challenge limits and expectations.
I see myself as an ever morphing observer to life. At times, I have refused to take part. Now I live boldly, but still constantly ask questions and challenge the answers I am given or those I formulate.
I am highly nostalgic, and find myself reminiscing – deconstructing and reconstructing. I wish only that my memory about certain experiences was better preserved, but I love to pull out bits and pieces from old photos and memoirs from time to time.
Hardly anything grates on my nerves more than superficiality. I love genuine people who are honest first and foremost with themselves, and try to be transparent with others. Growing up I was encouraged to maintain different personas around different people, to keep secrets and to at all times to maintain a stoic expression. I refuse to do any of those things as an adult.
I love my family and friends deeply, and feel that life is entirely enriched by the sharing and caring of mutually supportive relationships.
In Conclusion
I love my two brothers dearly, and feel lucky to have such a wide range of lifestyles, attitudes and preferences represented by siblings. This provides a rich reservoir of material for amusing stories and experiences, and opens all of our hearts to a greater level of tolerance for all of humanity.
Where are the Good Men?
A few years ago, during a long night in the office with 80s music blaring from one of my colleague’s desks, a female intern called out from her cube that it is impossible for females to have male friends. She went on to explain that without exception, men sexualize women and can’t see them as “just friends.”
I vehemently argued the opposite viewpoint, since at the time I had a number of close male friends who had been great assets in my life, who had never tried anything slick. Within a couple weeks, three of those friends all approached me requesting FWB status, or otherwise asking for “more.” I developed a cynical perspective and announced I had changed my mind on another long night in the office. (Looking back, there are a handful of close male friends I maintained through that time that genuinely saw me for who I was and for only the friendship I was willing to offer.)
Before I dig in, I want to share a disclaimer. So as not to offend any if my recent offenders, I will point out that I am not trying to single out any one person or situation. Rest assured, this has happened a number of times, with a heavy concentration in the last few weeks.
Hardly anything makes me cringe in horror more than hearing about 1) pedophilia, 2) sexual abuse between adults and to a lesser degree, but still up there: 2) married men (or women) having affairs outside of their marital relationships.
For my own privacy and out of courtesy for any parties involved, I will not share details, but suffice to say there have been a number of married men who have approached me in person or online; people who’ve known me for some time, folks whom I only know casually through common friends and others whom I don’t know from Adam.
Knowing that these things go on and harboring a fear a of being hurt or violated is a large part of the reason I choose not to drink very much alcohol, especially when I’m not in the safety of people I know will never let me down. And it’s hard to know these things for sure, which is why I could probably count those people on one or two hands.
Have my childhood and adult boundary violations made me unable to trust at all? I’d like to think not. When I feel safe enough, I try to let my guard down and be real with people. Still, I feel that in many situations, acute awareness and a mild level of distrust is justified. My own hyper-vigilance and has kept me out of trouble in recent years.
I mentioned the nature of some recent experiences with my grandfather in broad terms, and he assured me that men in general are morally upright citizens, and that deviant behavior is the exception. He implored me to consider that my sample size is small, and encouraged me to search Google for statistics for infidelity among males as well as females. The 30% infidelity statistic he quoted to me sounded low, but even still, much too high for comfort.
I ask myself once again – where are the good men?
To my male friend’s who have never inappropriately hit on me – who see me as a person and not as a sex object simply because I am female, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Men in Pink
What is it about men wearing pink that’s so alluring?
Pink represents tenderness and delicacy, and is commonly associated with the female gender. It has been described as soft, delicate and youthful.
My favorite color since early childhood is green. I have a distinct memory from preschool, where our teacher took a poll on what each girl’s favorite color was. Most of the girls in my class proudly proclaimed pink as their favorite. Before I was called on, I contemplated pink, as there was an initial appeal in fitting in, but decided I vehemently hated pink. It seemed so “girlie,” especially in the bold form of “hot pink” or magenta that was so popular. It wasn’t until my second year of college that I began incorporating some pink into my wardrobe.
Yesterday I was deciding whether to buy a pink Rapha jersey or a blue one – almost identical – from Bike Effect in Santa Monica, after an amazing bike ride with my buddies in Malibu, CA (60 mile ride with nearly 6,000 feet of climb).
After long debate, I said aloud “If I was a man, I would get the pink one” and chose blue after getting some input confirming my thoughts. (Co-owner Alison pointed out that the blue matched the color of my eyes – hook, line and sinker.)
On the ride home, I pondered what about men wearing pink is so attractive. I came up with two explanations. Men who wear pink:
1) Question societal norms (and are not intimidated to think for themselves)
2) Embrace their softer sides (at risk of appearing “un-masculine,” sharing their more effeminate colors)
In short, these men aren’t afraid to go against the grain and show vulnerability, resisting the idea that men have to be macho all the time. I feel that at times, showing weakness takes a lot more strength than being strong, stoic and impenetrable.
The Meaning of Life (or lack thereof)
Meaning and purpose are things we all search for continually throughout our lives. We are simply wired to seek fulfillment through accomplishments made for the greater good.
Searching for meaning is more common at various stages in life; in our teens, at the crossroads between designated stages (e.g. “mid-life”) and in the face or aftermath of major life events, including trauma, illness, near death experience, death of a loved one, loss of a significant relationship, moving to a new town and starting a new job, to name a few.
The quest for meaning can come from a hopeful place or a deeply depressed one. In a dejected state of mind, it comes with a sense of urgency, as though if not met with a satisfactory response or resolution, we may choose, actively or passively, to give up on life.
My poor Mom found herself on the receiving end of the small fraction of existential quandary I did actually share as a young teenager. As such, she was faced with the desperate question from me, on numerous occasions, “What’s the point of life?” (I can assure you that this question came neither from an enlightened nor an inspired place.)
Each time when presented with the question, my Mom stammered and stumbled on scraps of words strung together like a disjointed bead necklace assembled by a young child, which only made life seem more bleak. I became more hopeless, and frightful looking ahead at an empty lifespan, which seemed far too long to endure in my then emotionally vacuous state. Looking back however, I can appreciate my Mom’s innate sagacity; had she given me any sort of concrete answer, I would have probably picked it apart, chewed it up and spit it out (as I was in the habit of doing at the time).
A common school of thought is that each individual is born into this world to accomplish a predestined purpose, however I am not entirely bought into that theory. I tend to think that life is inherently meaningless, but filled with so much possibility for creating meaning and developing purpose.
Life isn’t about finding meaning or finding oneself; it isn’t about anything really, other than what we make of it; the meaning we create, and what we actively make of ourselves.
Free choice isn’t ever truly free, as no decision is made in a vacuum. Most circumstances are well beyond our control, beginning with our initial conditions (place of birth, family, intrinsic personality, etc). However, we can play a prudent game with the cards we are dealt, and hone in on opportunities that present a confluence of favorable circumstances. Auspicious are those of us who learn how to play poor hand well.
Here are a few things which give me a sense of personally “meaningful” purpose:
- Developing relationships
- Helping people in need
- Lifting deflated spirits
- Learning about the world around me
- Reading and writing
- Adventure
- Ideation
- Cycling
- Music
- Memories and memorializing
- Spending time in nature
- Allowing myself to be completely consumed in a perfect moment
- Photography
- Acrobatics
- Humor
- Drawing similarities and predicting behavior
- Being resourceful
- Enjoying and succeeding in my work
- Embracing a wide range of experiences and emotions
- Feeling and expressing gratitude
- Giving life and igniting a sense of purpose in others
I still sometimes feel that life is a useless game; as though humans are akin to the lowest level of think-less material; perhaps like amoeba which propel and progress, changing in form, driven by no other purpose than survival, to no objective, meaningful end. However, keeping active has a positive cyclical effect which spurs my passion for life.
Meaning need not be sought out on a grand scale. Sometimes the smallest gestures can make a real difference in others’ lives, which in turn can have a powerful effect on ourselves. Smiling at someone who’s having a rough time, lending a hand, reminding someone they are valued and contributing a listening ear are all seemingly small but noteworthy acts which can not only lift spirits, but help ignite meaning and will for active living.
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The image at the top is from one of my favorite childhood books, “The Phantom Tollbooth,” by Norton Juster. Below is an excerpt which ties the image to the theme, beginning with a request from the faceless man who stops Milo, Tock and the Humbug on their journey:
“I wonder if you could spare me a little of your time,” he inquired politely, “and help with a few small jobs?”
“Splendid,” he said happily, “for there are just three tasks. Firstly, I would like to move this pile from here to there,” he explained, pointing to an enormous mound of fine sand; “but I’m afraid that all I have is this tiny tweezers.” And he gave them to Milo, who immediately began transporting one grain at a time.
“Secondly, I would like to empty this well and fill the other; but I have no bucket, so you’ll have to use this eye dropper.” And he handed it to Tock, who undertook at once to carry one drop at a time from well to well.
“And, lastly, I must have a hole through this cliff, and here is a needle to dig it.” The eager Humbug quickly set to work picking at the solid granite wall….
Milo took the shiny pencil from his pocket and quickly calculated that, at the rate they were working, it would take each of them eight hundred and thirty-seven years to finish.
“Pardon me,” he said, tugging at the man’s sleeve and holding the sheet of figures up for him to see, “but it’s going to take eight hundred and thirty-seven years to do these jobs.”
“Is that so?” replied the man, without even turning around. “Well, you’d better get on with it then.”
“But it hardly seems worthwhile,” said Milo softly.
“WORTHWHILE!” the man roared indignantly.
“All I meant was that perhaps it isn’t too important,” Milo repeated, trying not to be impolite.
“Of course it’s not important,” he snarled angrily. “I wouldn’t have asked you to do it if I thought it was important.” And now, as he turned to face them, he didn’t seem quite so pleasant.
“Then why bother?” asked Tock, whose alarm suddenly began to ring.
“Because, my young friends,” he muttered sourly, “what could be more important than doing unimportant things? If you stop to do enough of them, you’ll never get to where you’re going.”
Enigma of Fear
Subconscious avoidance of exposure to inborn and conditioned fear drives a great deal of human decision making and behavior. Most often our instincts serve us well, but at other times they can handicap and needlessly constrain us. Understanding the nature and origination of our greatest fears can help us surpass extraneous limitations, and honor the more useful ones.
I take the risk here in divulging some of my greatest fears, and simultaneously invite you to chime in and share some of your own, as you wish.
- Death and mortality
- Losing my Mom
- Illness
- Being entirely alone and isolated
- Perceived lack of meaning in life and circumstance
- Inability to think or remember
- The mental and emotional effects of severe malnutrition
- Reliving or re-experiencing my most painful memories
- Feeling ineffective
- Wasting precious time
- Being submerged and/ or suffocating
- Freezing to death or becoming hypothermic
- Inability to support myself financially or care for myself physically
- Losing an important relationship
- Becoming dismembered or otherwise losing functionality or health
- Bleeding uncontrollably
- Heart malfunction or anything putting pressure on my chest above my heart
- Sustained darkness
- Endless free-fall
- Motor vehicles
- Hidden beings lurking, especially in darkness (in closets, under beds, etc.)
- The possibility of alternate realities
- Loss of control or inability to affect on my destiny
- Overindulgence
- Lack of impulse control
- Perception of over-dependence on a behavior, need, person or substance
- Not feeling my lifeblood pulse through my veins (and sometimes feeling it too much)
- Loss of brain power
- Exposure to and cognitive retention of violent images (this fixation is why I don’t watch horror flicks)
- Severely intense pain
- Wavering between consciousness and unconsciousness or between life and death
- Severe or debilitating depression and sadness
- Extreme physical confinement
- Feeling intensely at odds with my body
- Uncovering emotion buried deep in somatic or parasympathetic response
- Inability to prevent a criminal from hurting or exploiting the innocent
- Fervid rage
- Complete chaos (ie no cause-effect predictability)
- Not being a good parent (someday)
- Feeling inadequate
- Not achieving some higher purpose in life
- Losing my family, friends, physical form and identity when I die
- Being physically alive but emotionally dead
- Being subject to the emotions, fears, traumas and tribulations of childhood
- Perceived warping of time and space
- Not being taken seriously, or not having a voice or presence
- Being in an overly controlled environment
- Lack of unique identity and differentiation
- Being subject to endless rote work and inability to express creativity
- Being repeatedly rejected
- Feeling entirely exposed (mentally, emotionally or physically)
- The possibility that this realm is only as “real” as a dream
- Nightmares and night terrors
- Ceasing to exist
- Existing indefinitely, in one form or another, without ever having universal truths confirmed
- The concept of infinity, as it relates to time, space and existence
- A reality in which time can work backwards and unwind or expunge experiences of the past
- The butterfly effect
Lessons I Learned from Investment Banking
On a whim, I began hammering out some notes on life an an analyst in iBanking a few years ago. To my counterparts, past or present, I trust that you’ll enjoy this. To those who are lucky enough to have been spared from this torture, consider yourselves lucky.
Sink or Swim
On or shortly after day one you will be presented with a company cell phone (in my days it was the blue Blackberry). Don’t be fooled – this is your ball and chain. This means that when out on a lunch break or after finally leaving the office at 2:30 or 3am, you are not safe. You can be called back or flooded with emails you’re expected to answer promptly at any hour of the day or night.
At the end of the day, it’s all about the fee. You may pick the highest bidder, but if they don’t close the deal, you won’t have much to show for that deal come bonus time. The fee structure will determine the “best” deal structure for the client. Not everyone’s financial interests are aligned; such is the nature of the beast.
Brace yourself. They tell you this isn’t rocket science. You rightfully remind them that rocket scientists aren’t expected to perform at the same level relative to the amount of sleep they have or haven’t gotten.
This is a HIGHLY stressful job. Don’t let anyone try to convince you otherwise. You will be burning the candle at both ends constantly.
The Rules
Everything is due “yesterday” relative to the date it was requested.
It always takes longer than an associate, VP, Director or MD thinks it will. Illusions of simplicity abound when someone else is expected to do the work. Cumulatively for you, the worker bee, this leads to even more dreadful hours than anticipated by your superiors.
Learn how to do things as quickly, efficiently and accurately as possible. Every minute saved counts (for something, I am sure), and conserved brain power goes a long way toward sanity preservation. And, if you are brave or unfortunate enough to exit the world of banking (including private equity, venture capital and hedge fund jobs), people peeking over your shoulder will claim your quick navigation and analysis makes them “dizzy.”
It is a mortal sin to leave before anyone senior to you, especially when you are staffed on a deal with them (something we’ve come to know as “face time”). Leaving before other analysts will cause contempt as well. That said, your success isn’t judged by the number of hours you put in, but by the quality of those hours and how much benefit you bring.
Investment banks are called “firms,” not “companies.” The VP title is inferior to Director and Managing Director.
Flip through every copy of any bound material you plan to share with your team or the client. Occasionally a page will find itself upside down, or get butchered in some other way, and you will be blamed, mark my words.
Cancel all doctors’ appointments for the duration. Health is secondary to work and face time. Writhe in pain quietly, to yourself if you must.
Sh*t rolls downhill. Nuf said.
Most of the MDs and VPs have specific preferences and pet peeves (eg no red bars or lines on charts; red means “bad”).
Nobody made their way to the top at an ibank through the use of good handwriting. All markups will be illegible. Deal with it.
Never, ever ever use the terms “bandwidth” or “capacity” or you will be brutally punished (to the tune of suddenly being staffed on more deals than you can handle if you made three clones of yourself).
Always lock your computer. (Analysts who didn’t would fall prey to half malicious, half fun-seeking analysts who got a kick out of sending emails to all the analysts from various unlocked computers of other analysts, with emails titled “victim 1,” “victim 2,” etc.)
Always check the “to” field in your emails before sending anything. (I once made a painful error of sending something, in a state of delirium, intended for another analyst, to the person about whom the email alluded to. Thankfully I was crypic and the picture in the body wasn’t captioned, however I don’t know to this day what said person thought when they opened my email. The memory is extremely comical looking back, but I can guarantee you that in the moment, it was not funny at all.)
Don’t abuse the meal expensing policy. Everyone has heard about the Managing Director who took his family out to dinner on the company dime. And the analyst who flew first class on the client’s dollar and found himself by chance sitting next to that that very client on the flight. AWKWARD.
Office supplies are meant to be thrown at fellow analysts late at night.
You will live, work and breathe finance and Excel. In the rare moment you aren’t working (or drinking – lot of my counterparts somehow squeezed in plenty of that), you will find yourself reading the Wall Street Journal, learn new Excel shortcuts and think about numbers; EBITDA multiples, leveraged buyouts, data rooms, comps, pitch books, offering memorandums, etc.
Don’t spin your wheels. If you have entered into the space of wasting time when you could get help or answers to speed things up, do so. But don’t EVER ask a question to a superior that you can get yourself. (See a paradox there?)
You can rest when you’re dead.
Do not commit to any plans outside of work. You may have a rare opportunity to spend part of a weekend day outside of the office, but those moments of respite are spontaneous and unpredictable.
Be resourceful. Some of your most commonly used data sources will include CapIQ, Factset, Reuters, Bloomberg and various others. And of course there’s the grand faithful Internet.
Make good friends with WP (the word processing group) and delegate, delegate, delegate. You crunch the numbers. They make the pretty charts and perfect the look and feel of any material that goes to the client. Simple as that.
The “repro” (reproduction) room closes at “normal business hours” (unlike Word Processing which has folks working in shifts, with graveyard shift staff for overnight projects). If you have something you will need to be bound, do your darndest to get it done during daytime hours so that you may get help. The scenario of binding pitch books at midnight is something no analyst escapes, and tends to carry with it a slew of jokes.
As the lowest minion on the totem pole, you will be asked to get up at the crack of dawn on a Saturday to come in and bind 20 books or any other silly task that shouldn’t take precedence over sleep and sanity.
It is absolutely impossible to maintain a normal intimate relationship with anyone. And for heaven’s sake, don’t develop a reputation as the office whore (not referring to myself here). You may get promoted, but you will be scorned.
Detail orientation is something everyone has just a little too much of. You can stay up working on something all night, and then have an MD or VP pick out one single number or formatting issue, and you will know full well that that is the only thing they will remember. You will find yourself working with “hawkeyes” who will hone right in on any error in a deck, book or model. (But this will train you well, in turn.)
When someone says they have worked at a bank for X number of years, you can safely multiply that number by two, or even three when you consider the hours, caliber the work and physical and mental stress and aging caused by the job.
Modeling Techniques for the Suave
Learn how to operate without a mouse, as you will have your mouse ball taken out on numerous occasions (if you manage to retrieve it at all). IT is a good resource for extra mouse balls. Not everything can be done by mouse, and it’s useful to keep a stash around.
The F1 key will disappear from your keyboard when you aren’t paying attention. The perpetrator will claim it’s a useless key which just gets in the way. (Unfortunately, IT doesn’t stash F1 keys.)
All spreadsheets must have the same general look and feel; font, titles, size, accounting formatting, dollar signs where needed, one or three but not two decimal spots if numbers are in millions, etc. (This profession suits people with OCD quite well.)
Do not embed assumptions; all of them should be explicit. As much as you can, try to put all of your assumptions in a model in the same place (if possible on the same tab or in the same section).
Each assumption should be hard-coded once in a model; do not link to a linked number if you can link to the source.
All assumptions are to be placed in blue font so that they can be differentiated from the purely formulaic numerical outputs in black.
Practically everything can be automated. Don’t ever waste time doing repetitive work in Excel. (One of my associates offered to teach me how to automate anything I felt was repetitive at all. This was a useful lesson; just knowing this prompted me to think creatively in this sphere, and I’ve come up with lots of creative solutions since.)
Big, bad formulas are sexy. (This is a lesson which I’ve been harped on for many times since in my work in IB, in favor of more simple, transparent and easy to follow logic.)
A plus sign after the equals in any formula is the telltale of an analyst who’s done his or her time in the trenches. (On a related note, you can learn lots about a business from its financials, and plenty about an analyst by the way he or she builds a model.)
Print everything and review before handing off. Trees can die, but you don’t want to be cut down. (I never could quite come to terms with this one. Massive useless printing jobs seemed wasteful.)
There are two versions of every file that the client gets to see; the formulaic one and the “values” version with all the formulas stripped out. Sometimes you may even go the extra step of PDFing a document to give it a finished look and feel, and to make it yet more difficult for anyone external to the firm to comb through your logic.
Learn to lock your cells properly (columns vs. rows). Proper locking will allow you to copy and paste formulas cleverly, and will spare you lots of grief necessitating error checking
Keep source files straight in your head. There is lots of data feeding into any model, and you will likely have many external links which can drive you mad if you don’t know what comes from where and where files are located.
Designate who works on the master file and when (Excel document, PowerPoint, etc.), and when the need arises for two people to make changes at once, create rider files where you remember what changes you’ve made so you can carry them over into the master when you rightfully have access to it. Close out of any files when you aren’t actively working on so others can make changes as needed.
Save up, religiously. Server space is not an issue. Rework is. Files that have been deleted, have crashed or have otherwise become dysfunctional are not acceptable, and always your fault.
When you save up, open up all files which have cell dependents on that file, or the links will continue to link to the original file. With both files open, the links will move to the new version.
Group rows; don’t hide them. Hidden rows get lost in the shuffle.
Learn strategies to isolate issues and discrepancies with numbers; tracing errors, etc. Every problem is solvable if broken down into pieces.
Learn the rules of copy and paste versus cut and paste well; and don’t delete anything until you’ve checked all cell dependents. Tracking down the source of a #Ref issue is especially NOT fun at 2am.
Check that all number tick and tie, and generally “smell” right. So much frustration has been poured into moments you struggle to reach that point. But once you get there, it’s a glorious feeling.
Other Incidentals
You need not re-invent the wheel; there is nothing new under the sun, and while each project and each deal has its nuances, you’re best off borrowing structure and content from previously developed materials. This will save you time, and time is of the essence.
Try to maintain a sense of humor. It’s easy to glide into survival mode and shut out everything but the items requiring immediate attention and focus. However, you will lose yourself, and your concentration will ultimately suffer. Remember though that humor and amusement will become warped with sever lack of sleep. (I have a number of odd memories relating to this statement; pouring sugar-free whipped cream down my throat straight from the can on my drive home from work at a red light one night and laughing my head off, and fixating on a video clip taken from a roller coaster.)
Try to take up residence close to the office so you don’t have to suffer through a long commute. This will save you time in transit, and will reduce the number of times you have to fill up your tank. (Even though I lived less than five miles from the office, I spent more time that I’d like to remember worrying about when I was going to have a chance to get gas. There wasn’t a single station open when I left work, and getting work on the way in seemed like a waste of energy between sleep and work. Traffic may be an issue on the way in to work, but it will NEVER be an issue on the way home since you will leave in the wee hours when most mortals are dozing.
Investment banking naturally tends to attract many type A folks. These are also the people who are prone to perfectionist and addictive tendencies. If you’re dependent on a substance or behavior, do your best to stop. The pressure of this job will trigger you at every opportunity, and things can easily spiral out of control.
As you will not have much time to shop, you must learn to shop efficiently and indulgently on a select handful of items that will please you. (My top indulgences were Thomas Pink shirts, cufflinks from Brooks Brothers, Cuff Daddy and a couple Swarovski jewelry pieces.)
It may suck now, but every job in the future will seem like a cake walk, and if you can survive without letting severe cynicism take over, and without becoming too jaded, life will be grand in the future.
Maintain a positive attitude. (This is hard to do on little sleep and an average of 16 hours of highly cerebral work every day.)
The body and mind develop a tolerance for any sort of pain. Agony experienced in iBanking is no different.
Learning how to work effectively in survival mode is KEY.
Stimulants will be promoted, and necessary at times to get through brutal experiences. (After complaining once that I was “tired” without realizing it, another analyst told me to “Drink coffee, Sharona. It’s good for you.”)
Nothing riles up the zombies like Excel crashing. When you hear an analyst spontaneously moan, that’s probably the culprit.
Presentation is just as important as content, and some would argue even more so.
You will become intimately aware of everyone’s quirks; and there are plenty to go around. (Someone I worked with had a tendency to jump around aimlessly from cell to cell in a spreadsheet in patterns or circles with the keyboard arrow keys when considering how to proceed; I believe this is the technical equivalent to an “um” in speech.)
Lean on your fellow analysts for support. They’re a smart group of boys (and the occasional girl), and chances are someone has figured out how to do something similar to what you’re working on more efficiently. Plus, you’ll be able to commiserate and share war stories which will help get you through long days and long nights.
No one wants to hear you whine. Everyone is suffering, except the famed Managing Director who plays golf all day and works on the marketing side of every deal and leaves the execution part to the monkeys in the cage.
Fellow analysts will become the closest thing you have to family and friends for awhile.
If at all possible, step AWAY from your desk for lunch and for dinner. I made the mistake far too many times of eating at my desk. Meal times are the perfect excuse for a mental respite, and close to your only opportunity for social interaction.
Health and sanity are in large part a product of adequate and wholesome sleep, exercise and nutrition. You won’t get much of the first two, so you’d better be darn sure to at very least fuel your body healthfully. (Good choices in this area are particularly difficult when the other two are out of whack, as I have found many times over.)
In Conclusion
Try to hang on to any strain of sanity. It will come in handy when the situation doesn’t require bold insanity and lack of respect for basic human neeeds.
“Leave your mark.” Focus, succeed, work hard and be remembered. This is something that the CEO of the bank I was at told me on my last day, and it has stuck with me.
Health, quality of life and leisure activities all are, or should be, at the very top of any life priority list. Money is nice. Glamor is good. But at the end of the day you must ask yourself if you’ve given away your soul for those things.
