Teach Your Children Well

These are exam answers I got from students some years ago when examining them on a management course.

Explain what is meant by the “carrot and stick” approach to management.

1. carrot is when you go to management with too many hectic things and stick when you have one thing.

2. taking advantage of your employees just because you are the boss

3. “carrot’ meaning not full of yourself, can break easily “stick” meaning full of yourself, don’t break easily

4. the student drew a picture of a carrot

5. stick – it is like when you demand things from us students and stand behind us or saying you will get a written warning. “carrot” is like when you get something in return like at the campus if you do certain things you get rewards.

Student no 5 actually had it right. The phrase is thought to come from one of two origins. Firstly, the idea that you use a carrot dangled in front of a donkey or a stick to beat the donkey’s behind as two ways of motivating the donkey. Secondly, that the carrot is dangled from the stick, in front of the donky. I think the former makes more sense because it's about TWO TYPES of motivation. But I loved the students creative answers!

I love the fact that I can find miraculous solutions to some of my problems just by typing a phrase into Google and finding that somewhere out there in the blogosphere there is someone who has dealt with my very same problem before and figured it out! I like this idea I found on the Fluent Self, a blog by Havi Brooks.

The Fluent Self is about destuckification. I’m often stuck so I find this particularly helpful! There is a great exercise about creating a Book of Me, but I’m not going to go into all of that now. A quick thing – A Book of Me might sound arrogant but as Havi writes:

"Something I try to remember: part of destuckifying is having a conscious relationship with yourself, so you can bring more awareness to your patterns (detective-style).

And no, you’re not arrogant or self-absorbed if you make a commitment to learning stuff about yourself and taking notes."

Actually I think learning to manage yourself so that you don’t inflict all your stuckness and frustrations on those around you, at work and at home, is the opposite of arrogant! It’s generous and kind and loving. Being self-aware makes us less selfish.

As I grow in awareness I have such valuable insights into my own behaviour and then BAM I get stuck again. I call it living my life in zigzags. I go one way and then I forget all I’ve learnt and zig off in the other direction and then finally zag back again. Sometimes I have to re-learn the same lessons a million times over! Ok, maybe not a million. But some of these lessons are very painful and I wish I could remember them the first time.

Havi’s got one solution to this: let the aware-self leaves notes for the unaware self. I like it! So I’m giving it a go.

NOTE TO AMANDA AFTER A BAD RUN:

Did you have a bad run or ride and hate exercise and wonder why you never get any fitter and want to lie at the side of the trail and nap instead?

This is probably hormonal. It’s ok. When you feel like this you should try remember to take it easy and just enjoy the scenery. It’s just a day. Relax. It will pass. And soon you will have exercise again and laugh and have a good time.

NOTE TO AMANDA IF IT’S GETTING LATE:

I know you like to create at night. You like to write at night and read stuff. But think about tomorrow and what time you have to get up and then decide if it’s a good idea to stay up. It’s OK to leave things unfinished. You can do it, pack up and off to bed, there you go. I mean it, NOW! GO TO BED BECAUSE I LOVE YOU AND YOU’LL BE TIRED AND HAVE AN AWFUL DAY TOMORROW IF YOU DON’T!

NOTE TO AMANDA ON THURSDAYS:

It’s time to plan your weekend! Make sure you haven’t said yes to too many things so you’re a frazzled mess by Sunday! It’s OK to say no. Choose which things will fill you up. Make time for exercise because remember it doesn’t magically happen, you have to set aside the time and commit. Remember to talk to Nic so you can discuss if anything’s changed and discuss each of our expectations for the weekend so we don’t end up arguing about it. Remember you like to use weekends to do extra work, to completely chill out and sleep a lot, to ride bikes and run in the forest, to see friends, to tidy up the house and organise stuff, to do some life admin and visit people like your grandfather – and YOU CAN’T DO IT ALL IN ONE WEEKEND! Pick and choose, that will mean saying no and disappointing some people and that’s OK.

Wow, I’m a veritable font of wisdom on “how to manage Amanda” if only I allow myself the time and space for my higher self to shine through!

Go read about how Havi does this process here on The Fluent Self. Have fun.

Why You Should Read Your Horoscope with a Pen in Hand

Magical Valley: The Umkomaas

The Magical Umkomaas Valley descent. I get to say "Been there. Done that." Yay for me!

(photo thanks to Kelvin Trautman)

Who's Got Your Back? Part I

I’m curled in foetal position on the ground next to my bike, sobbing and trying to eat a hamburger simultaneously. Then I spot Nic’s ex-girlfriend and her fiancé arrive at the waterpoint looking fresh. In an instant I decide I will keep riding this damn race even if it kills me.

Why did I sign up for a three-day mountain biking endurance event? I’m still trying to figure that out. I’ve been mountain biking about once a month with friends for about 18 months and I’ve done one Argus cycle tour and one Argus mountain bike ride (25kms). I still find the downhills terrifying and the uphills painful but for some reason when I heard about Sani2c, billed as the “Best Cycle Event in South Africa”, I thought it would be a great challenge. The route through the lush bush of Kwa-Zulu Natal covers 250km and is made up of dirt roads and single-track. The event was described to me as a luxury, and much less hardcore, version of the ABSA Cape Epic. I liked the fact that it’s divided into two separate events, one for those who want to race and one for people who just like mountain biking. In December when my boyfriend, Nic, a veteran of five Epics, who spends more on bike parts each month than he does on rent, and I agreed we would ride it together, the event seemed far away. I’m embarrassed to admit that some part of me thought I could be a whole different person by the time the actual event rolled around in May. I thought five months would be sufficient to transform myself into a lean, mean, fearless mountain biking machine. It’s not the first time I’ve been a little delusional around self-acceptance. I’m always dismayed when I get off a plane in Paris to discover I’m the same old slightly dishevelled person I am at home and have not transformed overnight into the epitome of Parisian chic. I struggle to accept that this, more or less, is who I am. That wherever I go, I will still look and feel essentially the same as I do now.

Along with my tendency towards self-delusion, another reason for my thinking a three-day mountain biking event would be hugely enjoyable, is that I was introduced to the sport by Nic and his brother, Simon, who make it look as pleasant and relaxed as beach Frisbee is to normal people. I’ve watched them cross the finish line on numerous days during the Epic after 140km with smiles on their dirt-streaked faces. I’ve watched Nic ride up the most rutted out vertical rocky hill, with one hand, using his other to take photos with his phone. I’ve seen an expression bordering on divine rapture light up their faces after good singletrack. I guess I wanted some of that.

Fast forward to Day 1 of Sani2c. I’m comfortable with the amount of training I’ve put in. But it’s early and dark and freezing. We have to ride fast to the start line from our B&B, teeth chattering, eyes streaming, with my breakfast about to come up. As I’m thinking this is all a really bad idea, the gun goes and we’re off. Nic points out my backpack strap is about to get caught in my spokes after a kilometre so we stop to sort it. Our bunch has now gone so I try to calm myself down by pretending it’s just the two of us going for a ride and there’s nothing scary about that. This technique works for a bit and the nausea subsides. I try to relax and enjoy myself but I’m feeling quite out of my depth and short of air. Nic casually asks when I will be ready to actually start riding. Oh boy. At some point I don’t care to remember, my back muscles start to spasm. I haven’t warmed up and I recall I also abandoned pre and post-ride stretches on my final training spins. I actually crashed on my very last ride, three days before Sani started and I was still limping when we flew to Durban.

When we hit the first bit of singletrack, I stand up and immediately realise I can’t put my weight fully on my right leg because of my bust knee. I release a stream of four-letter words. All my training on how to handle rocky descents and tight corners will come to nothing if I’m physically unable to assume the downhill body position of bum off the saddle and weight evenly distributed. I’m so bleak I start to cry both in pain and frustration. My back is getting worse by the minute. At the first water point I see medics and jump into the back of the ambulance where I beg for a Voltaren injection. Nic waits anxiously outside. This is not going according to my visualisations of awesomeness that I’d been doing nightly to lessen my anxiety.

We ride on and I manage to get across the floating bridge that had given me a few sleepless nights since I saw the photos of it. I don’t think I breathed the whole winding way over the bridge! I am momentarily distracted from the pain but as the hours wear on it becomes all I can think about. The day ends with rolling hills that just keep coming and I get over some of them, even passing some people, which momentarily boosts my ego. Then the back pain becomes too much and Nic pushes me up the last hills. We pose for a photo at the finish and I look like a hunchback. We share a brief moment of victory when we read the day’s results and realise we beat Nic’s ex by a couple of minutes. But this is not enough to shake off the dawning realisation, as everyone shared stories in the dinner marquee that night, that I’d bitten off more than I could chew. And we weren’t even halfway yet…

continued here

Who's Got Your Back? Part II

Day 2. The alarm goes off and I press snooze. Oh God, it wasn’t a nightmare. I really am in a race village in the middle of who-knows-where about to spend another day on my bike. I lie there, my heart racing and nudge Nic awake. After a couple of minutes a wave of nausea grabs me, I toss some stuff out a shopping bag and start gagging into it. Nic opens his eyes. “Um, how’re you feeling, love?” he asks politely. I manage to pull on my jeans, snow boots and a fleece and race through the drizzle to the loo. In that portaloo being buffeted by howling winds, with my bowels and stomach heaving, I try to be philosophical. I try to tell myself it’s not that bad but I can barely hear my pep talk over the wailing of my inner child. I want to go home. A while later I try to find Nic in the breakfast tent, but the smell of egg sets me off again and I have to run away. I get back into my sleeping bag and try the pep talk routine again. Nic comes to find me but soon realises that I am in such a dark place I am unreachable. He wisely chooses to say very little and instead missions with our bikes and boxes. I try and call up every motivational guru I have ever heard: Tony Robbins, Oprah, and then I try God and my Guardian Angels. I believe it is nothing short of miraculous that I am able to drink a yogi sip, get into the ridiculous amount of cycling paraphernalia required and, still retching slightly, get to the start line. We’re off to face the Umkomaas.

I’m determined to ride Day 2. It’s the helmet cam footage of the Umkomaas that I saw a few weeks back that enticed me here. I’m not giving up until I have ridden the cliff paths of the mighty Umkomaas valley, open only to riders in Sani2c. Will it be worth it?

It is so beautiful it’s surreal. Distant rivers and waterfalls, swirling mist pierced by golden sun rays, lush jungle and a perfectly manicured trail. Muddy hairpin bends in shady recesses of the mountain, and sudden drop-offs around cliff corners. Black faces with huge white smiles, joyful support from local children as we speed past. Everyone is smiling. I’m terrified but I’m having too much fun and Nic’s right behind me, shouting encouraging remarks if I falter. This is awesome!

Then, bam! Once more my back’s in spasm and the pain takes over.

It’s bad. I count down every kilometre until waterpoint 1 at 40km where Voltaren will ease my pain. Disaster, no medics. I get down on my haunches to stretch my back and I cry. Nic’s ill-timed comment “it’s only pain” makes me ride off without him. We only talk again a few kilometres later. It’s an eight-hour day of riding. A blur of gravel roads and single-track, blue skies and sunshine and pain, so much pain. The Voltaren shot at waterpoint 2 is too little too late, the relief it offers is marginal. I wonder if there is much point in carrying on… And then we see Nic’s ex and I guess my ego gets the better of me and I climb back on the bike.

The pain would come in waves. Sometimes it would ease on the climbs, sometimes on the descents. In some singletrack sections when I stopped pedalling my back would seize so badly I couldn’t move. I’d cry because it was such a disappointment when I couldn’t enjoy the singletrack. Then I’d realise you can’t cry and ride single-track. Poor visibility and nose-blowing is impossible. There were moments of awesomeness but lots more moments of pain and fear. Nic was right by my side but I felt plagued with guilt that I was such a miserable race partner. I felt helpless to change the experience for either of us. Late that night I marvelled at the sounds of happy laughter from the beer tent as I tried to stop another avalanche of tears. Nic said all the right things but I was in a zombie zone where I just wanted it all to be over. Thus ended Day 2.

The luminous green cane fields and blue skies on Day 3 made me feel like I was in the default Windows screensaver. My body kept asking me what more it needed to do to get me to listen to its pleas to stop riding but I ignored the inner screaming, I wasn’t giving up after coming this far. For most of the four and a half hours, Nic pushed me, speeding along gravel roads. I managed some of the climbs on my own, and felt a small surge of pride when I overtook people on the hills. I had spent so much time training my legs, which in the end were holding up pretty well, I just hadn’t figured on the back seizure after my stretching routine appeared to have taken care of the back pain during training.

Whenever I started thinking “I can’t”, I’d feel Nic’s hand in the middle of my back pushing me on. Ironically, despite there being 1200 people in the event, we ended up riding next to Nic’s ex and her fiancé again. Suddenly instead of just finishing alive, my goal switched to getting in ahead of them! I needed something to bring out my inner warrior because it seemed like my wounded inner child dominated my psyche for most of our eventual 18-hour race time.

All the way to the finish line Nic’s voice shouted out instructions at my back: “nearly at the beach, stay on the mats”; “gear down to get over the bridge” and lots of encouraging comments about my riding. We hit the final dreadful hill, through the middle of Scottburgh, Nic’s hand on my back, me blinking back tears. And then we arrived at the finish. A bit of forest singletrack in the middle of town and Nic shouting “you can do this, baby! It’s in the bag”. And I cried all the way over the line.

While there’s some small satisfaction in beating Nic’s ex, it was never about her. This was about my relationship with myself and with Nic. It must have sucked to watch me alternately bawling or terrified while doing the thing that gives him the most enjoyment in the world. What does that mean for us? How differently can people experience the world and still build a life together?

I am well aware that all Nic wanted was for me to have fun and enjoy the ride. I knew he didn’t care how slowly we rode or how many hills he had to push me up, as long as I had a good time. That was the one thing I could not deliver.

I trained harder than I have for anything ever, spending often 11 hours a week on my bike. When I was able to convince myself to ride on Day 2 and 3 despite having flung myself off the edge of my comfort zone, I discovered a resilience I didn’t know I possessed. But have a great time? That I could not do.

I ask myself whether I failed at the most important part, the part about having fun. Then I question if maybe for me, the ability to have fun when undertaking a new challenge is not the most important part. Maybe it’s saying yes to something which is way out of my league, training my lungs out and refusing to give in once I’ve started. I think couple’s therapy would have been a cheaper and less terrifying way to figure out some of our differences. Well, less terrifying for me, that is.

Sani2c was the toughest physical challenge I’ve ever undertaken and I did it. No, we did it. Together. We’re still together. And knowing that Nic had my back every pedal stroke of the way was the reason I could do it. He had said to me when we signed up that he would carry me and both bikes across the line every day if he had to. It never came to that but I think he would have. One week after Sani I had to give a big legal presentation to a group of 60 auditors. It was terrifying and I felt like throwing up as I stepped up to the podium. Then I imagined Nic’s hand on my back, pushing me on, and I knew I could do it. While there are parts of the whole Sani experience that I am still trying to make sense of, I know this much is true: I’ve found someone who has my back. That makes it all worth it.