1. Clouds change shape but keep moving, albeit sometimes very slowly. We can too. It is one of the qualities of adaptive training among crazy-busy pressures that would stress us into inactivity.
2. Clouds transport water, a resource to the lives of others. Training our bodies and minds builds physical courage that can support other acts of generous, giving courage.
3. An otherwise bright white cloud can have very dark, very water-dense little clouds nearby (see the banner). Suppose you are in one of those small, dark, water dense clouds. You’re likely to see all grey, all gloom, and feel all wet. Yes, until a beautiful, white sunlit cloud expands and engulfs you and you find that many of your problems were perceived right there within your own tiny individual cloud. You also realized how much water you have to give among others.
4. Clouds get out in the other elements, indeed, bring them together within themselves, contribute to them. So do we when we train, exercise, work, compete, and apply our physical training to something worthwhile.
5. Clouds make their own view by starting out light, rising, gathering, then supplying. A thunderstorm or snow storm is quite an exciting gathering, maybe even a competition, with lightening clashes, the refreshing ozone, and every gathered cloud a part in that great event. Gatherings of clouds bring out the best in each.
6. Clouds have training partners that truly inspire them with their energy, warmth, and mastery at conducting the weather as if it were a symphony orchestra: Mr. Sun and his band the Stars.
7. What shape will your training take today?
What are some of your favorite training memories? Those special experiences you come back to in your mind are worthy of reflection.
Shorter, intense training has been the rage in the time management age.
Yet one of my favorite training experiences was taking a 15-mile Fall hike up a closed, paved summit road above timber line, with some jogging intervals thrown in both ways. The summit was harsh, with gale force winds. The road switchbacks were long and tedious. I took my pack, found a long, established snow field and glissaded down, bypassing about two miles of road. I remember hiking down in the dark under a clear star flush sky, the wind a memory. The moon was out, and it was reflecting on the face of an alpine lake deep in a gorge below me. Something was agitating the water in that lake, perhaps wind, and the reflection of the moon would disperse into what looked like white fireflies circling above the lake. It was surreal and beautiful.
By the time I was done, I had logged 18 miles of bliss, adrenaline, and appreciation for life.