Criticism From Shore: It’s All In the Delivery

June 13th, 2013 1 Comment

I was just getting into a groove on my stand up paddleboard when the early morning quiet was shattered by a fisherman yelling at me from the shore. “Hey, couldn’t ya stay farther out? Jeez, how rude.”

Harbor beauty is easy to appreciate from on top of a stand up paddleboard. Photo: PaulCroninStudios.com

I spluttered a bit trying to come up with a response. I considered the truth: “I usually come in even closer, but I saw your line.” And a few moments later, a sassy retort occurred to me: “Whaddya think, you own the shoreline?” But by then, of course, the response time had elapsed, so he had the last word. I paddled on, turning my aggravation into an accelerated stroke rate.

The fisherman (who, I later learned, has a reputation for rudeness himself) has probably forgotten all about our interaction (though he may now assume that all stand up paddleboards are completely inconsiderate). But it started me thinking about criticism, how unconstructive some comments can be, and how much the delivery affects reception.

This isn’t a new topic; we all know that constructive criticism is more likely to be taken in the spirit intended if sandwiched between two compliments. But that’s not as dramatic, and it’s certainly not what TV promotes. Getting the final word in as loudly as possible is what gets noticed in the stew of noise and distraction we all take for granted these days.

[In an ironic twist, I recently wrote a post on boats.com called Why SUP? Top 10 Reasons to Go Paddleboarding. And I included a video of a paddleboard meant for fisherman. So maybe I should assume this guy was jealous (I was on the water, he was stuck on the beach) and send him the link?]

My response would have been totally different if he’d said, “Hey, next time could you paddle a little further away? That way I can cast without worrying about hitting you.” Instead of fuming about his rudeness, I would’ve planned to adjust my course in future. Which would’ve been better for him in the long run, since my snap instinct now is to paddle even closer, just to prove that I have a right to be there too.

But if he’d been more polite, I would’ve replied with something equally nice. “Of course, sorry!” Which means I wouldn’t have spent the next 10 minutes of my paddle thinking up sassy retorts.

And that means I wouldn’t have dreamed up this blog post. So maybe it all worked out just fine.

Photo courtesy PaulCroninStudios

Drink to Win: Fizzy Hydration from Hammer

June 5th, 2013 No Comments

Last weekend I achieved a personal best, finishing second overall at the 2013 Snipe Colonial Cup in Annapolis. And in addition to thanking my teammate Kim Couranz, I have to send out a very special and heartfelt thank you one of our long-time sponsors, Hammer Nutrition.

Kim and I showed off our Hammer water bottles to photographer John Payne.

I love sailing with Kim. She’s smart, she’s funny, and she knows me so well she can tell when I’m about to do something really stupid. What we’ve both realized is that usually that’s because I’m a little behind on electrolytes (no, really). So between races, she’s always telling me to “Drink.”

Small sailboat racing can be very intense at times and very boring at other times, but our hands are almost always busy. While racing, it’s usually impossible to grab even a sip of water; we’re too busy adjusting sails and keeping the boat going in the right direction. When it gets hot and humid, (like it did this past weekend in Annapolis), I’m usually a bit behind on electrolytes by the time we finish our first one hour race. After two races, my mouth is dry; after three races, I’ve got the beginnings of a headache.

And if it’s a four race day like last Saturday, I’m usually not much fun to sail with by the end of the day.

Dehydration really does make me stupid—ask any of my three teammates about day two of a certain World Championship back in 2003, and they’ll tell you how badly I sailed after not hydrating well on day one. Even before I have any other obvious symptoms, my split-second decision-making ability deserts me. And since most of our races involve a constant stream of such choices, that can make for a very disappointing day.

Which is why I was so excited to discover this past weekend that Hammer Nutrition’s Endurolytes Fizz can actually catch me back up again once I get behind.

I’ve used Hammer products for fifteen years, and their Heed (electrolyte replacement) was a great step forward for me from water and better known fluid replacement drinks. But once behind, I wasn’t ever able to catch up again.

Last summer I discovered Endurolytes caplets, which was the first time I’d ever felt a dehydration headache dissipate so quickly… but the Fizz seems to be even more effective. Best of all, they’re easy to carry and consume; last weekend I stashed a tube of tablets in my lifejacket pocket and between races, I’d drop one into my water bottle. In seconds, I had a great tasting beverage—and I swear that with each sip, I could feel the storage tank of each individual brain cell filling up.

Kim and I discussed whether Fizz works better because it also encouraged me to drink more fluid, compared with a mouthful to wash down a few Endurolytes caplets; the smart people at Hammer probably have an answer for that. All I know is that I don’t have to worry about competing in hot climates anymore. What used to be a real personal weakness has turned into a strength. Thank you, Hammer!

And yes, I am a Hammer-sponsored athlete. I signed on with them several years ago because of two other products I’ve used for over a decade: Whey protein and Recoverite. The first gets me going in the morning, and the second makes sure I’m ready to go the next day too. In between, I now know I can keep going in any temperature/humidity combination, thanks to Endurolytes Fizz.

So when Kim tells me to “Drink”, now I know what kind of mickey I’ll be slipping into my own water bottle.

Photo courtesy John Payne Photography

Our Sailing Family: Losing Bart Simpson

May 10th, 2013 2 Comments

It’s been a tough couple of months for the sailing family, a loose-knit collection of folks around the world who—in a wide variety of ways—put our sport at the top of our priority lists. First we lost Charlie Leighton. Next came the news of Magnus Olsson’s unexpected stroke. A few days ago, a friend discovered his father had passed away aboard his boat. And yesterday, Andrew “Bart” Simpson was lost while training with Team Artemis. The photos have piled up in my downloads folder, happy smiles standing out in tanned faces, bringing back memories every time I search for a file.

I first met Bart when he was training in the Finn class, shortly before he joined forces with Ian Percy—a team that would go on to win a gold and a silver at the next two Olympics. I didn’t know him well, but he was a familiar face around the boat park. And now the sport that brought us together has stolen him away far too soon from his family, friends, and teammates.

I don’t think sailing has become more dangerous, though I’m sure calls will go out to “ban those massive America’s Cup machines” or set maximum speed limits on boats, or anything that might be done to make us all feel safer on the water. As Gael Pawson puts it, “Simpson’s death will undoubtedly fuel the debate over whether the current generation of boats is simply too powerful and dangerous.” (Read Tragic Loss of British Sailing Legend Andrew Simpson)

What has changed is how quickly we learn about tragedies like this one. A few years ago, I would’ve learned of Bart’s death within a day or a week, depending on where I was and who I was with. Now, thanks to Facebook, I and most of my sailing friends around the world heard the sad news within hours. It was quite obvious who hadn’t yet found out, since posts were still going up about dinner with friends, sunsets, a rollicking sail in a stiff breeze. As the news spread, more and more feeds turned solemn. A few friends even changed their profile picture to the cartoon character Bart Simpson, a subtle but touching tribute to this great sailor with a great smile.

So we go on with our lives and our sport, sadder and sadly not much wiser, newly reminded yet again of our small and interconnected family around the world. I like to imagine that all of our recent losses are lined up on a perfect starting line together, feeling that gut rush of adrenaline as they trim in the main to accelerate just one fraction of a second ahead of the boat to windward. But here’s the kicker—what boat would they be sailing? Now that Bart has registered for this final, perfect regatta, it can’t be the Star boat… that just wouldn’t be a fair contest.

 

A Woman’s Right to Compete: Thank You, Micki King

April 19th, 2013 2 Comments

I’ve never paid much attention to “women’s sports.” In sailing, outside of a few select events like the Olympics and the America’s Cup, women can sail against men if they want.

And then this morning, Micki King reminded me once again how lucky I am to take such competition for granted.

Micki King diving 1968

Micki King was a gold medal favorite at the 1968 Olympics but broke her arm on the board. She eventually finished 4th, then came back to win gold in 1972.

Micki won a gold medal in diving at the 1972 Olympics, and she’s been a friend to women’s sports and the Olympic movement ever since. I was lucky enough to meet her through my work with the U.S. Olympic Committee Athlete Advisory Council—an organization she helped create in the late 1970s. She also happens to be a retired Air Force colonel, and in 2012, she was awarded the prestigious USOC Olympic Torch Award.

But it’s Micki’s history that impresses me most. She doesn’t talk about it much, preferring to discuss how much work lies ahead to further equality in women’s sports and access to sports for all in our schools. But in a recent interview with the Women’s Sports Foundation, she described an unexpected opportunity in the 1960s that eventually led her to Olympic gold—in part because of the laziness of one coach:

“When I got to Ann Arbor to attend the University of Michigan, I quickly found out that there was a men’s pool and a women’s pool – and women could not go to the men’s pool. But the Michigan men’s diving coach, Coach Kimball, used to visit the women’s pool every week and hold training sessions for any women who wanted to learn how to dive. After about a semester or so, he got tired of driving all the way to the other side of campus and so he brought us over to the men’s pool. There were no locker rooms, no showers, nothing for us. But we thought we were lucky just to be inside the men’s pool because that is the way we grew up. We were basically trained from birth to think that way.”

(I’m guessing Micki’s quiet determination and winning smile might have influenced the coach, too, though that’s pure speculation—based on a few luncheons at her side.)

So while I was learning to race (sometimes as the only girl in the fleet), Micki was working for the simple right to train in the men’s pool. I will try to better appreciate the luxury of my carefree attitude to women’s sports and the right to compete.

And that luxury is shared by most young girls today. In another story, Micki talked about introducing a 1992 gold medalist relay team member to a local Kiwanis luncheon as the perfect product of Title IX:

“But when I introduced her to come to the podium and speak, she stayed seated, dead still. I even had to come down from the podium to coax her up. Finally she whispered in my ear these words I will never forget: ‘Micki, I had no idea it wasn’t always there.’ And in that moment, I realized she honestly didn’t know that her mother hadn’t had all the opportunities that she did.”

So thank you Micki, for the luxury of taking for granted the right to compete against anyone I choose. You’re a gold medal inspiration to the rest of us—and please keep reminding us how far we’ve come.

Read the entire interview, Five Questions with Micki King

Note: This photo was included in 100 Memorable U.S. Olympic Moments

Book Review: Powder Burn Keeps Its Powder Dry

April 3rd, 2013 Comments Off

I probably would not have picked up Powder Burn if I didn’t know author Mark Chisnell. A recovering professional sailor, Mark did warn me up front that there are no boats in his latest thriller—but “there is snowboarding.” There’s also a lot of suspense, a strong and independent protagonist (who happens to be female)… and an epilogue that delivered just the right amount of added twist, forcing me reconsider the story all over again in a different light.

I won’t give away the ending. But I will tell you that Powder Burn kept me turning the pages, taking me to a place I’ll likely never go—a remote country locked within the Himalayas that has been occupied by a foreign power. Though the pacing was never rushed, it also never slowed down—even between snowboarding runs to escape the pursuing enemy. Mountain climbing, modern and not so modern warfare, a magic sword, a developing love interest for main character Sam Blackett—this story has something for everyone.

As for Sam, she at times seems a bit too good to be true. A self-described “glass-half-full kind of girl,” Sam has a vast array of skills that seem to come into play just in time to save the day—though it is her boyfriend-in-the-making, Pete, who navigates the snowboard that gets them away from two different sets of pursuers.

But that proves how totally I was drawn into this story: even while seeing it through Sam’s eyes, I was “there:” frostbitten but free on a windswept mountain before being captured, and then warm but worried in a whitewashed cave lit only by yak-butter lamps. I could practically smell the unwashed bodies, the “burning, rancid oil” that “provided more smell and atmosphere than light.”

And that’s what I love about fiction. I can visit places I’d never go to otherwise, all from the comfort of my window seat. Thanks, Mark, for taking me on such a great Himalayan adventure—and for surprising me with an ending that will keep me smiling, long after this review is finished. I can’t wait to see where Sam takes me next.

Powder Burn launches today, and you can grab a sneak peek on Mark’s website. You can also learn about the evolution of publishing from a writer’s perspective by reading Powder Burn – Independently Publishing a Novel in 2013.

Order the book on Amazon

I hope you enjoy meeting Sam (and, by that weird connection between character and author, Mark) as much as I did.

Mind Declutter: Gone Sailing

March 21st, 2013 Comments Off

I have a confession to make: I was out of the office last week.

No, I wasn’t sick. I was sailing.

Yes, I worked a few hours each evening. But that was really just to keep up with email, answer urgent questions, and put in enough time to (hopefully) allow me to go sailing again in a few months.

And it was fun.

Kim Couranz is a fantastic teammate. And she finishes ahead of me in every single race we sail.

There are definitely a few things that fell behind in my absence. Longer term projects simmering away need more brain power than I had available after normal business hours. And that’s great, because it means I do make a difference when I’m around.

But feeling needed is not the best reason to get away. It’s not even the second best reason. The second best reason is that it makes me realize everything at work will keep revolving without me for a week, or even longer, thanks to the rest of the boats.com editorial team.

And the first best reason? I’ll let attorney Amy Benner, who was also on her first escape from a real job last week, cover that one:

“One might think that taking time out from working in order to get myself and my gear to Clearwater, then exerting the energy and suffering required by sailing six monster races in big breeze over three days, would have certainly worn me out for work. But now that I’ve returned to the office, I feel energized and my mind has been cleared of excess clutter.”

Read the rest of Amy’s report from the Snipe Midwinters

Just like Amy, I too came back to my desk energized and excited to be back at work.

Going away is hard to do, unless there’s a good reason: family reunion, bucket list destination. Fortunately, I have the Snipe. The Winter Circuit, strategically scheduled for mid-March, is the perfect late winter escape—from weather, work, and winter doldrums. And it’s a reunion of the Snipe family, a small but surprisingly close knit fraternity from around the world.

Oh—the results? Well, frankly, the two events didn’t go as well as we’d hoped. Thanks to the rust that had collected on our brains over the winter, and a few equipment issues, we could only scrape into the top ten on the last day of the second regatta.

But in the long term, that doesn’t even matter. The rust is gone, my mind is clear, and I’m ready for another solid push… if only to build up the hours I need to take off for the next event.

Photo courtesy John Payne Photography

Lucky 13: My Favorite Charlie Leighton Story

February 26th, 2013 2 Comments

This post originally appeared in a slightly different form on the boats.com blog.

Charlie Leighton went to the great regatta in the sky this past weekend, and he will leave behind a gaping hole in many lives. By the time I met him, he was the Executive Director of USSailing. Before that, he’d held many other titles: Commodore. Chairman, CEO, Director, Trustee. And he was still racing sailboats, a great reminder of the lifelong-ness of our sport.

The first time I remember really talking with Charlie was on a tour of his private gym. My two Olympic teammates and I had been invited up to the sunny, open room that housed several machines I’d never seen before. “Try this one out,” he said, throwing me yet another one of his infectious grins. “See how much of your body weight you can lift.”

I stepped/sat onto the thing, grabbed the handles, and lifted.Charlie Leighton headshot

“13, wow! I’ve put most of the Sailing Team members on this, and so far that’s a record. Great job!” He pumped my hand, and I walked away feeling like I’d really accomplished something. For an almost-retired Olympic athlete, it was nice to be reminded that I could still compete with the young upstarts.

So it would’ve been a memorable moment, even if he hadn’t greeted me for the next few years as “13! How’re you doing?”

I didn’t know him that well or spend that much time with him, but I was always impressed with his enthusiasm and his vision. Almost single-handedly he created the medalist fundraising program for Olympic sailing that will live on in his absence, because (in the words of former Olympic Sailing Committee Chairman Dean Brenner), he “taught us how to do it.” And while he was raising money, getting to know athletes, and spreading goodwill, he brought many people together as members of the Olympic sailing family. He was uniquely able to bridge the typical gaps between donors and sailors (in age, income, and ability) with a warm smile, a firm handshake, and a goofy opener. (“Let me introduce you to Lucky 13.”)

2011 USSTAG Award winners with Charlie Leighton

The annual USSailing Team awards are lovingly called the “Charlies”. Here he is with the 2011 winners.

Charlie was always Charlie, no matter whether he was speaking before a board of directors, riding in a powerboat watching racing, or piloting his own plane up the coast of New England. Friendly, caring, personal, with just enough of a glint in his eye that it was all too easy to discount the wisdom of his words. He’ll leave behind a large gap of warmth in many lives.

And I will really miss being “13.”

Dan Cooney, who worked with Charlie at USSailing, has also written a remembrance on his blog: Teacher and Friend, Charlie Leighton. My favorite line of all was this one, though it was hard to choose: “He made us all feel that not only were we good at our jobs, but that we were champions and could accomplish big things, and sometimes we did. When we did, he pointed to everywhere except to himself.”

USSailing Remembers Charlie Leighton

 

Mother vs. Mother Nature

February 8th, 2013 Comments Off

Some days (especially in February), forces of the universe oppose each other. Today, Mother Nature is winning over Mother.

We were supposed to drive to the Cape today, to celebrate Mom’s birthday. Now if truth be told her actual birthday was yesterday. But she’s reached a stage in life where she gets to choose which day to actually celebrate, and she’d chosen today.

Unfortunately, that’s also the day when a large Nor’easter has chosen to swoop up the eastern seaboard. It’s already snowing here on the shores of Narragansett Bay, and there’s enough white stuff blowing around that it’s hard to see the harbor and the driveway has already disappeared.  For those friends in San Diego, North Carolina, and Florida who like to gloat about this sort of thing, it’s supposed to turn to rain and then back to snow again here. We might even get some ice (not in cubes, but in drizzly needles).

The storm is named (somewhat incongruously) Nemo. I’m still getting used to named storms that involve snow; to me a “named storm” is a hurricane. And Nemo is a whale, not a storm.

I’m also having to adjust, once again, to the idea that Mother Nature can still get in the way of our plans.

We’re in very good shape, really. This was an elective trip, easy to cancel, involving only a bit of disappointment all around and a quick call to a florist who managed to deliver a bouquet quite promptly. It will be a lot harder for those (commuters, and those folks who are trying to get home in the next few days) who can’t just choose not to go.

Working from home is great, but today I’m especially appreciative: shoveling when we choose instead of on a tight deadline, perhaps a break to walk in the snow at lunchtime. But I will be thinking of Mom today, and wondering when the roads will be clear enough for a belated birthday visit.

It’s a good thing Mother taught me to like Mother Nature, even when she interferes with our plans.

Where Books Don’t Meet Boats: Athletic Determination

January 30th, 2013 4 Comments

Greetings from my offsite “office” in Coconut Grove, Florida. I escaped the icy north last week and have managed to cobble together a Cronin family get together, work, Olympic “research”, a little more work, and a Snipe regatta this weekend.

The new Nacra 17 is unique to the Olympic family in two ways: it’s coed, and it’s a catamaran (two hulls). Photo: Walter Cooper/US Sailing

Yesterday I was able to sneak out on the water for a few hours to watch some of the sailors racing in Sailing World Cup Miami, the biggest event on the US calendar for Olympic hopefuls. The odds are pretty dang good that all the 2016 medal winners are sailing here this week, so it was a great chance to see two new classes (the coed Nacra 17 catamaran and the women’s 49er FX skiff) in action.

The classes may be new, but the determination and dedication of the athletes were all too familiar. Most of them are full-time, fully devoted to their Olympic goals in a way that most life choices don’t demand. They must go out every day and push themselves, analyzing weaknesses all the way through the event and trying to minimize or eliminate mistakes wherever possible. Salt, rinse, repeat. It’s inspiring to watch, exhausting to go through, and the main reason the Olympics still hold so much appeal for so many of us.

Last night, with the inspiring taste of salt spray and sheer determination still in my mouth, I settled in as usual to read a novel. This week’s choice is by a well-known author, and I’d read and enjoyed several of her previous books. But her latest isn’t cutting it.

And the reason, I realized, is the editing, which seemed fine early on but has not kept up into the middle pages. Parts of the book read like a first draft, a stream of consciousness “must communicate this background information” that interferes with my enjoyment of the story. And while there are no actual typos or mistakes, the language doesn’t sing the way it would with a little more fine tuning.

Is it possible that unlike our Olympic athletes, editors of well-known authors are no longer pushing themselves to do the best job they can?

The copy I’m reading happens to be an e-book. Unlike a paperback, where I can (and usually do) flip to a middle chapter when book shopping, it’s easy for the editors to know where the free sample will end. Since the change was so drastically obvious in this case, I’m guessing there was a lot more editing time put into the first twenty percent than into the rest of this particular book.

Like Olympic training, editing takes time. It’s not always easy to see progress, and it can be hard to know when the work is finished. In this book’s case (and several others I’ve read recently), our time-pressured world seems to be prioritizing quantity over quality. And it worked, since I bought the book. Based on the free sample, backed up by the name of a well-known author whose work I’d enjoyed before, I figured it would be an enjoyable read. I didn’t expect to find myself thinking more about the editing than the story.

Maybe I should send the editor an invitation to get out on the water and see our athletes at work. That would be the perfect reminder of what dedication all the way to the end looks like.

For results, updates, and many more photos, visit the Sailing World Cup Miami site.

Mid-life Passion

January 23rd, 2013 Comments Off

A recent Rod Davis article in Seahorse Magazine got me thinking: why is it that from the outside, mid-life passion looks like mid-life crisis?

Rod recently bought an OK dinghy to get back to having fun on the water. As one of the top coaches in sailing, he spends most of his time watching other people sail. In a blog post on Sail-World, he said it was time “to sail and race for myself, you know, just because it’s a super fun thing to do.”

OK Dinghy Victoria State Championship 2011

That sounds pretty normal to me, and it’s why I sail a Snipe. There’s little glory and nothing riding on our finishes: no funding, no pay upgrades or sponsorship deals. Just the simple pleasure of getting out on the water, competing with friends, and trying not to make the same mistakes over and over again.

Normal, maybe… and yet so rare. By the time we get to middle age, most of us have taken on so many responsibilities it’s hard to carve out any time for ourselves. And in our increasingly professional world, hobbies and passion are downplayed as a distraction, poo-pooed as lacking focus and grace and professionalism. Why would we devote so much time and effort to something that doesn’t bring any obvious benefit?

It may not be obvious, but the main benefit is psychological. Passion gets us out of bed in the morning, usually before the alarm. It balances our lives against an all-work-no-play mentality that usually burns out out. Physically, it keeps me working out, since dinghy sailing is a lot more fun when you’re in shape. And unlike many other pleasures (red wine, coffee, dessert) there’s no disagreement about the long-term benefits of fitness.

I have an Albert Einstein quote under my desk blotter that I pull out every so often: “We act as though comfort and luxury were the chief requirements of life, when all we need to make us happy is something to be enthusiastic about.” Einstein was wise about more than just science.

In my eight years on the US Olympic Committee’s Athlete Advisory Council, I met athletes who were finished with their sport at age 25. They must have wondered how someone with so many gray hairs managed to hobble onto the Olympic stage recently enough to still be eligible as an athlete rep, but their stories made me feel lucky. My sport is a lifelong sport. The only challenge is finding a fleet that matches our goals as they change throughout our lives.

I’ve found a family of similiarly committed middle-aged sailors in the Snipe. It sounds like the OK dinghy is a good match for Rod’s fun meter. And I know plenty of others who sail the Laser locally, nationally, or internationally, combining challenges both physical and mental with the friends who understand why that’s so rewarding.

On the long drive to Florida to begin my winter season of racing, I’ll remember Rod’s closing thought: “ “I think we should save at least part of our lives to go with passion and enjoy the sport we all love… grass-roots style.”

This might be mid-life, but it ain’t no crisis.

Photo courtesy OK Dinghy class association

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