Quack

In a row.

Ah, that's better.

The next adventure––a real trip with an ocean to cross and unfamiliar coins and electrical outlets on the other side––is finally on the books. Booked, that is. Which is not the same as "one for the books." That remains to be seen. Now I can look forward to it instead of planning for it.

Today's, and yesterday's, Pilates classes were hard. Puzzlingly so. I felt awkward and un-limber doing the moves (not that they're always the same; they aren't, even when it's the same instructor), not leaner and flexier. And my heart pumped harder than usual, and sweat poured off me. These are normally good things when one exercises, I guess, but I don't know why it should happen now, and not when I first started Pilates, out in L.A. But maybe it means I'm working harder now, because I'm capable of working harder. I don't know.

It's hard to know you've made progress when you don't have a real measurement to go by. This may qualify as stating the painfully obvious, but I remember when I was actually taught this concept––it was in a grad school class about research methodology (or some such).

I told you I was a show-off.

I remember having a sort of duh-ha moment (that's like a-ha, except what you've just realized is so obvious that you feel dumb realizing it), and I still think back to that class as the source of this knowledge:

If you want to know if your innovation is effective, or if you want to find out if one technique for accomplishing X is better than another, or if you simply want to know if you've reached a goal––done the thing you set out to do––, the only way to know for sure is to figure out how to measure the result you're seeking, decide what the threshold will be for considering that you've achieved it, and come up with a test to see if that threshold has been reached.
(Disclaimer: This may not, in fact, be an accurate description of any kind of accepted research methodology. It's been a long freaking time since grad school, OK?  This is how it remains in my mind, and for the purposes of my analogy, it'll work just fine.)

So, I can't know if I'm doing better at Pilates––not really––unless I decide that "success" (a loaded word, I know) will be measured by how long I can hold a plank, or how far I can reach toward my toes, or how tall I end up after 30 sessions.

Yes, of course, the process is worthwhile––focus on the journey, not the destination, etc.––fine. Absolutely.
But if you really have no destination in mind, then. . . um. . . am I right?

We had a (terrible) financial advisor years and years ago who analogized that it makes no sense to seek guidance by just asking "Which way do I go?" You have to first answer the question, "Where are you trying to go?" He was no zen master, that's for sure, but that left an impression on me, too.

And then there's this:

I don't think this is relevant. I just have a fondness for Mary Engelbreit.

Taking it one step further––which is where I usually like to take things––beyond Pilates, beyond blood sugar levels, or bone density, or weight loss––to the big picture, the premise for this whole "stretching" thing:

I seem to be asking "Which way do I go?" But I think I have to answer the zen question first.

Or else how can I ever know if I got there?

Heavy, right?

Now look at these:

The title was left off. It's "DON'T LOOK BACK!"
If you can't read the sign on the right, it says "No longer an option." Ouch!

An old favorite. Right, Em?

Kitsch? NOOO! They're inspiring AND adorable.