When talking about training, it’s tempting to immediately provide data measured in terms of time or intensity: “I run for so many minutes, I meditate for so long, from such-and-such a time to such-and-such a time, etc.” That’s not the kind of information you’ll find in this article. Because the duration of my workouts varies wildly and I have virtually no routine—so what can I share with you? A direction, a guiding principle for our days, so that they’re shaped by how we feel and structured with great flexibility.
A Word on Discipline
First, a word about structure and discipline. I think they’re essential, but also a trap—and it’s very easy to get stuck in them. For me, structure is a means, not an end; the ultimate goal of all this is to live a rich, inspired, and free life. And therein lies the paradox: how can we make discipline a path to freedom? That’s what I’ll try to describe below, in all humility and without claiming to have found the solution, because I remain convinced that we’re striving toward a state of balance that’s never truly attained—and thankfully so, because where would we go from there?
In the word “training,” I include everything that allows me to explore my life, the living, and the possible. There’s sports, of course, but I also include the movement of the mind and the impulses of the heart, which take various forms—from meditation to contemplative walking. To be specific, I’ll use yesterday—a Saturday—as an example.
A Saturday as an example
When I wake up, I linger in bed for a bit. By “lingering,” I mean I stretch and do breathing exercises. I don’t overthink which exercises to do—I have an app I’m used to using, and I do pretty much the same exercises every day. Not because I’m a robot, but because I want to start my day feeling supported and without a set plan. I get up, my body a little sore, with a dull, heavy sensation. I take out the massage gun—a gift from Jojo for my 50th birthday; I never get tired of it—I set the intensity somewhat at random and apply it to the tense areas: my trapezius muscles, glutes, thighs, and hamstrings; and I head downstairs to have breakfast.
No routine here, either. I eat whatever’s available; Jojo has brought out some delicious organic walnut bread, and I spread almond butter on it. I drink my coffee—it’s something else—I’ve added collagen and chlorella to it. I’m not really sure if collagen “works,” but I like to think it does, and my joints feel pretty flexible right now despite all the running. The chlorella is to help my body absorb iron, because like many female runners, I often have deficiencies. It’s pretty gross, so I add a spoonful of honey to mask the taste.
Then I take a cold shower—which is also quite the experience. I’m perimenopausal (which means “the carrots aren’t quite cooked yet,” as my sister-in-law would say); for the past few days, I’ve been feeling a lot of inflammation and I’ve been very, very hot. Hence the cold shower.
Start with what I love
I work for a few hours on my computer; today I’ve decided to set up at my desk—which is more the exception than the rule. I’m usually on the move around the house, working in every room, or at a café, or in the van, or outside on a rock. The advantage of having always studied a lot is that I can concentrate no matter where I am. I often start with a task I enjoy, going against what I heard my whole childhood: “Start with the least exciting thing—then it’ll be done.” I answer emails asking questions that fascinate me—about life, yoga, and meditation. Then come the more tedious tasks: administrative or logistical ones.
Living Your Run Honestly
At some point in the morning—which is already well underway—I decide to go for a run. I’m not sure if I feel like it, but I head out without overthinking it. Today I’m planning a long run: about fifteen kilometers of trail running. I don’t want to take the car—I’m in the mood for simplicity—so I set off from home. I have a rough idea of the route in mind, but I’ll wait to see how I feel before deciding. Very quickly, I realize I feel sluggish—my muscles are very tired after yesterday’s strength training session and long bike ride; I haven’t recovered yet. I don’t second-guess myself—I’m off, I’m going. That’s discipline. The flexibility in this is telling myself that I can always keep moving by adjusting my effort and adapting it to my energy levels. Jojo heads out ahead; I follow him much more slowly. I quickly get too hot, so I draw on my meditation experience to place myself in that space just behind my experience—as an observer of sensations, not as a victim enduring them. Because the one who is aware of the difficulty caused by fatigue and heat is unconditionally present and equanimous. She is neither the heat nor the fatigue, but a space of consciousness capable of perceiving them without being reduced to them. This is a significant nuance in athletic practice.
Time passes; I appreciate the patches of shade and the occasional refreshing gust of wind, taking small steps up the long, rocky hills. I don’t speak—Jojo knows I need silence. I marvel at what remains possible when the body has had enough and would rather be somewhere else—preferably curled up on the couch. I don’t deny this desire; I place it within a broader context, and it becomes just one fleeting thought among many.
Eating
I drink a plant-based milk and protein shake when we get home—that’s almost a routine. I like to think it’ll help me recover—in theory, it works; in practice, it’s less clear. Very quickly, I’m hungry again, even though I had a big energy gel during the run. I rummage through the fridge and make myself a huge slice of toast with anchovy spread. Jojo is actually cooking dinner—that’s his thing, since my culinary skills are nonexistent—but he’s used to my snacking; I eat a lot and often.
Create
After the meal, it’s time to read, which is also a time for studying and preparing for upcoming training sessions. I immerse myself in the Abhidharma, or Buddhist psychology, here in its most traditional form. I take notes, draw parallels with practices I’d like to teach, and sketch out a program and a progression. I use FreeFrom, an app that lets me create large tables in which I design paths marked with arrows and dotted with virtual Post-its. I have more than a dozen tables in progress; some relate to online meditation practice, others to yoga modules, and still others to specific themes or training programs currently being designed. Everything overlaps and intertwines—a tapestry of experiments is taking shape. I’m fascinated by it; I spend hours studying this way.
Communicating
A nap is inevitable today—and a long one at that—but I wake up feeling refreshed. I work a bit on my website, do a little “comm” as they say on social media, and think about what I want to say and why. I try to maintain an authentic image while showcasing my skills. I feel like I need to dare to put myself out there a little more, because it’s not so much what I offer that people like, but the way I do it. All the feedback I’ve gotten points in that direction. I’m pretty immune to the pressure to produce and sell; I’m fairly free from the model where success is measured by the number of followers or people signed up for my courses. Sometimes the fear of running out of money catches up with me, but it’s worth it—there’s no doubt about that. I love creating and sharing, and dedicating my life to that trumps everything else.
Meditation
I spend the late afternoon meditating; I settle in the north side of the house, where the grass is green and it’s cooler. Today, I’m practicing Mingyur Rinpoche’s “The Path of Liberation,” which has been my main practice for the past two years. It’s part of the “homework” I need to complete to move on to the next teachings. I’ve completed 190 of the 200 required hours of practice. Next weekend, I’ll be on a four-day solo retreat to finish those hours and receive two more transmissions via Zoom from Kathmandu. I combine my practice with contemplating the nature around me. One is no different from the other; each invites openness. From the macro—the late-afternoon clouds lingering over Mount Lure—to the micro—an ant making its way through the clover.
My mother stops by next; she’s just returned from Italy and has plenty of little stories to tell, full of humor and observations about our shared humanity that transcends borders. I smile at our complicity, at the comfort of having her close by after having been separated by oceans.
The Gear Room
While Jojo prepares dinner, I tinker around in the “gear room”—a space dedicated to yoga, indoor cycling, weight training, and storing all sorts of sports gear, ranging from skis to a camping tent. I don’t really have a set routine, but I pretty much wing it with what I like to think of as the “basics”: lunges, squats, Romanian deadlifts—all with a heavy kettlebell that I struggle to lift. Not many reps. I alternate all that with lower back exercises because I find them much more stabilizing than all the usual ab routines, and shoulder exercises because I like to feel the strength in my upper body. I finish with a few stretches, drawn from yoga and mobility exercises. There’s no set order to it—I just go with the flow—and that’s perfect for now.
Coaching
After dinner, I work on my computer. I answer a few emails and review the training plans for the people I coach. I read their comments very carefully, trying to gauge how they’re feeling and how I can best help them. Sometimes it’s very clear; other times, I have to ask the right questions to assess their physical and mental state if I sense they’re overwhelmed, lacking motivation, setting standards that are too high, or being overly self-critical.
Before Bed
I do a few stretches before getting into bed—I keep a yoga mat in the bedroom for this purpose—and then I dive into my evening reading, one of my favorite moments. I read several books at once—right now, a guidebook on Nepal, where I’m going in November; a novel by Ian McEwan, one of my favorite authors; and a book on dharma by Andrew Holecek. No set plan here either—I go wherever my heart leads me.
The Discipline That Brings Joy
Here’s a typical day—though not necessarily representative of others, since during the week I spend a lot of time on Zoom providing life coaching, and in Aix taking care of my son, teaching yoga classes, or guiding hikes and trail runs. What this day has in common with the others is a discipline that brings joy: I exercise and move my body every day, I nurture my heart and mind every day, and I contemplate nature every day—though rarely in the same order and rarely in the same way.
Creating Your Own “Luck”
I can hear some of you thinking as you read this article that I’m lucky, that I don’t work very hard, that I have time “for myself.” That’s both true and false. To free myself (at least partially) from the pressure to do and produce, I first had to endure the absurdity of it all. Years of getting very little sleep, juggling two or even three full-time jobs. Endless days that were always unsatisfying, “because there’s still so much to do.” I still work a lot—in fact, Jojo complains that things never stop with me. The difference is that I rarely see my daily activities as obligations; they’re fields of knowledge and experience that are always interesting.
I don’t have the recipe for the perfect life, nor do I aspire to find one. I try to live my daily life with love; I find it in things that are often very simple— the sound of rain falling on the roof as I write these lines, the pleasure of choosing words that capture my desire to share with you, and the feeling that even this seemingly ordinary, routine day holds treasures waiting to be explored by those who know how to notice them.