Give Peas a Chance

Image courtesy of Tayo Gross

I learnt some very interesting things in September 2020 and I want to share them with you. In this instalment i talk breathing, vinegar and how we learn - well anything!

Do you know where your weight goes when you lose weight? Have you ever thought about that? Has it entered your mind? Well it has mine and I’ve always thought that we lose weight by doing more exercise and eating less. Of course this is true, but I’ve thought my whole life that it was movement and sweating that burns your weight up.
Well it turns out that I was wrong. I stumbled upon a TedTalk that gave me the answer I wasn’t looking for.  But oh, how very interesting. So interesting I have to share it.
We breathe it out.
Ruben Meerman gives a fascinating TedTalk about this very subject called How Breathing and Metabolism are interconnected. Check out the link. I had never made the link before. The link is this: we put carbons into our mouths in the form of carbohydrates and other food sources and breath them out in the form of carbon dioxide. 
I also found out that there is a gadget called the Lumen that measures the O2 and CO2 levels in your breath. You can calculate, just like Meerman, how many atoms go in and out and what’s the net surplus or deficit. Very interesting.

It doesn’t stop there. Keep reading because I talk about swimming later on.  I promise.

Next, I learnt how home-made Vinegar is made.  Have you ever thought about how vinegar is made? Vinegar, in old English, means “sour wine”. And yes, it’s literally that. More fermented than wine. Fermented until there is no alcohol left, just acetic acid. The mildest form of acid and hence why it has so many uses (not just for the fish and chips). The Italian household I visited showed me the vinegar bottle in which the vinegar is made. A big Tuscan looking flask. Here all the dregs of red wine get thrown in to meet mother.
Mother or mother of vinegar, is a term used for the substance that develops on fermenting alcoholic liquids. It is a form of cellulose and acetic acid bacteria. It is more common in unpasteurized vinegar, like the bottle I was staring into.
There were various pieces of mother, some big and some small. Mother can be hundreds of years old. One was much bigger than the others. This was the oldest mother. This mother was apparently the offspring of a much older piece that the family had treasured for over a hundred years.
A smaller piece was taken out and given to me. It looks and feels like a piece of liver. Slimly and soft. It does not look appetizing, but it is completely harmless. It stays in the flask getting bigger as it does its job of turning wine into Vinegar.
Mother is also known as Mycoderma Aceti or “Fungus skin of the acid”, an apt description I’d say.
I would never have guessed or given it a conscious thought that this is how vinegar is made.  Have you?

Learning new things is so cool. It turns out that learning new things changes our brains and that’s the third new thing I learnt. Our brain’s structure changes regularly and with it, so do we! Who I am today, I won’t be tomorrow when I wake up. The changes and the effects may be either big or small, but however you look at it, the ever-changing brain means a changed you.

We have neuroplasticity to thank for this. The ability of the brain to make new synaptic connections or sever old ones. And the changes can be for good and bad.  I may learn to play the piano but forget how to tie knots I learnt in scouts as a kid. It’s a bit of give and take I’m afraid.

Our brains are not like computers: they do not have perfect recall, and some things rank higher than others on the memory hierarchy. There are three reasons for that and it has to do with how we learn. Let’s check it out people.

Memory drives learning and change. Memory failure or loss of memory does the opposite.  Memory happens in three ways: chemically, structurally and functionally according to Neuroscientist Lara Boyd. Go and check out her cool Tedtalk Here.

Want to learn to swim (finally something about swimming) or improve your swimming technique as an adult? Welcome to the world of neuroplasticity and brain change.

It turns out not to be that easy.  As a Swim Coach I know exactly how hard it is. You have learnt some pretty hard-to-get-rid-of shit over the course of your life. Even if you’re not a swimmer, you have genes and motor function co-ordination that helps or hinders. I often get asked if one lesson of an hour will be enough to change a swimmer’s technique. Simple answer. No.  More like one to two years if you are lucky. Why?

Because we are all dumbasses in the end and our fantastic brain wants us to work for it. It won’t just give your adult self a quick win of learning freestyle in a week. Where would the triathlon coaching world be if this was the case?

I think there is some truth to the above. The old adage of, “if it worth doing, it is worth doing right,” comes to mind. Our brain wants to know we are serious about this new skill acquisition before it diverts resources to support it. That enthusiasm and energy must come from our attention and willingness to reinforce the learning of the new skill.

Side-note: we pick up bad habits in the same way: by diverting time and energy to them. Bad habits seemingly need less work because they give us pleasure that drives us to the next fix. So if you can makes things pleasurable, you will learn them quicker.

According to Boyd, “The best driver of neuroplastic change in your brain is your behaviour,” and she continues with, “Nothing is more effective than practice. You have to do the work.”

So, what now, practice and get a good coach? Yes. The three ways in which your brain changes are, as mentioned above – in case you can’t remember­ – chemically, structurally and functionally. Sometimes this happens in isolation, but more often than not in concert with each other.

Let’s take a common swimming problem and look at it from these three lenses.
Freestyle Problem: The hand comes in over the middle line upon entry. [the middle line is an imaginary line coming out of the head which we don’t want to cross when the leading hand enters the water]
Analysis: Common problem among adult learnt swimmers.
Result: Snake like motion in the water, drops the elbow. Swimmer has to push down or to the side to get into the pull-through. Hardly any catch.
Injury: Makes Tennis elbow worse and puts pressure on rotator cuff

The problem is difficult to fix for two reasons. Swimmers cannot see their hands enter the water as they are looking down, and secondly they are moving in the water which makes it more difficult for the brain to feel what’s going on.

The first thing my swimmers need to do is place their hands in time and space and water. Easy on land. Difficult in water. I ask my swimmers to swim with their heads down, arms above their heads and hands in a neutral position, shoulder width apart. There is no arm movement. This is done with fins and snorkel. This exercise helps them feel where their hands and arms need to be upon entry. Playing is the best way here. So, play around with your hand position without swimming. go from neutral to wide to streamline. This teaches the swimmer how things feel and induces the chemical signaling that begins the learning process.

Next, I apply this with having swimmers swim freestyle with what they think, is a very wide hand entry. Extreme actually. And even though they feel like their hands are wide, they are in line with the shoulder. This is the trickery of the brain coming out. Once a swimmer sees this on video, they know that their feeling is incorrect. For now, at least.

The difficult part is getting them to come back every time they swim and remember to swim with a “wide” entry. Because it feels wrong. The brain goes back to default. It has to feel wrong before it feels right. Any sportsman will tell you that about a technique change. Practicing this “wide” hand entry will induce structural changes and light up different parts of the brain which is also the functional change.

The brain wants us to get it right, but we need to stick at it.
Remembering the technique after showering and leaving the pool is a hard ask. Keep a journal with what the coach said, how you felt and if possible, add the videos made to it.
This will help you remember the crucial things for the next time you swim and keep your motivation high.

So give peas and peace a chance in this next month. Learn, love and play responsibly. BY that i mean without hurting others or the earth. Have fun in the sun.

The Last Traveller #1 - Home

The last traveler. Stamped in big letters across her port pass. Diana had seen those letters so many times.  They were the rarest words on the planet, yet she gave them so little attention these days. “One could get used to anything,” she thought to herself. Coming back here was hard. The port opened for her automatically. The body scan, mapping her DNA, had already taken place before she stepped out of the transporter. Her port pass was an archaic and official document the confederacy didn’t want to let go of. She was required to have it on her at all times in her travels.  She made a mental note to talk to Etta about this next time they had a serious talk about travel protocol.

There was so much to talk to Etta about. She had a present for her too. She had found it on her travels. It had given her a sense of pride in finding the lamp. Etta would love it, she knew. Bringing back things Etta would like was something she knew how to do. However, the lamp from Xelor would be a constant reminder of that dreadful night, the night she was born. But it didn’t matter. Somethings couldn’t be forgotten; like when and where you were born. Into what state and Tribe. She had wanted nothing more than to sink into the molten rock of Trellidor and end herself. But she couldn’t. The elders wouldn’t allow it. How had they known what she was thinking? This thought flashed into mind as the light of the star gun flashed in the sky. Her eyes traced the white light across it as her mind wandered through the galaxy of her memories.

She shivered at the thought of her birth. Etta had betrayed her. She hated her for it at the time. No need to rehash old wounds. The Last Traveler was born, not chosen. That she knew. How many times had that been said to her – a thousand, a hundred thousand? She had stopped counting. She had not wanted to be born the Last Traveler. There is a desperation and a type of depression in not having any control or say in the matter of one’s birth, she thought. It was the ultimate helplessness and she hated to feel helpless.  She had not chosen this life and role. It had been a chance happening. A random fertilized egg that had brought her to this moment. Why couldn’t she choose another life and not to be the Last Traveler? Why couldn’t she choose not to live?

Nothing would change in the travel protocol. She doubted it would. They liked to hold onto tradition. Especially for the last traveler.  She was their, what had Tesla called her, living relic.

The public awaited as she exited the port. They were always there. Asking for information about the bad lands or pictures from the sweet lands. So curious, the public. Wanting to know where she had been and what she had seen. It was a secret. She wanted to share the beauty her eyes had captured, but it would mean the last traveler would never again travel. Getting through the masses was her homecoming. People trapped in the now that would always be here, this very place and province they were born to. She shivered at the thought of how random it all was.

She touched elbows with many as she walked from the port to the station. Physical contact was a class thing. Even if she wanted to shake hands, it was forbidden. The guards would not punish her for shaking hands, but they would punish those who had shaken her hand. It was unfair, but that was how the system worked. People shouted out their questions to her, knowing there would be no answer. In fact, her return answered their most pressing question. There was still something out there to visit.  

The transport car was empty, as it always was. She punched in the code and the doors closed. She took a deep breath. God it was good to be home. The smell of the tanned leather of the train, the bottle of champagne cold in the cooler and her favourite snack of mixed jelly fish made her almost want to cry. She was home. Travelling takes its toll.

 The city was dark. The electricity was out again. Poor souls who had no way of charging up life cells would be dead by morning. The last traveler has special privileges. She would survive no matter what. She would have to speak to Tesla about this. Power for everyone. She remembered the soft light her mother used in the kitchen while cooking. The beautiful light. Her mother would tell her that the way the light fell from the lamp was important and not just any light bulb or lamp was good enough. That lamp in the kitchen was the soul of the dwelling and her mother’s favourite possession. In those days there had always been plenty of power and light. It was even normal to read after supper and watch the archaic system called TV. That same lamp was now her prized possession and brought her delight and comfort after her travels.

The air was warm, summer on its way. The train docked at her dwelling. She took the bottle of champagne with her. The lights came on immediately and the voice from her AI welcomed her home. “Good evening, Queen Eleanor, how was your trip?”

“Call me Diana, you moron!”

“I cannot compute, try again.”

“Shut up.”

“As you wish Queen Elanor.”  She didn’t answer but went into the kitchen to sit down under her mother’s light. ‘God, how I miss you.’ She thought as the light softly touched her skin, like her mother had until she would never again. Her mother would have had a meal ready and sit and listen to her latest adventure. Diana would be able to laugh and tell her almost everything.  

She passed her AI on her way to the bedroom, ‘Light and power, but no soul.’, she thought. The AI saw everything but nothing as she shed her clothes on the bedroom floor. Almost before they touched the floor the AI was coming towards them, “Stop!” she exclaimed, tearing up. She wanted it to be chaotic and disorderly and fucked up. She wanted her mother to come in and shout at her for dumping her clothes on the floor. She stood naked before the AI. It saw but did not register. She knew how the programming worked; she had seen it being made at the confederacy. It saw her nakedness but did not register it as part of its privacy rules. She would have to scream rape to get any response from her AI. It would trigger the emergency call to the control center and just like that, her life would be invaded. So, she stood there in front of it naked and unashamed.  It didn’t flinch. Neither did she. It was a stand-off. A game. Like when she was a child and they would compete to see who would blink first.  She missed the human touch. The welcome hug or a back rub that came to her from her youth. All forbidden now for the last traveler.

She turned and walked to the bathroom. The AI followed. She had named this particular model Bob. She didn’t know why. Its technical name was Xcilliem 3000. The name of the company that made the AI and the model number or year. She didn’t know and didn’t care.

Bob ran the bath for her. Bob was a slave; she had read about eunuchs in her Last Traveler training. She thought a lot about that. Men without balls. Men who saw everything. Men without testosterone and ego. Testosterone was ego, wasn’t it? How would a world look with men ruling it and making the decisions? She shivered.  She could not imagine such a world. She had read the stories, but her head couldn’t wrap itself around it.

The bath was hot, the stones touched her back as she sank into the water. They started vibrating, calibrating her physical being. She took a deep breath in, held on to it for as long as possible and then blew it all out. It felt good. She let the customised massage tendrils release the stress from her body. It was the only time her body was touched. That wasn’t quite true, but she had to hold onto illusions. This was the only physical relief she was allowed.

The last traveler was untouchable. She had begged to be hugged, but the elders wouldn’t allow it. Her title made her untouchable, ostracized and isolated. Everyone wanted to be her. She wanted to be everybody. Nobody wanted to be themselves. She could just as well have been a diseased creature who people would and could not touch. Tears fell from her face and melted into the water, becoming the collective pain of the last travelers before her.

She was the Last Traveler. Untouchable. It said so in her port pass.