2 Week Break: I've Been Winning!!.. But Now I'm Stuck in Gears

update on my wins, my running insanity, and my recent "immobilarity"

The last time I played was June 18th, 2 weeks ago, where I placed 2nd in a 665 player $2.20 tourney. Exactly a month prior, May 18th, I got "First Place Baby!!!" (what I texted to my brother and sister-in-law) in a 3600 player 10 cents with 50 cent rebuys/add-ons. In-between that time, my tournament play had proven formidable and relentless. I just kept pushing into the higher ranks during tourney play, being chip leader in the middle-to-late ladder of the tourney on plenty of occasions. The only thing keeping me from finishing in a high place was me not being used to having such a huge chip lead. I should have taken the tight-passive walk to the final table rather than being tempted to change gears. This is where I've learned that changing gears and STAYING in gear becomes a vital necessity for survival in any tournament. Of course, the key is also knowing the exact moment when to change gears again and not stay stuck in gears.

For the long run, my marathon, I suppose my own personal break from poker these past two weeks is me staying in the tight-passive gear. Am I depressed? I don't know, and I don't think so. One thing that's keeping my head straight is knowing that life is so full of undiscovered beauty. I know things can only get better, and the better I become the more I can and will explore. Perhaps I don't want to lose what I've earned (monetarily and spiritually) before I've gotten a chance to learn how to repeat it. I'm also just taking this time to remind myself that I'm still human and not king of the world or king of poker. I'm just taking this time to be tight-passive because maybe I am in the chip lead of life and not ready to lose any of it just yet.

I am in the $900 black zone, and closing in on $1000 (my first major goal). But before I get there, I've decided to change plans and buy myself a great pair of running shoes. Yes, I'm taking $100 out of my winnings to aide my recent means of sustenance: Running. My left knee and foot have been killing me after long runs, and I'm not going to kill myself before I break the $1000 mark. Also, running is probably one of the most relative teachers of discipline and resilience in my life right now that also fuels my poker strengths. Let's look at it as both a short-term and long-term investment on multiple venues.

Peter Max, a big artist featured at the gallery I work for, said, "Destinations don't interest me as much as the process of getting there." Max has been painting art since he was young, but in his 30s all he did was paint with little-to-no appraisal. Only later did he start reaping the rewards and is now one of the few artists to ever achieve such popularity whilst being alive. I think that being any type of artist, in which not everyone will understand your style of reasoning, we have to develop a sense of pride and joy in what we do. Many other occupations, careers, and hobbies gather more "support" and approval from society, family, and friends, and the rewards for them are more direct or consistent. A true artist and poker player must be less results-oriented and more process-oriented. The process of anything must be enjoyed and driven more than the result. "If you only focus on the result, you'll never figure out how to get there" (Andrew, Live Today: Poker Journals).

One of the major things you hear from all poker pros is to treat poker like one, long marathon. What this means is you can't sprint the whole way, you must survive to the end, and you have to learn to adapt to many different situations. If we want to translate this purely in terms of money and poker, then it also means you can't expect to win huge amounts every time, you must practice solid money management and believe in winning in the long run, and you have to change gears and adapt because the game is constantly changing.

Well, I've been upping my marathon-esque running game against the crooked streets, broken glass, and speeding traffic, maintaining the confidence to do a 12-mile run to my art gallery. We're talking running through Newark, Irvington, Maplewood, and then to Short Hills, so you can imagine the environmental changes and types of looks I get from various types of people on that run. What keeps me going?? Believing in the process. You just have to keep pushing, keep remembering to breathe and stay in good form, stride-for-stride. Not worry what others think of you or how you look. Keep your head up, your shoulders and chest up, and arms steadily pumping in good rhythm for your legs to emulate and your lungs to appreciate. "When you focus on making the right moves and making the best decisions, everything else will follow and nothing else will matter" (Andrew).

I usually take the train back home after I finish work at the gallery, which still requires a 2.5-mile run to the station. But one time, I ran to work, worked for 8 hours, then decided to do the 12-miles back home late one pouring-rain night (partially cuz I was down to $2.00 in my bank account and couldn't afford the train back nor willing to borrow from my co-workers). It was so sick... My legs felt like they were going to fall apart at the most crucial moments, my body and my shoes were drenched in rain and sweat, and my head was on the verge of blacking out. Imagine having no legs or at least thinking they're swinging around in circles below you. Then imagine, somehow, that you've become so insanely full of pride and self-accomplishment (cuz no one else gets it) that you're willing to risk continuing your sloppy, wet run while looking like an injured zebra ripe for the killing, testing all the local gangs of lions and hyenas. (I don't care if you're the fastest marathon runner alive... Just try and do that shit, sun!).

Alright, well, realistically and honestly, I never gloat or even relish in the greatness of my own accomplishments no matter how sick they are. Usually, I keep them to myself or deflect any further praise extending past "good job" from others. But I think that by writing all this, I'm feeling better about getting back into the game and doing my thing. Obviously, by being tight-passive I have risked not being in action for some time. In poker and running, I have pushed myself past the limit, which has proven to be a rewarding yet scary thing. Scary not because of the risk of failure, but the risk of not continuing to do the regular things. For example, I haven't kept up with the shorter-distance runs, I'm feeling lazier than before, and I'm not sure why I've taken such a long, 2-week break from poker especially after such success. I still feel proud of my achievements, but perhaps I am forgetting the beauty of the process in what I do and over-focusing and somehow putting myself down over the results. I mean, I did only get 2nd place in my last tournament, eh?


"You can't lose what you don't put in the middle
...
But you can't win much either." -- Mike McDermott