Why Does Brad Feld Make Me Heave?
So I’ve taken up running. I’ve even hired someone to coach me through it (I can’t bring myself to call him a “trainer”, since that would imply I am a seal, yet another mammal with no discernable waist). He has that beatific smile that really healthy people have, and he likes to chat about organic food and appropriate sources of breakfast protein while we’re chugging through the neighbourhood. I think I hate him.
Two weeks into this, and I’ve concluded that running is not a natural state of being. Stuff jiggles, for one thing. I can deal with this, since as a woman, my stuff is pretty well anchored to my body. The situation seems far more tenuous for men. Really, I don't know how you fellows get around with those things.
But it’s the monotony of running that’s killing me. Where’s the state of enlightenment that is supposed to occur when endorphins are released?
To get through it, I’ve adopted my own internal mantra to deal. For reasons I can’t explain, repeating ”Brad Feld. Brad Feld. Brad Feld” helps me keep running until I can’t go any farther without dry-heaving. Odd, but true.
Why Brad Feld? Maybe it’s because two of my favourite colleagues have recently relocated to Denver. Or maybe it’s because the question what makes a good regional VC, and whether there’s a lucrative role for regional VCs in the evolving North American ecosystem, is a hot topic here in Ontario. Who's to say? All I know is, invoking the Feld appears to have mystical aerobic properties. Try it during your next set of squats and see if I'm not right.
Back to business tomorrow.