Martin Gayford on Ordinary and Extraordinary:
great pictures are often images of very commonplace sights.via What makes William Eggleston's ordinary photographs so extraordinary? by Martin Gayford.
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query Extraordinary. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query Extraordinary. Sort by date Show all posts
Thursday, August 4, 2016
Ordinary Extraordinary - Martin Gayford (Thu 04 Aug 2016)
Friday, July 31, 2015
On Tension - The Key to Extraordinary - Marie Laigneau / Dreams of aCity (Sat 18 Jul 2015)
Marie Laigneau on Photography and Tension:
Tension [..] is your storytelling ingredient: it opens the door to the imagination, the possible, the dream. It defies the predictable and the expected. It is your key to the extraordinary.via Storytelling in street photography: Disrupting the harmony by Marie Laigneau.
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
The Compulsion of Photographing a Building - Kathy Ryan / James Estrin (Wed 15 Oct 2014)
Kathy Ryan (*) writes on the Compulsion (*) of Photographing (*) a Building (*):
It is like a compulsion. I can’t quite explain where it comes from other than this truly extraordinary building. The combination of the light [..] that cast wonderful striping shadows [..] is extraordinary.via Loving Light at the Office (*) by James Estrin (*).
I know what she means.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
What is a workout? Rob Rowland-Smith - Jeremey Rolleston (Feb 2011)
In his book A Life that Counts, Jeremy Rolleston introduces us to trainer Rob Rowland-Smith. A bit of searching on the Internet and you will find Rob as the SandhillWarrior on Twitter. He certainly impressed Jeremy (as well as me - see here) with his inspirational words and quotes. On pages 136 and 137 of his book, Jeremy quotes Rob's long version of What is a Workout (the short version appeared here a few days ago) as follows:
Here’s a quote by inspirational trainer Rob Rowland-Smith. He wrote it in the context of a workout, but for me, it epitomises the journey, process and outcomes of a committed and disciplined life. I placed it on the front page of my Olympic training folder so I’d read it often, and most times, I read it before I worked out so I’d be better able to discipline myself and work hard enough to achieve what I wanted to achieve during that training session:
When you workout regularly, your problems diminish and your confidence grows. - Jenny and Deb Cooper stroking with George sweeping - DBNSW 2008 Development Squad - Blackwattle Bay / Sydney (Sun 26 Oct 2008)
When you finish a good workout, you don’t simply feel better ... you feel better about yourself." - DBNSW 2008 Development Squad - Blackwattle Bay / Sydney (Sun 26 Oct 2008)
Here’s a quote by inspirational trainer Rob Rowland-Smith. He wrote it in the context of a workout, but for me, it epitomises the journey, process and outcomes of a committed and disciplined life. I placed it on the front page of my Olympic training folder so I’d read it often, and most times, I read it before I worked out so I’d be better able to discipline myself and work hard enough to achieve what I wanted to achieve during that training session:
"What is a workout?Rob completes this with the following words:
A workout is 25% perspiration and 75% determination.
Stated another way, it is one part physical exertion and three parts self-discipline.
Doing it is easy once you get started.
A workout makes you better today than you were yesterday.
It strengthens the body, relaxes the mind and toughens the spirit.
When you workout regularly, your problems diminish and your confidence grows.
A workout is a personal triumph over laziness and procrastination.
It is the badge of a winner – the mark of an organised, goal-oriented person who has taken charge of his or her destiny.
A workout is a wise use of time and an investment in excellence.
It is a way of preparing for life's challenges and proving to yourself that you have what it takes to do what is necessary.
A workout is a key that helps unlock the door to opportunity and success.
Hidden within each of us is an extraordinary force.
Physical and mental fitness are triggers that can release it.
A workout is a form of rebirth.
When you finish a good workout, you don’t simply feel better ... you feel better about yourself."
To follow your dreams takes commitment ... and this means discipline.Some great words here and they will certainly help me focus on what is needed when working towards a Dream.
Saturday, October 17, 2015
On Deciding - Lisa Gorman / Annette O’Brien (Fri 16 Oct 2015)
Lisa Gorman on Deciding:
if you worry too much about your decisions, you won’t actually get anything donevia Extraordinary Routines • Lisa Gorman by Annette O’Brien.
Can be seen as a bit of a fence sitter (or a dreamer, as the photo shows me looking skywards), as I can often see (or at least consider) all the sides of a decision. Along with an inherent desire to see everyone happy (a fatal flaw I am trying to correct), it is often tough to make a decision, even when I know what I want or what is best.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
It's not about the Paddle
IT’S NOT ABOUT THE BIKE – LANCE ARMSTRONG
I read the following extract to Jenny twice while she was in Hospital in June 2009. The first time was two days after the surgery to remove a 4cm brain tumor. She listened intently - like a small child being read a fairy tale - while I struggled to remain composed, as I read it to her.
Jenny - St George Private Hospital - Sun 22 Jun 2009 (picasa)
The second time was in the Intensive Care Unit at St George following her "heart failure" episode 6 days earlier (Tue 23 Jun 2009) – a day before she left us on the 30 Jun 2009 at 9:16am. I think and hope she heard me. This little story for me is the essence of the Book, a book she treasured, and ultimately it reads as a "prophecy" for what would unfold in Prague in late August 2009 for Joanne and myself - hope this makes sense .. Geoff
Jenny, Joanne and Geoff - St George ICU - Sun 28 Jun 2009 (picasa)
IT’S NOT ABOUT THE BIKE – LANCE ARMSTRONG
If there is a defining characteristic of a man as opposed to a boy, maybe it's patience. In 1995, I finally gained an understanding of the demanding nature of the Tour [de France] and all of its extraordinary tests and dangers. I finished it, and I finished strong, winning a stage in the closing days. But the knowledge came at too high a price, and I would just as soon not have learned it the way I did.
Late in the race, our Motorola teammate, Fabio Casartelli, the 1992 Olympic champion, was killed on a high-speed descent. On a descent, you ride single file, and if one rider goes down, it can cause a terrible chain reaction. Fabio didn't crash alone; 20 riders went down with him. But he hit a curb with the back of his head and fractured his neck and skull.
I went by too fast to see much. A lot of riders were down, and everybody was crouched around someone lying on the ground, but you see that sort of thing a lot in the Tour. It was only a while later that I learned via the team radio what had happened: Fabio was dead. When they tell you something like that, you almost don't believe it.
It was one of the longest days of my life. Fabio was not only the young hope of Italian cycling, he was a new husband and a new father. His baby was just a month old.
Jenny and Geoff - Cape Leveque - 9 May 2001 (picasa)
We had to keep riding, to finish the stage even though we were distraught and sick with shock. I had known Fabio since I first started racing internationally in '91. He lived right outside of Como where I kept my apartment, and we had competed against each other at the Barcelona Olympics in '92, when he won the gold medal. He was a very relaxed, fun-loving man, a little goofy, a joker. Some of the top Italians were more serious, or macho, but Fabio wasn't like that. He was all sweetness.
That night we had a Motorola team meeting to discuss whether we should keep riding or not. We were split. Half of us wanted to quit and go home and cry with our families and friends, and half of us wanted to keep riding in honor of Fabio. Personally, I wanted to stop; I simply didn't think I had the heart to ride a bike. It was the first time I had encountered death, and genuine grief, and I didn't know how to handle it. But then Fabio's wife came to see us, and she said she wanted us to keep riding, because she felt that was what Fabio would have wanted. So we sat in the grass behind the hotel, said a few prayers, and decided to stay in.
Me and my Shadow - "an early start for the first day of the rest of my life" - 7am Wed 01 Jul 2009 (picasa)
The next day the peloton rode in honor of Fabio, and gave our team a ceremonial stage victory. It was another long, terrible day— eight hours on the bike, with everybody grieving. The peloton did not race. Instead we rode in quiet formation. It was virtually a funeral procession, and at last our team rode across the finish line, while, behind us, Fabio's bike was mounted atop the support car with a black ribbon.
The following morning we began the race again in earnest, and rode into Bordeaux. Next was a stage into Limoges, and that night, Och came around to our rooms and told the team that Fabio had had two goals in the Tour: he wanted to finish the race, and he especially wanted to try to win the stage into Limoges. As soon as Och stopped speaking I knew that if Limoges was the stage Fabio had wanted to win for himself, now I wanted to win it for him, and that I was going to finish the race.
About halfway through the next day's stage, I found myself grouped with 25 guys at the front - Indurain was in the yellow leader's jersey, riding at the back. I did what came most naturally to me: I attacked.
The problem was, I attacked too early, as usual. I went with 25 miles still to go, and on a downhill portion. Two things you never do: attack early, and on a downhill. But I went so fast on that downhill that I had a 30-second lead in a finger-snap. The other riders were completely taken aback. I could feel them wondering, What's he thinking?
What was I thinking? I had looked back, and saw guys were riding along, with no particular ambition. It was a hot day, and there was no incentive to pull hard, everyone was just trying to get closer to the finish line where the tactics would play out. I glanced back, and one guy was taking a sip of water. I glanced back again. Another guy was fixing his hat. So I took off. Peoooo. I was gone.
When you have 15 other guys back there from 15 different teams, they'll never get organized. They'll look at each other and say: You pull. No, you pull! So I went, and I went faster than I'd ever ridden. It was a tactical punch in the face, and it had nothing to do with strength or ability; everything depended on the initial shock and separation. It was insane, but it worked.
IDBF Senior Mixed 500m Final - 200m to go - "The Break" - "It was insane, but it worked" – Prague/Racice - Day 4 - 29 Aug 2009
Nobody got within 55 seconds of me again. The team support car kept coming up and giving me reports. Henny Kuiper, our team director, would say, "You're thirty seconds up." Then a few minutes later he'd come alongside again and say, "You're forty-five seconds up."
When he came up the third or fourth time, I said, "Henny, don't come up here anymore. I'm not getting caught."
"Okay, okay, okay," he said, and faded behind my wheel.
I didn't get caught.
I won by a minute, and I didn't feel a moment's pain. Instead I felt something spiritual; I know that I rode with a higher purpose that day. Even though I had charged too early, I never suffered after I broke away. I would like to think that was Fabio's experience too; he simply broke away and separated from the world. There is no doubt in my mind that there were two riders on that bike. Fabio was with me.
Senior Mixed 500m Final - "Instead I felt something spiritual; I know that I rode with a higher purpose that day." Lance A - "Don't Wonder 'What If?'" Jenny P – Prague/Racice - Day 4 - 29 Aug 2009
I felt an emotion at the finish line that I've never experienced again. I felt I was winning for Fabio and his family and his baby, and for the mourning country of Italy. As I came across the line I glanced upward and I pointed to the heavens, to Fabio.
World Champs - Australian Senior Mixed 500m Team - "As I came across the line I glanced upward and I pointed to the heavens" Lance A – Prague/Racice - Day 4 - 29 Aug 2009
After the Tour, Och had a memorial built for Fabio. He commissioned a sculptor from Como to execute a work in white Carrara marble. The team flew in from all over the world, and we gathered at the top of the mountain for the placement of the memorial and the dedication ceremony. The memorial had a sundial on it that shone on three dates and times: his birthday, the day he won the Olympic Games, and the day he died.
Geoff and Joanne at Fabio’s Memorial - we stumbled upon it by complete accident – Col de Portet d'Aspet - Thu 24 Sep 2009 [1] (picasa)
I had learned what it means to ride the Tour de France. It's not about the bike. It's a metaphor for life, not only the longest race in the world but also the most exalting and heartbreaking and potentially tragic. It poses every conceivable element to the rider, and more: cold, heat, mountains, plains, ruts, flat tires, high winds, unspeakably bad luck, unthinkable beauty, yawning senselessness, and above all a great, deep self-questioning. During our lives we're faced with so many different elements as well, we experience so many setbacks, and fight such a hand-to-hand battle with failure, head down in the rain, just trying to stay upright and to have a little hope. The Tour is not just a bike race, not at all. It is a test. It tests you physically, it tests you mentally, and it even tests you morally.
I understood that now. There were no shortcuts, I realized. It took years of racing to build up the mind and body and character, until a rider had logged hundreds of races and thousands of miles of road. I wouldn't be able to win a Tour de France until I had enough iron in my legs, and lungs, and brain, and heart. Until I was a man. Fabio had been a man. I was still trying to get there.
[1] I would like to think the two shadows on the “Wings” of the Memorial represent the spirit of Jenny and her life as a twin with Joanne.. There we are, Joanne and I, counterpoised by the twin shadows of the Joanne and Jenny. Jenny overlooks us and is there with us, Always.
Jenny - "looking out over us - she inspires and guides us from above" - Geoff E - Wolfe Creek Crater, WA - 22 May 2001"
Jenny, Geoff, Joanne - St George - 22 Aug 2006
I read the following extract to Jenny twice while she was in Hospital in June 2009. The first time was two days after the surgery to remove a 4cm brain tumor. She listened intently - like a small child being read a fairy tale - while I struggled to remain composed, as I read it to her.
The second time was in the Intensive Care Unit at St George following her "heart failure" episode 6 days earlier (Tue 23 Jun 2009) – a day before she left us on the 30 Jun 2009 at 9:16am. I think and hope she heard me. This little story for me is the essence of the Book, a book she treasured, and ultimately it reads as a "prophecy" for what would unfold in Prague in late August 2009 for Joanne and myself - hope this makes sense .. Geoff
IT’S NOT ABOUT THE BIKE – LANCE ARMSTRONG
If there is a defining characteristic of a man as opposed to a boy, maybe it's patience. In 1995, I finally gained an understanding of the demanding nature of the Tour [de France] and all of its extraordinary tests and dangers. I finished it, and I finished strong, winning a stage in the closing days. But the knowledge came at too high a price, and I would just as soon not have learned it the way I did.
Late in the race, our Motorola teammate, Fabio Casartelli, the 1992 Olympic champion, was killed on a high-speed descent. On a descent, you ride single file, and if one rider goes down, it can cause a terrible chain reaction. Fabio didn't crash alone; 20 riders went down with him. But he hit a curb with the back of his head and fractured his neck and skull.
I went by too fast to see much. A lot of riders were down, and everybody was crouched around someone lying on the ground, but you see that sort of thing a lot in the Tour. It was only a while later that I learned via the team radio what had happened: Fabio was dead. When they tell you something like that, you almost don't believe it.
It was one of the longest days of my life. Fabio was not only the young hope of Italian cycling, he was a new husband and a new father. His baby was just a month old.
We had to keep riding, to finish the stage even though we were distraught and sick with shock. I had known Fabio since I first started racing internationally in '91. He lived right outside of Como where I kept my apartment, and we had competed against each other at the Barcelona Olympics in '92, when he won the gold medal. He was a very relaxed, fun-loving man, a little goofy, a joker. Some of the top Italians were more serious, or macho, but Fabio wasn't like that. He was all sweetness.
That night we had a Motorola team meeting to discuss whether we should keep riding or not. We were split. Half of us wanted to quit and go home and cry with our families and friends, and half of us wanted to keep riding in honor of Fabio. Personally, I wanted to stop; I simply didn't think I had the heart to ride a bike. It was the first time I had encountered death, and genuine grief, and I didn't know how to handle it. But then Fabio's wife came to see us, and she said she wanted us to keep riding, because she felt that was what Fabio would have wanted. So we sat in the grass behind the hotel, said a few prayers, and decided to stay in.
The next day the peloton rode in honor of Fabio, and gave our team a ceremonial stage victory. It was another long, terrible day— eight hours on the bike, with everybody grieving. The peloton did not race. Instead we rode in quiet formation. It was virtually a funeral procession, and at last our team rode across the finish line, while, behind us, Fabio's bike was mounted atop the support car with a black ribbon.
The following morning we began the race again in earnest, and rode into Bordeaux. Next was a stage into Limoges, and that night, Och came around to our rooms and told the team that Fabio had had two goals in the Tour: he wanted to finish the race, and he especially wanted to try to win the stage into Limoges. As soon as Och stopped speaking I knew that if Limoges was the stage Fabio had wanted to win for himself, now I wanted to win it for him, and that I was going to finish the race.
About halfway through the next day's stage, I found myself grouped with 25 guys at the front - Indurain was in the yellow leader's jersey, riding at the back. I did what came most naturally to me: I attacked.
The problem was, I attacked too early, as usual. I went with 25 miles still to go, and on a downhill portion. Two things you never do: attack early, and on a downhill. But I went so fast on that downhill that I had a 30-second lead in a finger-snap. The other riders were completely taken aback. I could feel them wondering, What's he thinking?
What was I thinking? I had looked back, and saw guys were riding along, with no particular ambition. It was a hot day, and there was no incentive to pull hard, everyone was just trying to get closer to the finish line where the tactics would play out. I glanced back, and one guy was taking a sip of water. I glanced back again. Another guy was fixing his hat. So I took off. Peoooo. I was gone.
When you have 15 other guys back there from 15 different teams, they'll never get organized. They'll look at each other and say: You pull. No, you pull! So I went, and I went faster than I'd ever ridden. It was a tactical punch in the face, and it had nothing to do with strength or ability; everything depended on the initial shock and separation. It was insane, but it worked.
Nobody got within 55 seconds of me again. The team support car kept coming up and giving me reports. Henny Kuiper, our team director, would say, "You're thirty seconds up." Then a few minutes later he'd come alongside again and say, "You're forty-five seconds up."
When he came up the third or fourth time, I said, "Henny, don't come up here anymore. I'm not getting caught."
"Okay, okay, okay," he said, and faded behind my wheel.
I didn't get caught.
I won by a minute, and I didn't feel a moment's pain. Instead I felt something spiritual; I know that I rode with a higher purpose that day. Even though I had charged too early, I never suffered after I broke away. I would like to think that was Fabio's experience too; he simply broke away and separated from the world. There is no doubt in my mind that there were two riders on that bike. Fabio was with me.
I felt an emotion at the finish line that I've never experienced again. I felt I was winning for Fabio and his family and his baby, and for the mourning country of Italy. As I came across the line I glanced upward and I pointed to the heavens, to Fabio.
After the Tour, Och had a memorial built for Fabio. He commissioned a sculptor from Como to execute a work in white Carrara marble. The team flew in from all over the world, and we gathered at the top of the mountain for the placement of the memorial and the dedication ceremony. The memorial had a sundial on it that shone on three dates and times: his birthday, the day he won the Olympic Games, and the day he died.
I had learned what it means to ride the Tour de France. It's not about the bike. It's a metaphor for life, not only the longest race in the world but also the most exalting and heartbreaking and potentially tragic. It poses every conceivable element to the rider, and more: cold, heat, mountains, plains, ruts, flat tires, high winds, unspeakably bad luck, unthinkable beauty, yawning senselessness, and above all a great, deep self-questioning. During our lives we're faced with so many different elements as well, we experience so many setbacks, and fight such a hand-to-hand battle with failure, head down in the rain, just trying to stay upright and to have a little hope. The Tour is not just a bike race, not at all. It is a test. It tests you physically, it tests you mentally, and it even tests you morally.
I understood that now. There were no shortcuts, I realized. It took years of racing to build up the mind and body and character, until a rider had logged hundreds of races and thousands of miles of road. I wouldn't be able to win a Tour de France until I had enough iron in my legs, and lungs, and brain, and heart. Until I was a man. Fabio had been a man. I was still trying to get there.
[1] I would like to think the two shadows on the “Wings” of the Memorial represent the spirit of Jenny and her life as a twin with Joanne.. There we are, Joanne and I, counterpoised by the twin shadows of the Joanne and Jenny. Jenny overlooks us and is there with us, Always.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Ridden into the Ground and Loving It - Drew Ginn (Wed 08 May 2007)
Another Favourite Blog Post by Drew Ginn.
A great way of thinking about a maximum effort in any endurance sport.
I have taken up RPM again for my cardio fitness and the great thing with RPM Indoor Bike Sessions is that I get a chance to explore all these feelings in every 45 minute session.
For me it is a great way of training the mind to Win the Workout.
Bikes - Levento / Italy (Thu 11 Aug 2005)
A great way of thinking about a maximum effort in any endurance sport.
I have taken up RPM again for my cardio fitness and the great thing with RPM Indoor Bike Sessions is that I get a chance to explore all these feelings in every 45 minute session.
For me it is a great way of training the mind to Win the Workout.
Ridden into the Ground and Loving It - Drew Ginn (Wed 08 May 2007)
It is an extreme sensation to run out of gas on the bike.
It's a wonderfully strange feeling that is painful, magical and exciting.
The energy this morning as we rode ourselves into the ground was very cool.
Each challenge to dig deeper was meet with that fear of failure, of seizing up, of not being able to hang on.
It was think like a sea fog and could not be escaped.
If for one moment we were to back off it would be the end.
The only choice was to roll on and push again into that space of fatigue and sting.
The remarkable thing is each time I go into this place, into this zone I find something special, something new.
A freshness presented itself and as I pushed further.
I found that I couldn’t just stand and fight, punch myself out.
Be smart w[as] a statement I could hear like a whisper from an invisible friend.
Be smart, again it came into my awareness.
We swung round a corner and the pace quickened, the surge is extraordinary and it occurred outside and within.
If for a moment I was to hesitate I knew I would loose connection, so to drive again was the command.
The pleasure is in the relationship the lies within the range and scope of extremes.
The vastness of feelings marks a cycle.
Not just the one we ride but the one that is ever present inside us.
The burning grew and as it did I thought, "how can I maintain this effort?"
Then in one foul and almighty swoop we were away again.
The release was wonderful as I gained new energy to challenge and step.
Every stroke of the pedal was one closer to the end of our ride.
As we encountered a slight rise away from another bend it had become noticeably more difficult.
The build up of accumulated resistance was so filling and even the little climb was laughing at us.
We dug, I dug and before we realised we are over and off again.
The joy was like a chorus of celebration that burst and gradually it turned into new momentum.
The final stretch was into a strengthening wind.
The speed became hard to maintain and as I noticed my position matching the challenge.
Lower and lower I became, grinding away.
The pressure was had developed into a constant strain that would not let up until the end of the straight.
As we crossed an imaginary line we sat up like some proud animal in the wild after a kill.
Gasping for air we an evident sign of the effort require and expended.
The wry smiles told the story and we rolled into our coffee shop and embarked on a different journey.
One of reflection as we each shared our version of the morning’s events.
We were all exhausted, we had ridder ourselves into the ground and we loved it.
Saturday, October 8, 2016
Story Making and Telling - Mind Painting - TIm Ross (Fri 07 Oct 2016)
I deal with stories – hearing them and making them up – it’s essentially mind paintingvia Extraordinary Routines · Tim Ross by Madeleine Dore.
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