Rob

For the real goods, head over to @snarskis_

[Rob @F3Slick]

18 dudes stared life straight in the eyes @F3TheTrident this morning. Stay focused and participate fully with what’s in front of you. @F3Omaha

[Rob @F3Slick]

YHC on the Q @F3TheTrident tomorrow! Let’s see if we can push ourselves to the edge of failure and feel something. @F3Omaha

5a 🏃
530a 🏋️‍♂️
615a ☕️

[Rob @F3Slick]

@JSteele308 @F3MissionForge @F3Omaha Never again will I miss this

[Rob Snarskis @snarskis_]

19 PAX posted for a beautiful morning around @F3TheTrident! Keep showing up, even if you feel like you don’t deserve to. Tap into your courageous source of motivation that’s always waiting for you.

[Rob Snarskis @snarskis_]

@F3TheTrident tomorrow at 530, prerun at 5. The beatdown came to me in a dream, so I guess that’s interesting? Either way, get out and post tomorrow somewhere @F3Omaha

[Rob Snarskis @snarskis_]

Come out to @F3TheTrident to fully pull 2024 into us tomorrow morning!

We’re going to work, we’re going to breathe, we’re going to be together. @F3Omaha

[Rob @F3Slick]

@F3TheTrident @F3Omaha @mgarland33 Thanks for picking up the six brother @kevinolechoski 👊

[Rob @F3Slick]

@tcnelson23 Fire

[Rob Snarskis @snarskis_]

Surf With Me | #18
Somewhere between late afternoon and twilight, I look over my shoulder and get lost in the symphony of colors as the sun seems to kiss the top of the swell on the horizon.

I bob up and down as another missed opportunity rolls underneath.

I’ve become entrained to the rhythm of the song it sings today, after hours on the water.

The sliding scale of courage wanes, and exhaustion is reaching a tipping point.

I crave one more ride, one more attempt, to channel this mighty force. As if doing so will provide something I can carry back with me on land.

Lessons in the Mundane
I live in the most landlocked state in the US, Nebraska, with no real possibility of actually getting to the ocean anytime soon. I’m caught in this poetic daydream that calls to me while never having actually surfed before.

There’s part of me that wants to fly to the coast to see if there’s a piece of my soul waiting to be found on a surfboard. But I’m not an impulsive twenty-year-old (anymore) and the logistics just don’t work in this season of life with my wife or kids. Still, the imagery burns hot in me and I’m not sure what to do.

I’m nudged deeper in the “call to adventure” as I stumble upon a Rick Rubin/Jack Johnson podcast where life analogies are weaved into surf stories. An article in Outside magazine talks about a new wave of surfers and their Youtube channels, offering more fuel for my imaginings.

I’m frustrated by the lack of progress toward feeling the sun on my face and tasting the salty air.

I draw upon inspiration from the ocean that lives within and start applying it to the life in front of me, hoping I can scratch some itch.

On the golf course, I think about the gentle rocking of the sea before I start my swing and it unlocks more freedom and pace in me. In the car, as we run late for daycare drop off, I become the surfer sitting, waiting with patience and poise for the next wave to come, instead of letting the chaos get the best of me.

Tonight, after doing the dance of dinner, bath, and bedtime with our kids, I stood in front of the dishwasher with my body clenched. Dread crept in knowing I'd be standing in the same spot again tomorrow, and the next day, and so on. I’m in my “Groundhog’s Day” era of parenthood with our young kids.

My wife and I clean up the aftermath of the beautiful tornado that passes through, and then we’ll do it all again, seemingly for eternity.

Dirty mug in hand, I close my eyes and imagine the rhythm of the water pushing in and pulling back out. I’m soothed.

I think about tonight’s clean-up as just another wave in the endless march toward the shore. I sit on my board and feel myself rock back and forth. I start to sway a bit in the kitchen as the water runs at the sink.

I hope Christy isn’t across the room staring at me.

I laugh a bit, shaking off the dread from a few moments ago.

My body relaxes and I embrace the rhythm, while moving to other areas of the house that need tidying. The waves carry me through the rest of the night.

To Surrender
Maybe we’re all just searching for a metaphor to live by for a while.

We are rhythmic life creatures after all. Why do we think we must hold on to the sun and prevent the night?

My daydream is meant to be just that for now. Reminding me to let go and surrender more into the flow of the natural world. Cycles and phases and such.

The water is nice.

Come surf with me.

[Rob Snarskis @snarskis_]

What It Feels Like to Throw a Baseball | #17

Fifteen years ago my body betrayed me.

Up until college I spent most of my time wrapped around America’s greatest pastime, baseball. Then, almost out of nowhere, my greatest source of joy and expression was gone. The thing that came the most natural to me, the thing that occupied the most space in my mind, the thing I would later realize was the anchor to my identity, abandoned me.

My Descent Into the Shadow World
I played many positions growing up but fell in love with pitching. I spent countless hours practicing and visualizing performing on the biggest stages.

I had dreams of playing professionally all the way through highschool and believed I could. But my career was cut short, seemingly pulled out from underneath me.

It didn’t end from an injury, at least not formally. The reason was far worse.

I fell victim to ���the Yips”.

“Yip” is a sort of slang used to describe a physiological and neurological breakdown inside the mind of an athlete. For baseball players, it’s a sudden inability to throw a ball accurately.

After more than a decade of meticulous command on the mound, the misfires began. I’d hit batters, spike balls into the dirt well before the plate, or accidentally launch a pitch over the catcher’s head occasionally. It wasn’t every throw, but it was impossible to succeed with this lurking in the background of my psyche.

The hilarity of “the Yips” is that fear makes the situation worse. It’s sort of self-fulfilling in the sense that the anxiety induces these fits more regularly. I lost trust in a part of me I used to believe was innate.

The onset of my yips, and the beginning of the end unfortunately fell in my transition from high school to college that first Fall. Every Spring the Season would formally begin, but the Fall was reserved for this transition period with scrimmages and games against future opponents.

The errant throws began within a few weeks of my arrival. They were happening seldom enough that I was still able to convince myself it wasn’t something to really worry about, although I could feel the worry mounting.

It was the end of the Fall season, parents' weekend, when the dam broke. I stood on the mound halfway through the scrimmage to complete an inning of work I was pre-scheduled for in the intersquad showcase in front of parents, students and other athletes around campus.

The wheels fell off immediately. The first pitch bounced feet before the catcher. I felt the weight of the crowd, my team and my coach as the eyes all around looked on at the trainwreck unfolding before them. I’m not sure I threw a single ball over the plate from there. I don’t remember how many pitches it ended up being before I was pulled off the mound. My greatest fear had come true.

Complete inability to perform. More or less a nervous system “freeze” response in front of everyone. I would have been better off tossing the ball underhand. The anguish of having to face friends and family after the game was more than I could bear. I was numb.

I struggled through the rest of my freshman year, trying to break free from this internal phantom. Somehow, I made it through the following three years, playing a few different positions on the JV team and even managed to make a run as a relief pitcher my Junior-year season as I overcame the anxiety for stretches at a time.

I never rekindled the magic of what I once was. I transitioned into a coaching role eventually with some mild success post-grad, but I couldn’t deal with the grief of this internal betrayal.

I remember toeing the mound those last few times in college. The normal tenacity and fearlessness I used to bring was replaced with anxiety and fear of recreating the “Parents' Day Nightmare”.

I never could have imagined my arc would end this way.

Discovering a Wormhole in the Backyard
My parents recently shipped presents to our two young sons, which included a couple of lightweight rubber baseball toys.

When they arrived, I didn’t think much of them other than something fun for them to play with. I remember being impressed at how well they mimicked the real thing though; raised seams, good texture, and a bit of weight to them.

A few days later I found myself playing in the backyard at dusk with my three-year-old. We had the balls outside with us and I leaned down to pick one up and playfully started recreating my craft.

I step onto the non-existent mound, breathe into my belly and peer in for my sign from the imaginary catcher. I give a nod of approval and deliver my first pitch in fifteen years.

The raised seams of the Little Tikes toy rips through the air as it stings the wooden siding of the house.

*THWAPP!*

I’m a bit dizzy after using my body this way after so many years and I notice my ears ringing.

I’m buzzing, I’m alive.

I’m thrust back into reality as my three-year-old pierces through, trying to get my attention, “chase me like a t-rex, dad!”. And so I become a t-rex for a handful of minutes. The ball is tugging at me from where it lays, whispering something I can’t quite hear, as I chase him around the yard.

A potty break gives me the chance to ask my wife to whisk my son inside.

I see the curiosity in her eyes as she senses something stirred in me. Or maybe she just wants to prevent me from throwing things at the house again.

I approach the ball on the ground and when I pick it up it’s as if I'm pulled through a wormhole. There���s a version of me calling from the past, yearning to be remembered.

There’s rhythm and feel starting to emerge in my body as I deliver the next pitch.

I’m searching for that flow state where art transcends effort. I throw again. And again.

“Am I searching for something? Or is there something searching for me?”

The Journey Home
After a few more throws, the mini t-rex I was chasing bursts back into the yard. He seems distracted enough with his independent play for the moment, so I work to create more focus in this remembering I’ve stumbled upon.

I take a deep breath and become more embodied now. My feet seem to grow roots. I can feel the pace of my heart begin to slow, and with that my attention becomes more acute.

I start my motion.

I take a small step to the side with my left foot, then place my right foot parallel to the target, I lift my left leg high into the air creating speed and momentum. I sit into my back leg and glute and then reach forward, with my lead leg, toward my target. I plant into the ground, replicating the yogic Warrior 2 pose, as the back half of my body contorts away and both arms flare into the air.
I summon the raw energy that exists between the molecules around us. I’m powering up from the years of repetition that live inside me, ready to deliver this round, rubber toy, with maximum force, into the back of our house (if my wife only knew).

Time stands still, energy begins to transfer from my legs. I keep my head as still as possible. My body articulates around the center point of balance I’ve created, and my forearms accelerate toward each other.

I surrender now and let go to remove any tension in my shoulder, forearm, wrist and hand to finish the move like the crack of a bullwhip.

My chest drifts backwards to counteract the whipping motion and I reach far out in front of me for my release point. A spark flies from my index finger, if only in my mind.

Chaos. Precision. Expression. The ability to summon, harness and unleash this invisible force awakens in me.

*THWAPP!*

I stand in the fallout, ears ringing again. A moment of deep pleasure courses through me as I rest in my balanced finish.

Maybe the betrayal of a few decades ago was simply to allow for the excitement of the road back home.

A New Call to Adventure
I see my son’s head turn sharply as the ball bounces off the house. He has a look of intrigue trying to wrap his mind around what just happened.

We both stare into each other's eyes and a half smirk forms on our faces.

He drops Lightning McQueen to the ground and hurriedly runs for the ball, making a bee-line to where I stand. He starts to mimic a similar motion, determined to recreate the experience himself.

I realize the journey of passing down this wisdom has begun.

https://t.co/Go8UDzfYtL

[Rob @F3Slick]

@jharper03 @F3Omaha Word for the wise…always better to be overdressed than underdressed !

[Rob Snarskis @snarskis_]

14 of us pulled the sled @IditarodF3 this morning. We maxed out on merkins and talked about how our individual ecology correlates to purpose. It was a pleasure to lead! @F3Omaha #IKiltADog

[Rob @F3Slick]

Hi. Hello. Bonjour. Hola. Namaste.

It’s been awhile! I’m excited to lead some PAX tomorrow @IditarodF3!

500 pre-runny, hilly ⛰️
530 BD ☠️
615 ☕️

You know the drill….

[Rob @F3Slick]

@justinveik @F3Coop @F3Omaha

[Rob Snarskis @snarskis_]

Let’s Play | #16

For a moment, a question almost made its way out of me. I imagine leaning across like I have a secret, looking her in the eyes with a big smile and saying, “You don’t have any clue what’s going on either, right?”

https://t.co/PiaGyu838f

[Rob @F3Slick]

@F3Omaha @f3mainstage @Joll501 @F3ORowdy @cayle_jones @F3Urkle Hell yes 👊

[Rob Snarskis @snarskis_]

An exploration on the Four Levels of Consciousness, waking up grumpy & embracing the Fool archetype to re-emerge into a life of adventure, curiosity & awe.

https://t.co/WbGKfG0sZ3

[Rob @F3Slick]

Words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words words.

[Rob Snarskis @snarskis_]

New Post 💠👌
https://t.co/x0GBxs83Mc

[Rob @F3Slick]

@MattMainelli @F3OMADangerZone @F3Omaha