The intellectual equivalent of a ham sandwich.

Posts tagged ‘Weekly Wacko’

Corporate Dating

Over the last few months I was busy with an awful, depressing, nerve-wracking, wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy hobby … a job search. My wife and I had decided that we would like to live someplace new, and I decided a new company would make sense to go with that.

I started with overseas applications. Because you know the cheapest way to see a whole lot of places I’ve never seen before but would love to see? Live in Europe! Ta-da!

In the end the new home is in Colorado, a not too shabby place to live. Elevation, four seasons, mountains in the distance, hiking, camping, granola people who I will enjoy laughing at while probably taking on some of their characteristics (“You mean you don’t make your own cereal? Dude … why?”).

I’m a software engineer, and so the job hunt first involved trying to re-acquaint myself with the fundamentals of computer science – data structures and algorithms. Oh, those two items. Normally I like to read quite a few books over the course of the year – this year I read hardly any because my brain felt overly taxed.

As an FYI: For most companies I talked to it usually went like this: HR phone call, technical phone screen (where you write code on a website that is basically like a shared piece of paper – so both parties see what the other is doing), and then a long day of in-person interviews (5+ interviews with different people, mostly technical in content).

If you’re reading this and you think, “hey I’d like to hear about how you approached the preparation and the search, and now that it’s done how would you have done things differently?” … then have no fear, I can write about that. But, since that’d probably be dull for most folks, here are some highs and lows of the search:

  • High: Landing a new job that looks good, looks like I should be able to learn and grow as a developer, and is in a location that seems good too
  • Low: During a technical phone screen the guy, I swear, took a few second break from the phone to grab a snack, meanwhile I had been thinking out loud (as you are suggested to do) and the guy came back, glanced at my code, and said, “uh … I don’t really know what you’re doing here” (it’s worth mentioning that I only sorta knew what I was doing)
  • High: Interviewing with a US company’s London office! Holy smokes was it ever cool to have a chat with Harry (no joke) who was “keen” (no joke) about … I don’t know, other classic British things … I wanted to say “wicked!” to almost everything he said
  • Low: Possibly breaking gmail with how frequently I checked my emails

I told my wife that the job application process is like dating. You send off a message and think, “we seem like a good match! We’ve got like, ALL the same interests!” and then if you hear back you’re excited and set up a phone call. Then the call happens and after it’s over you think, “what!? why did I talk so much about my ex! What is WRONG with me!!!!” Or some dramatic thoughts like that. It’s weird.

And, to complete the dating analogy, leaving my current company feels like breaking up. I really like it here, I like the people, the project … it’s all good stuff. But sometimes new adventure beckons, and so you say goodbye to a good thing and go looking for something that hopefully is a good thing, and then some.

Wish us luck, eh folks?

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Let Me Get My Special Racing Shoes!

When I was very young, let’s say four years old, I had a pair of sneakers that I believed in. They were my Special Racing Shoes. If I was wearing regular shoes and we raced, you may very well beat me. That’s fine. It happens. But if I was wearing my Special Racing Shoes – I COULD NOT LOSE.

This was perhaps a theory developed by racing against my mom, or dad, or sister, and beating them while wearing my Special Racing Shoes.

Or, equally possible, I had bestowed this quality of speed improvement abilities based solely on how cool they look.

One day my brother (who is seven years older) and I were talking or maybe I just interrupted a conversation he was having with others – I have no memory of the conversation – I just know the outcome was him saying “let’s race” and me saying “let me get my Special Racing Shoes” because, ipso facto, I was going to win. I was excited. I knew I was about to win and this was a thrilling thought to beat my 11 year old brother.

Shoes on, laced up (Velcro-d?), ready to rock. And your mark. Get set. DREAMS CRUSHED.

My brother did not slow down one iota. My Special Racing Shoes became … sneakers.

Fast forward twenty-five-ish years. I’m running regularly and trying harder than I did even while in high school cross-country and track. I’m actually placing at running events (in my age bracket that is). And what do I owe it all to? My Special Racing Shoes!

When I go for a regular jog I wear a pair of New Balance shoes (I pretty much always stick with New Balance for jogging) and la de da I trot my merry self along until I become tired and not that merry and then questioning of my sanity and angry and then I near the finish and I’m pumped and I can do this! and then I’m burnt out and I’m tired again and just. want. to. finish. and then there I am, done. And I am a-ok with the idea of another jog. But on race days … oh, on race days I wear a different pair of New Balance. A pair with practically 0 drop and very little support (I reserve these for 5ks and 10ks). With these puppies on I’m not unbeatable, but honest to goodness, I tend to run faster.

A newer version of my race day shoes.

Why? Well, with the different shoe design my body has a good reason to strike the ground differently (more a mid or fore-foot strike).

Normally I might hit heel-toe-spring off to the next step. With my minimum support shoes I strike mid-foot-spring to the next step. You see that? That’s hit-go instead of hit-hit-go.

A necessary caveat: I have read various articles about running and rearfoot vs mid-foot strike and the conclusion is … inconclusive. Some articles say one is better, others say the other. In my opinion, it’s whatever works best for you. For me, I think when I focus on striking with mid-foot (vs my usual which I feel leans slightly rearfoot) I am faster because I’m focused on hitting the ground and getting my foot into the air quickly. The difference may purely be a result of higher cadence. Here’s one example article that says I’m dead wrong in saying midfoot is better.

Whatever it is, my dear friends, it is the magic of the Special Racing Shoes.

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Come On, Tiger!

A coworker of mine has a sign hanging in her cube that reads “I’m so far behind I thought I was first.” I like it. It’s funny in a dorky way. On the downside, it occasionally makes me remember a less than enjoyable experience … my track “career.”

In the 7th and 8th grades my middle school had track and cross country teams. I ran both. For cross country I think I could say with a small amount of confidence that I was one of the fastest slow kids. If you split us up into two groups, fast and slow, I’d be a pretty competitive slow guy.

The cross country coach was also one of the track coaches, so when spring rolled around he decided I should do the 400 meter. It was a choice based on … I don’t know what. I was and am awful at sprinting. I suppose he thought it was a sort of mercy rule – let the kid run for a shorter amount of time so that his agony of defeat is quick.

In the 8th grade the coach decided I should do the 1,500 meters. That’s just shy of a mile. On the plus side – I’m better at longer distances. On the minus side … the agony of defeat could take a while.

I had a bad habit of not paying enough attention to the race itself. In cross country this didn’t matter because you were out in the woods or some fields and you were just going along. For track the very first meet of my 8th grade year I didn’t pay attention and it didn’t work out so well.

The 1,500 meter race is basically 4 laps around the track. Everyone started and we were bunched together. Pretty quickly the pack was separating based on skill. In other words, I was drifting to the back. I had one or two people behind me which I was ok with. I hadn’t expected to win, I just didn’t want to get last.

I settled in and was pushing myself a bit, and my mind went to a blank place. Bad idea.

On the fourth lap I was rounding a turn when some dad yelled out to me, supportively, “come on, tiger!” Come on TIGER? I thought. The heck is that? It was so … supportive and … wait, full of pity? Pity? WHAT? I took a look around and saw that I was in last place. This is an embarrassing thing to have happen. To be in last and not even KNOW you’re in last? Not impressive.

So, while my co-worker’s sign is not exactly accurate, I wasn’t delusional and thought I was in first, I really didn’t know I was in last.

In the end I finished that and only that race in last place. The pity cheer, that tone, was the exact thing I needed to motivate me to never finish last. I wasn’t good, I didn’t try hard enough at practices, but I was good enough to not be last.

photo

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