NORTHERN PLANNER

As I may have mentioned, we're having a not okay time at home.

To the point where I'm not that interested in extraneous stuff that much.

But you need an outlet.

Hence I'm posting the odd thing that isn't much to do with work  -but if you want planning stuff scroll down to the end.

Swimming used to be my outlet, still is a little, but it's mostly pain and suffering on my road bike.

Because as a busy, working Dad, it's just easier to use where getting to where you need to be as training.

I seem to love agony. I couldn't tell you if this was nurture – 6 daily hours in a swimming pool as a boy.

Or maybe I'm naturally someone who needs to suffer.

And I think it's great training for the job, and character in general.

Like I said, we're having a difficult time, but I'm the one that keeps it going.

That tends to happen when the job get's tough.

Just like being able to take one length, or mile at a time, it helps to take one day at a time.

And nothing focuses the mind like a goal.

And right now, doing something else that isn't 'reality' really helps.

So, with that in mind, I'll take you back to last June.

I was planning to do a 70 mile ride very fast.

70 miles isn't that far, but it was the speed I was looking for.

I had trained hard for it. Weeks of pain.

Then the night before I fell off my bike and badly hurt my arm.

So I was forced to watch mates at the finish line the next day, quietly seething.

The anti-climax, the disappointment.

Not good.

So this was going to be the year.

I got a new bike in January, a terrifyingly fast race bike.

With gears much too hard for my puny legs.

But I would grow into it, train into it.

I used to find when I was swimming, the best way to get better was to train with older kids.

First is was pure agony just to not get dropped completely.

No rest between intervals. Pain and suffering.

Then slowly I would get within touching distance.

Then I would start to find I wasn't last, then halfway up the chain.

And when I raced with kids my age, it paid off.

Just as I got better at tennis by playing with kids much better than me.

First you want to duck their cannon ball serves.

Then you get a couple.

Then you start smashing them back.

So that was the plan in January.

I (humbly) told anyone that cared I would grow into the bike.

And try do the ride in under four hours.

That doesn't sound like much, but an average of 17.5 miles per hour with a couple of really big hills felt like it was pushing it at the time to me.

And then I broke my arm.

Knocked off the bike by a driver that wasn't looking where he was going.

And lost two months training.

I also lost a lot of confidence.

I've had the usual crashes, but after breaking my ribs in November, this one really hurt.

Not to mention the frustration at losing what I love for so long.

When I got back on the bike I discovered two things.

First, my legs has lost a mass of power, a tough bike had become a torturous.

Moreover, I was afraid.

I was pulling back when I got up to a decent speed.

So I embarked on a mental training regime courtesy of Strava.

Every day I got challenges on email based on where I needed to be.

Lots of intervals, lots of long sprints, lots of hills.

All designed to break me into little pieces.

All at 7am, the only time a really have.

Nothing has hurt like it since I was a competitive swimmer.

In fact this hurt more.

There wasn't a day my limbs didn't really, really hurt.

I resorted to doing sports massages on my tired legs -which meant more pain.

I drank a lot more coffee and little less tea.

And gradually, the bike got easier.

I got stronger and the fear went away.

Put the pain never stopped. Because you just push harder.

Then two weeks before the ride, Juliette's father fell ill.

Very ill.

He loves cycling.

He was looking forward to being at the finishing line

He's also as close as you can get to having a second father.

It hit me nearly as hard as it did Juliette – but I was the one to carry on with everything.

But we agreed we would do the riding day anyway.

It finished at the beach and we had promised the children the day out.

Juliette knew I had worked so hard and what it meant after the hurt arms.

But the reason we went ahead was we knew he would be furious if we didn't.

So I got to the start line with a couple of mates.

On the understanding I would drop them pretty much straight away.

Because I was going to do the fucking time no matter what.

After all the hurt.

But now, because I felt he was riding with me.

And the first half felt good, really good.

I didn't understand why, but I was way ahead of pace I needed.

I was zipping past everyone and didn't bother with big drinks stop after 35 miles.

But one of the stewards did.

Which mean I went the wrong way.

And after another few miles, I realised this wasn't right and went back a little, to find others who told me they were sure this was right.

So I turned at sped back.

But it didn't feel right and I phone the helpline, who told me I was way off course.

After last year.

After the broken arm.

After the agony of training.

After wondering if we would even be doing this.

There are moments when you decide to give in.

Seriously, fuck it. Whatever.

Or you carry on.

A meaningless bike ride that seemed to mean everything.

I sprinted the 12 miles back to the route.

In time for a vicious hill.

Waved at my mates as I climbed past them (they had no idea what the fuck was going on).

And then sprinted the last 25 miles.

Anger is energy. There is much to be gained from being totally pissed off.

It certainly pushed me along.

Until everything changed.

I felt like I was flying.

Yes, this was what mattered.

The bit when you're mind and body work together.

When you're lost in the moment, both inside and oblivious to the situation.

Flow, wonderful, glorious flow.

Yes, this is what it' all about, this.

10 miles to go. I was actually smiling.

My hamstrings began to scream.

I went faster.

The flat turned into one more hill.

Faster.

I could smell the sea.

Even faster.

Snot coming from the nose.

Soaked in sweat.

Faster.

And then 1 mile to go.

Sprint, let it all go.

Go the wrong fucking way with 200 metres to go, end up down at the beach.

Sprint up the cobbles.

And then I see wife and children at the finish line.

It's over. I need it to be over.

It hurts.

I don't want it to be over.

Come off the bike.

Can't walk.

Drink a litre of water.

Get handed a cup of tea.

Hug proud family.

Think of father in law.

Look at the time.

79.2 miles per hour.

And average of just under 20 miles an hour for four hours.

I didn't think that was possible for me.

The fucking pratfall detour has actually turned into a sweeter result.

Did the time, went even further.

Pride, relief.

And, for a little while, being away from everything that was going on.

Just me, my bike and him riding with me.

A meaningless ride that meant everything.

Later, when father in law found our what happened.

He grinned from ear to ear at the result.

And laughed at the 'detour' so hard  the nurses got worried.

It was worth it just to make him happy.

 

You will care little about any of this.

And I don't really care about planning stuff right now.

But I still think there are a couple of things to apply to the day job.

 

You have to put the work in.

If you take yourself way to a place way out your comfort zone, eventually it becomes your comfort zone.

Hang around people better than you, until they are not better than you.

Then hang around new people who are better than you.

Welcome pain, suffering and setbacks – they pay you back in the end.

You're much better than you think you are, you only need to do the work.

It's only a fucking job, if there's one thing I've learned recently it's that it really doesn't matter.

Find something you love that isn't work. 

Anyway. 

 

I might ride the bike more these days, but swimming was my first love and will always have the most enduring place in my heart. If I had the time as a working  parent, I would still in the pool everyday.

I used to compete as a youngster. The kind of competition that required six hours training a day. You don't come out of stuff like that unscathed.

Below is the Leeds swim team on tour in Chicago in 1988. Bet you can't spot where I am in the line up.

1. Accept the simple truth, you are alone in this

You will tailgate others in training to pull you along. You can banter with your team mates. You can lean on the coach for advice and a kick up the arse. You can turn to family and friends for support. But eventually, there will always come a time when you are utterly alone. It will happen in the training pool when your body cries for mercy and you have to go on. You have to try and lock away the negative thoughts in your brain and pretend the agony in your muscles is not there.

This is doubly so in a race of any notable distance.

But the real loneliness is when you're on the starting blocks.

It's just you, your nerves, your courage and the clock. Waiting for the starting gun. The other other people on the blocks hardly matter. You'll hardly see them in the race. You won't hear the crowds cheering. It's just you.

It's ultimately the same as a planner. You work in a team, a team where most, at best, tolerate you getting in the way.

Nevertheless, while you rely on the creatives to execute something in a way that can't be missed, you have suits and production folks to make sure stuff gets made, if your in media there's a whole host of specialists and buyers to flesh out the plan and get a decent rate (and media owners to add loads of value) there are suits to get things through Clearcast and make sure there is a vet for a mouse on the shoot (legal requirement in the UK) – you can't get away from having having to do a clear strategy you can express in a sentence.

You. No one else. A sentence others will question, pull apart and try and ignore. It's lonely.

There will be moments, with a first stage internal meeting,  a pitch date getting closer and closer when you feel you have nothing.

All you can do is grit your teeth, keep working, keep looking at as much stimulus as you can and keep writing things down.

Flashes on strategic insight rarely come on their own in the shower. Nice when it happens but you can't plan for it. They come from hard work. The pressure to get there can be immense and no one is going to do it for you.

Assess and listen to your body, always be patient

In training, you have to listen to your muscles as they flush out any stiffness or residual lactic acid. Don't go too hard at first. At the end, your body will acquiesce to your determination and begin to respond to more challenging demands. They will collaborate more willingly on some occasions than they will on others, but eventually they will play ball.

It's the same with your mind. Many don't appreciate the challenge of having to think for a living. Most days, there are big chunks that require concentration. Some days, you're tired.

The brain is a muscle too.

But deadlines and general workload, like essential training days in sport, will not go away.

You have to get on with it – and get into that prized 'flow state' when everything gets fluid and easy.

Which, like with sport, means starting gently, stirring the soup a little, but generally keep going. Eventually the brain will play ball like the other muscles do.

Find a rhythm

When you're training and doing long distances, you need to find the right cadence that suits your lung capacity and strength. Start too hard, and you crack and the rest of the distance you have to swim is murder.

You've lost a race or wasted a training session.

Leave too much until to late and you won't make up the time distance with the leaders, or you won't have put your body through enough in a training session to build your body up.

In planning, it's hard work. The days can be long, the work intense.

Find out how you work best and stick to it.

Some folks are on it in the morning and come in early. Some work late and do naff all in the morning.

If you're like me, and find it's amazing what you can achieve between 9 and 5.30 if you don't prevaricate, as long as the tea is good, you'll go full pelt from the get-go.

Of course, with practice you can change your ways, but, like making your weak legs get stronger, it won't happen overnight.

I also know that, as a shy person in meetings, it takes a while to get going. I start off quiet and build confidence as the small talk stops and the work talk begins.

Even then, I let others talk and weigh in when others have exhausted their vocal cords. I make sure what I say is short and to the point, i may not get another chance. Then, as I relax, my cadence builds and I get more chatty. Eventually, I need to make myself shut up.

But that's just me.

But change it up when you can

In our training schedule, there was always planned shocks to the system.We used to do hell weeks, where over seven days you would be close to tears, throwing up or both. The only objective was survival.

Because of the law of diminishing returns. The more the body gets used to a routine, the less it benefits. You need to introduce surprises and variation to keep in on its toes.

That's why every training session has a variety of strokes, distances, rest periods etc. And why we never did the same session in a fortnight.

It's also why interval training is so good. Not only does it raise the metabolism for hours after the session, it makes you train way beyond your threshold for limited periods – and as you do more and more, you find you can go for longer and longer.

If you only train at a 'training pace' you only get good at swimming at a training pace.

Variation is essential as a planner.

Media, creative, whatever  -if you go through each project in the same proprietary process, you'll always do similar work. Innovation comes from doing something different.

By all means, create a benign conspiracy where you sell your thinking conforming to a the stages of a process, post rationalise it I mean, but if you want new stuff, do new stuff.

But don't forget the basics. That's where processes and agree standards are good, just as with swimming, where there is a basic correlation with the amount of training kilometres you've done and how race fit you are.

That goes for reading. If you just read marketing, planning and reading books, you'll just do the same as everyone else who reads the same stuff.

Soak up as much interesting stuff from as many sources as you can.

And for God's sake. Don't just be a planner 24 seven. Don't live at the office. The more real life you live, the more you can draw on.

There's a trick of psychology too, where couples that do new things together tend to be happier. So do new things as a team, try new stuff. It just makes it more fun.

Just as there is nothing more monotonous as swimming up and down a pool if you can't find a way to make it more interesting. Like I said, you're on your own in the pool, it's boring unless you jazz it up.

I'm sure you have lots of stuff to draw on from your own interests, this is just some stuff which is of relevant to and how I have gone about stuff in a variety of species of agency.

 

 

 

I used to work in creative type agencies, now I work in media type places.

The things I tend to miss about creative places:

1. Unlimited big pads and sharpie pens for scrawling notes and thoughts etc.

2. Creatives that liked solving problems

3. Experienced planning directors who wanted you to get to some great thinking

4. Working a planning department

5. Suits who loved working in partnership

6. Creative reviews that took your breath away with inspiration

7. Working in an agency run by people with the kind of experience you'd kill for and were incredibly generous at sharing that experience

8. Jonathan Fletcher

9. People who cared and understood about the craft of making ads and content

10. Seeing the ad you worked on appear on telly (come on, we all did)

11. The endearing passion to debate how advertising works and break new ground

 

The things I don't miss:

1. Presenteeism

2. Planning directors who wanted you to write up their great thinking

3. Creatives who wanted to talk about if the work was a gold

4. Arguing about brand theory and how advertising works to justify okay work

5. Working out what the hell Media Arts was

6. Spending a week getting a proposition signed off by various stakeholders so the creatives could ignore it

7. Discussing the creative brief format

8. The minority of the people

9. Creative reviews where you're scratching your head trying to find something positive to say.

10. Pre-testing

11. Working in an agency run by people who had only ever done CRM for tiny, tiny clients who knew no better

12. Reporting to a Head of Client services who's response on most things was 'When I worked at Little Chef'

13. Obsessing about the size of the logo