Hi, My Name Is


Posted by Patrick Okens

I enter the room, hang up my coat, and check my name off the list. Taking a marker, I print my name on one of those “Hi, my name is” stickers, and put it on my shirt. I go to the bar, get a beverage, then turn to survey the crowded room. I know nobody here. Now what?

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Networking events are organized for many reasons, but basically they are about connecting people. Some attendees are looking for their next job. Others are in sales and want to build their contact base. Some functions attract participants because the guest speaker is of particular professional interest. And there are those who are new to the area and want to build ties to their community.

So if you’re at such an event, you’re there to meet people. Standing around waiting for someone to approach you can work, I suppose. But when you’re among strangers, taking charge of your time and interactions makes more sense. I recently attended an event where “The Queen of Networking” Donna Messer, gave some sensible advice about whom to approach, and how. I then applied those lessons at the very next opportunity.

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One person: She’s standing six feet away and isn’t talking to anyone. We make eye contact, smile, approach, shake hands and introduce ourselves. Did you expect something more complex?

Two people: Do not approach pairs! I was in the first 5 minutes of chat with someone, and a woman came up and just stood there waiting for us to acknowledge her. Out of politeness, we broke off our conversation to include her, starting over with a three-cornered introduction process. It was awkward.

Three or more: Approach but don’t hover on the margins. Look for an opening, ask if you can join, then get in on the conversation.

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We’ve just gotten past introductions. What to talk about, especially in a networking situation, is a whole other blog post.

 

 

 

 


First Thing Sunday Morning


Posted by Patrick Okens

“Beep-beep.” The gentle alarm on my phone becomes more insistent. “BEEP-beep.” I open one eye. “BEEP-BEEP”. I reach for the Blackberry’s glow and turn off the device, which reads 6:30am. Outside, the wind’s roaring, rattling the window panes a few feet from my head.

January dawn over Lake Ontario.

January dawn over Lake Ontario.

As the old WHAM lyric goes, “It’s cold outside but it’s warm in bed.” Sadly, I don’t have an object of temptation to keep me horizontal, so off come the covers and I sit up. At my feet is the heap of running clothes I dumped beside my bed last night. It’s an effective trick to bypass the “my gear is too far across the room” excuse. Mechanically, I put on the layers of lycra, and apply anti-chafing Bodyglide to my toes.

Across North America this morning, thousands of other runners are rolling out of bed. It’s Sunday, which for most marathoners means long run day. It is the one day of the week where most people can best afford to spend time and energy running far. On my training program, my long run time will top out at 3 hours 20 minutes in March, but today’s assignment is 1 hour 50. Marathoners need to condition themselves to spend that much time on their feet. According to Raymond Britt’s analysis, average finishing times in North American marathons are usually 4 hours or greater.

I go to the kitchen, and let out the dog for his customary morning barking fit. I peer through the window into the dark and see only my bed-headed reflection, and a thermometer that reads the wrong side of freezing. Pre-run food consists of yogurt with chia seeds, some peanut butter (yes, scooped out of the jar) and tea. Note the soft/liquid consistency theme. I know my digestive system well enough to avoid solid food before running(which usually takes me at least 1.5 hours lead time to process).

The dog is let back in, and I step out into the unfriendly roaring darkness – twigs and small branches strewn across the roads and sidewalks. My route is a long out-and-back along Lake Ontario. Strong gusts buffet me front and back, but mainly from the side, causing me to lurch sideways. The kilometres pass. The sky lightens, crisp and clear. My cheeks sting from the cold wind. Other runners, muffled against the elements, nod acknowledgement in cold morning camaraderie. It’s no paradise. But it’s no hell either.