I ran today.
I was supposed to ride, but my hand is bothering me and my massage therapist said that gripping my handlebars could aggravate my hand.
Because I’m a cold-weather p***y, I waited until the afternoon to run. 4:45 PM. A bit later than I intended, but pressing start on my Garmin made me feel proud. Sometimes I surprise myself most simply by getting started. The goal: 4 miles. Twice. A familiar loop I typically enjoy. I often am concerned with whether I will punk out after one loop, as I have before, but I convinced myself that I was a winner for starting and would cross that bridge when I see my car. Heh.
I turned on Tchaikovsky’s 1st piano concerto on my phone and started my warm up walk. I’ve taken to walking 1/10 of a mile and running 9/10 to help break up my long runs mentally. I groaned at first – I hadn’t run more than 6 miles in several weeks and it sure felt like a lot. Then the exposition of the concerto began to come to a climax and I started to get TURNTUP. I think I remembered why I like running. I felt strong for a moment or two, especially on the downhills. Heh.
The first 4 miles were fairly uneventful. I passed my car and grabbed a gel and some water and got on my way again. Then I couldn’t remember if I had locked my car. I started to walk back and realized I had to use the bathroom. The car was SO close to the bathroom, but I knew I would be pissed if I didn’t allow myself to see that I was capable of running 8 miles. I continued, tired though I felt.
By mile 7 my legs were starting to feel very heavy. The words of a spin class instructor still ring in my head. “You can do more than you think.” “Uh. I think I can get back to my car without having to call my mother.” I pressed on.
1. I feel like a punk for needing so much gel, but I need more than one. I am averaging about a 12 minute mile pace for my long runs but I need the goods every 30 minutes or I start to feel tired after an hour. I wish I didn’t feel like gel should be reserved for real athletes, whatever the hell that means.
2. I’m gonna keep going. #WhoKnows2015
Do you ever walk into a gym and think to yourself, “What am I doing here?” Not just that, but also, “What am I doing here?” I am plagued by these thoughts 245 days before the biggest race I will ever have attempted. Moreover, I’m surrounded by people who seem to just train and race like it’s no big deal. “This is what you do. Like breathing.” Well, everyone breathes. Not everyone signs up for a stupid Ironman.
Who am I, Lady J, to be signing up for a race like this? I’m just a human girl who likes to swim, bike, and run a bit. When I tell people that I’ve signed up for this, the reaction is often “omg you’re awesome, I could never do that!” I generally reply, “I’m so normal! If I can, anyone can.” But can I? I suppose anything is possible. I simply see everyone else around me also doing an Iron distance race and they seem so – superhuman. I saw how human I was for the 70.3 and quite frankly, I feel more human and thus fallible now. More is on my plate (tee hee Adonis) and I’m in the midst of learning how to manage. How do I know this wasn’t a bad decision?
Yes. Doing. This Ironman training involves a lot of doing. I feel that I don’t have room to be imperfect for so gigantic a race. I don’t feel like a complete p***y the way I did for St. Anthony’s, or even for Augusta, but I am putting in some long hours at work. I’ve learned quickly in these first 3 weeks of training that if anywhere has little room for error, it is my nutrition and sleep. If I don’t eat right or get the right amount, I can barely get through my workday, much less my training. I am proud that I’ve actually gotten on my bike this month, but I feel as though I’ve missed more days of training than I’ve made.
Maybe I am not a poser. #WhoKnows2015, right? The tricky bit is not beating myself up for not knowing better re: the sleep, nutrition, or even signing up for this mess. What’s done is done. The only thing I’m sure of is that I have room for improvement. I usually do get better at things once I calm the hell down.
Pray for me!
Deez. Right here.
I started my day by going for a quick run and spending a bit of time with Red Rocket, per Coachie’s instructions. As I was bringing RR back into my room, I saw a couple in the elevator. I greeted them cheerily.
“I’m resting my legs for tomorrow.”
Clearly, this is an appropriate response to “Good morning!” Dude. Ain’t nobody ask you about your legs. Unless your name is Coachie, I’m pretty sure I can do without your thoughts on what I’m doing with my legs. However, I just smiled and bid him good day.
This took ovaries.
You see, there were a lot of ways I could have responded. For one, I could have given him a myriad of options for alternatives with his legs, such as using them to walk off of a cliff. That’s restful, no? Blah. God don’t like ugly. Even when it’s witty or clever, apparently. It would have been more typical of me to hear what he said and start to go inside my own head.
Maybe this was a bad idea. What if he’s right? What if I’m doing too much? What if I need to go to sleep at 9:30 AM? What if because I was on my feet for 20 minutes I can’t finish the race? Why am I here? Where’s Chopin?
Poor joker. He said that because seeing me made him question whatever decision he had made for himself. I didn’t do anything except say good morning! I’s just a girl with mah bicycle and a grin, y’all. I doubt he was intentionally trying to make me go nuts in my head, but it could have happened.
It takes ovaries to get here. It might take even more to believe that you should be here once you are here. It takes the most ovaries to be positive toward others, no matter what you are feeling.
Dude. I hope you have a good race tomorrow. That being said – you could use some ovaries.