It's all fun and games till the taper starts. Fact of life. After the last two months of running 50-60 miles per week on the Hanson plan (I'll spare you my crap singing), the big day is right around the corner - Sunday is the Green Mountain Marathon, state #10 and marathon who the heck knows what.
If you know me at all, you know the concept of taper brings out my evil, evil side. Last week I got to run 40 miles, this week I've racked up a big 20. WTF.
WHAT THE HELL DO I DO WITH MY TIME. I could clean the house (BAH. Greg and I did start a kitchen remodel, but it's more in the knocking shit down stage and less in the bleach and a rag stage, thank goodness.). I could spend more time with family and friends (which I have been doing - my kids even remember my name now when they want something #winning).
I could also be whiny brat about how I can't run and make an attempt at doing some cross training. Well, you know where this is going. Last week decided to try something I haven't done since pre Ironman training and I took a yoga class. Background story - I used to dance for years and legitimately could lift my leg over my head....15 years ago. Running, biking and swimming might do wonders for your cardio life and fitting into your jeans, but stretching is embarrassingly low on my agenda and my downward dog consists of playing on the ground with my sitter's canine (I'll be here all week, thankyouverymuch). So with some trepidation, I took part in a class called "Active Yoga" which sort of seemed obvious to me, but then again, I'm sort of
The verdict? I can still do a mean sun salutation, but apparently my flow has flown out the window with regards to yogic form. My sun salutations are jerky, my cobra is more of a sleeping snake, and my cow needs to go home....it's drunk. Regardless of the fact that I probably need to do more at the Y than
In our second installment of taper adventures, I've decided that if I won't get on my bike, I may as well get some more swimming in, so I've actually swam three times a week the last two weeks. I know what you are thinking, and no, no one stole my blog account, it's me. My idea of swimming is really to throw some crappy 90s music on my play list and leisurely do laps till I hit anywhere between 2400m and 3200m, equalling a nice 45-60 min swim.
That sounds nice. Lately, no one seems willing to let me do this. Apparently, my form resembles that of an angry cat (and probably the grace of the drunken cow I left back in yoga class). In the past 4 months, I have been told by not one, not two, but four people, that my swim form kind of blows. Greg has told me this kindly for years, but taking training tips from your husband rarely works in my books, as he will give me some very obvious analogy that makes absolutely no sense to me. We excel at moving furniture and understand expensive bike purchase and/or 6 hour training rides, so in my books, I'll let the coaching dogs lie.
This year, I swam at the Gananda pool for months and a woman who is pretty well known around here asked me one morning post swim if I knew how truly terrible my form was. Well....yes, thanks. She did follow it up with an offer to coach, so aside from being kind of abrupt, I gave her a pass and gratefully accepted. Then they closed the pool, so we joined the Y. Crap. A few weeks back, Greg and I were doing laps and one of our tri buddies stood next to him at the end of our lane and asked Greg if I ever took lessons, because I probably should. As I finished my 2400m set, I joined them and probably surprised him by making fun of my own form. Then we compared Ironman swim splits and he laughed at himself, as my shitty form netted a faster Ironman swim than his. Most recently, another fellow triathlete who seems to swim the same time I do has been nice enough to give me a few pointers - seeing as he was a swimmer in college and has done a sub 1 hour IM swim split, I guess I can't make fun of him too terribly
To add insult to injury, I decided to take the taper to a new level by
Bottom line, I got no
Aside from the hot mess that I clearly am, I'm still excited to take on Vermont and check off another state, enjoy some fall foliage, adult time with my equally crazy cousin (who has hiked the PCT twice, woot!) and get back to my running game. Which clearly, I have found myself with.
(Mad props to Greg's skillz)
And that's why running, in the end, is clearly the superior sport. Am I right??