So, it's official. I am done with base training and after a recovery week, start the "official" 20 week Ironman plan. I know, what the hell have I been doing so far? Adaptation, my friends. Greg and I have been slowly ramping up our distance and time, throwing in a few speed bursts, but getting to a spot where we can swim 2 miles comfortably, ride 60-70, and run 12-15.
Now begins the work. The T runs. The repeats. The 5-6 hour rides. The nutrition. The recovery. All of it. And like most of life, when it's time to buckle down and get it DONE, something screws up.
In this case it was twofold. First, it was me. Oddly enough, not even my physical body - other than a few sore moments, my body has been doing really well with training. Almost too well, dare I say? (No, I didn't say that. Forget it). Here's where it gets weird though - this time, it was my mind. For the last month, I have been really debating deferring my Ironman until 2019. I just have not been into it. Almost ever workout goes well, and I hit my marks....but that's it. I no longer felt a rush after a hard run. A sense of peace after a swim or a recovery run. And some days...when the alarm went off, I just did not WANT to do it. I couldn't get excited. And that, to me, is a huge warning sign. I mean, if you're gonna drop $700 on a race and 10-20 hours of your life for 6 months, you better damn well mean it.
So I soul searched. What was my deal? Quite honestly, I felt that old "You can't have it all" feeling creeping up on me that I talked about last fall when I turned down my promotion. Life boils down to seven things for me - mom, wife, daughter, family member, friend, athlete, and self. Add in the
"concrete" roles of employee, money manager, and house master, and you get ten. YOU CANNOT DO ALL TEN WELL. You just can't. Lately, I feel like the most constant ones were slipping - mom, wife, and self. I felt like I was pinging from one to another and never got a chance to just "be" with my kids, devote myself fully to my husband, or sit down and just be with myself. So I started to look for a let go. Was it Ironman? Seems really selfish to do all this training (oh wait, make that 10-20 hours a week double, because Greg and I are BOTH doing it) right now, when I have two little kids that WANT to be with me, and a marriage that only extends itself to so many shitty moods brought on by both Greg and I "doing it all".
What's the answer? I don't know. Right now it's communication and one week at a time. I know there was a good reason to sign up this year, but hell, there's always a good reason, right? One week at a time. One day at a time. And probably a good dose of giving up any sense of perfection for anything.
Just to mess with my sense of order even more, a few days ago, my garmin died. My activity counter. My data storage. And for every run or swim, my mind - allowing me to let go and have it do the "counting" for me - the route planning, the lap counting, and all the "numbers" that go into this training. And my calorie keeper to make sure I eat enough to go with it! So, after throwing a mini fit, I put on my old timex - the $30 watch that I did my first Ironman, ultra, and wore to the hospital when Biz was born. With no data. Or calorie counters. Or HR monitors. Which, ironically, Rob, when he plays with my watch, calls my "heart race". Mommy, what's your heart race? 53, buddy. Oh...when will it be zero? I hope not for awhile buddy!
Now begins the work. The T runs. The repeats. The 5-6 hour rides. The nutrition. The recovery. All of it. And like most of life, when it's time to buckle down and get it DONE, something screws up.
In this case it was twofold. First, it was me. Oddly enough, not even my physical body - other than a few sore moments, my body has been doing really well with training. Almost too well, dare I say? (No, I didn't say that. Forget it). Here's where it gets weird though - this time, it was my mind. For the last month, I have been really debating deferring my Ironman until 2019. I just have not been into it. Almost ever workout goes well, and I hit my marks....but that's it. I no longer felt a rush after a hard run. A sense of peace after a swim or a recovery run. And some days...when the alarm went off, I just did not WANT to do it. I couldn't get excited. And that, to me, is a huge warning sign. I mean, if you're gonna drop $700 on a race and 10-20 hours of your life for 6 months, you better damn well mean it.
So I soul searched. What was my deal? Quite honestly, I felt that old "You can't have it all" feeling creeping up on me that I talked about last fall when I turned down my promotion. Life boils down to seven things for me - mom, wife, daughter, family member, friend, athlete, and self. Add in the
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| My world |
What's the answer? I don't know. Right now it's communication and one week at a time. I know there was a good reason to sign up this year, but hell, there's always a good reason, right? One week at a time. One day at a time. And probably a good dose of giving up any sense of perfection for anything.
Just to mess with my sense of order even more, a few days ago, my garmin died. My activity counter. My data storage. And for every run or swim, my mind - allowing me to let go and have it do the "counting" for me - the route planning, the lap counting, and all the "numbers" that go into this training. And my calorie keeper to make sure I eat enough to go with it! So, after throwing a mini fit, I put on my old timex - the $30 watch that I did my first Ironman, ultra, and wore to the hospital when Biz was born. With no data. Or calorie counters. Or HR monitors. Which, ironically, Rob, when he plays with my watch, calls my "heart race". Mommy, what's your heart race? 53, buddy. Oh...when will it be zero? I hope not for awhile buddy!
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| If you didn't record it, did it happen? YES! |
Rob grabbed my old timex yesterday and asked me about my heart race, so I walked him through this history of the watch - the little gouge from when I crashed my bike on it. The Black streak at the top from my first ultra where god knows what got on it and won't go away. And the chew marks on the strap from when Biz used to grab at it when she was teething. I told him that was my "heart race"- the little pieces of this low tech machine that really fed into the life of why mommy does what she does. Then I went for a run. An 8 mile run which told me a few things....that I have no clue what my RPE is any more in terms of data. That I really suck at executing a tempo run without a pinging mile time. But that even if you don't record it, It happened. At least the important parts. The sunshine through the trees. The wind in my face. The mud splatter on my left leg. And the feeling that even when we question if it's worth it...it is. And in that moment, post workout, I realized that I might just in fact be teaching my son some life lessons with this "selfish goal" of mine. Or maybe that was just good enough for me today. Either way, I'll take it.
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