Back in the Saddle
I’m back in the saddle again. And I’m not talking Gene Autry, I’m talking Aerosmith. It’s been a great week of running, biking, swimming, strength training. Oh yeah, and all the other stuff that seems to get in the way of training.
Guess I really did need a week off. I heard from several people after last week’s post who said that I probably needed to listen to my body, take time off, and give it the rest it needed.
Now, I know my body is a lot smarter than I am, and I know I should listen to it. I try to. But my mind always seems to get in the way. I sometimes picture my mind to be like Death in Family Guy, pointing its sickle at me every time I hit my snooze button or shut off the alarm and pull the covers over my head. Sometimes I wish it too would twist its ankle and get laid up for a week or two.
But I am my own worst enemy and my own worst critic. You see, my mind has a plan, a course of action I should follow. A vision of what will be. And so I set an expectation for myself, a standard I should meet, and then I work really hard to get there. But some days don’t allow for my plan. Some days I am reminded that there are forces larger than me that have a bigger (and better) plan in mind.
Not that I’m a control freak. I am generally very laid back. But when it comes to meeting my expectations of myself I am relentless. On the days my body tells me to shut off the alarm and go back to sleep, for instance, my mind wakes right up and starts a long conversation about dedication and work ethic. Which spirals into a monologue about character and integrity. Before I know it, I’m staring at the ceiling wide awake, feeling bad. Relentless.
So I am developing a new plan of action: learn to rest my mind along with my body. And, more important, when it comes to beating myself up, stay off my high horse. It’s more enjoyable in the saddle.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( None so far )Motivation Vacation
This week has been tough. I think my motivation took a vacation and I’ve been finding it hard to get out of bed each morning to run. It seems that the momentum leading into our race last week, plus some unexpected stress (an oxymoron, I think) took its toll on my self-discipline. Such is life.
To insure that I don’t have another week like this one, I’ve had to remind myself of some of the reasons I really do enjoy getting my butt out of bed and onto the pavement or in to the gym:
- Stars. I love to run before dawn and stare at the stars. They have been more visible in some places I’ve lived than others, but no matter where I am I inevitably run with my face up. An added bonus in the summer is fireflies, which are like fallen stars.
- Peace. Another reason I love to run before dawn. Few cars. Occasional fellow runners. The time and space to get my head together.
- More food, less guilt. Not that I’ve ever missed a meal. Trust me. I am blessed with a high metabolism (for which my sister hates me) so I eat a lot anyway. But if I can get a pizza in guilt free, then what the hay?
- Bathing suit season. Need I say more?
- I have triceps? By gum, I do! I found them just recently hidden somewhere under a layer of skin. I would hate to lose them again. It was a long, bloody battle to find them in the first place.
Only five reasons, one for each week day, but there are many more. On weekends I bike, which means I get to go downhill really fast. That’s always worth getting up for.
I’d love to hear from the rest of you. What keeps you motivated when life wants to crash your training party?
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 6 so far )Milestones
This week I hit two milestones:
1. I finally reached my sprint goal. (Yay!)
2. I officially registered for the June sprint tri.
I’ve been working toward my sprint goal for a good couple of months. I was so happy when I reached it this week that I almost pulled a George Jetson and flew backwards off the treadmill. Thank goodness for railings.
Not only was I ecstatic because I actually reached my goal, I was—and am—ecstatic because attaining my goal means I get to set a new one. A bigger one. A more challenging one.
Which is why I am doing the sprint tri. I’ve said that this will be my third tri. It will actually be my third and a half. I was so nervous the first time around that my friend and I entered as a two (wo)man team. The tri was called A Little Sand in Your Shoe, and it was on the beach in Guam.
I had to swim from Tumon Bay out to a sand bar and back, bury a ball in the sand, then run down the beach to tag my teammate. She had to ride her bike through the jungle (one participant got lost—I think I got the good end of the deal), run back down the beach, and dig up the ball I had buried.
Except that I was so caught up in the event that I didn’t mark the location of our ball well enough, and my teammate couldn’t find it. We came in 2nd place for the 2-man team anyway. It didn’t matter that there were only two teams. I was hooked.
As I was thinking about that race this week, I recalled the reason I entered it in the first place. It was a challenge. A fun way to see how far I could push myself, see what my body could do. Only I didn’t have enough confidence in myself to do it alone, and I was fortunate to have a friend in the same boat. Funny how often we end up hanging out with people who are so like us.
That got me to thinking about the reason I set out to do two sprint tris on my own. My motivation for them, as it turns out, was not so uplifting. Each of the two tris were like bookends containing a a heavy life load. The collapse of a marriage. Sickness. Death. I needed something to hold on to, something of my own. I needed to know that I could rely on myself—and I needed to preoccupy my mind and my time. At this point in life, I was figuring out how to do that without self-destructing.
Turns out that running—competing in tris and half marathons and other races—is good therapy. It shows you what you’re made of. It gives you confidence and peace. At least it does for me.
This time, my third full sprint tri, I am back to where I started in Tumon Bay—almost. I set this particular goal not to dull any pain or preoccupy my mind. I am blessed. Life is, after all, really good. I set this goal to challenge myself, and to have fun. But now I have the confidence to rely on my own abilities, whether I succeed or fail.
I may know who I am, but races always surprise me. I get to learn more about what I’m made of. And that’s a goal worth achieving.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 3 so far )Sink or Swim
For as long as I can remember, I have been able to swim. I have no memory of not being near water, having grown up on a lake in Michigan and spending long summer days on or in the water until my lips turned blue and my fingers shriveled into prunes.
Even as an adult, I get to water as often as I can. I dive and snorkel and sail and most of the time would really rather be under water than just about anywhere else. It’s so much more peaceful.
So you’d think that I would look forward to the swim leg of the sprint tri I’m doing in June, especially since it’s in open water.
Not so.
Even though I learned how to swim at practically the same time I learned how to walk, apparently I didn’t learn right. Correct form? What’s that? I simply jumped in the water and off I went.
The closest thing to training I ever had was at age 12 in Girl Scout camp. Not freestyle, but sidestroke. Even now, the counselor’s words help keep my rhythm: Pick an apple, put it in the basket. Pick an apple, put it in the basket. If I could make a pie for every bushel of apples I’ve picked I could have opened my own bakery by now.
Freestyle, however, the stroke most conducive to tri competition, is the worm in my apple. I have watched countless swimmers glide gracefully through the water and have wondered how they can make it look so easy. When I try, I’m worn out before I finish a couple of laps. I feel like a wounded duck flailing around in the pool.
After two sprint triathlons and I won’t say how many years, it finally occurred to me that maybe I should take a lesson. I did recently figure out, after all, that it’s probably a good thing to ask for help when you need it.
So a few days ago, I took my first swim lesson. I spent most of the hour kicking myself. Why on earth hadn’t I done this before? In just one hour my stroke improved so tremendously that I was actually gliding through the water like a swan. And you know what? It was easy.
I came away from my lesson with a laundry list of things I was doing wrong. More important, I now know how to correct them. I can’t wait to get back in the water. I think I’ll be swimming once again until my lips turn blue and my fingers shrivel into plums.
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