Recovery Week

So this is my first recovery week, my first one since. . . April. I'm lost. And found. And trying to make peace with it all.

On one hand, my body is screaming at me to "DO SOMETHING!!!" On the other hand, it's super nice to hang out in my pjs with a second third cup of coffee in my hands while playing Ariel and Flounder with my little girl.

On one hand, it's really nice to get caught up on my laundry and my blogging and on work and on changing burned out light bulbs and on finishing taxes and. . . on the other hand, I'm obsessively checking the weather to see if it will hold for a non-existent long ride/run this weekend.

On one hand, I'm glad to stay at home in my nice, warm house rather than trek out into the 36-degree rain to the pool. On the other hand, I'm counting miles and comparing weeks and wondering "What happened this week???" before I realize that it's re-cov-er-y weeeeeeek. Say it slowly.

One of my favorite people in the whole world wrote this little diddy awhile back. I didn't get it (yet) because I hadn't been doing this long enough to understand where she was coming from. Swim Bike Mom had written this piece about the Sucky Rotation Schedule where something has to fall below the "suck line" in order to keep all the balls in the air. You know the balls. Marriage, kids, work, training, groceries and cooking, laundry, vet visits, visiting old people, cleaning, homework, mowing the grass, sleeping. Those balls. It occurred to me today that Recovery Week is the time that it's OK to let "training" fall below the suck line. All of the other balls that have fallen below the suck line are finally getting some attention this week and that's good. My life is not all about this race I'm working toward. This race is just one of many balls I have in the air.

So on one hand, my body and my brain are all confused about what we're doing. But on the other hand, this is giving me a chance to put the whole rest of my life back together so that each of the balls can take its turn below the suck line in a week or two.

I'm glad we had this chat. Carry on.

Near Miss

Every day I get on my bike, I say to myself, "Today is the day I will fall off of my bike." I've said it since my first ride with #brucethebike. It's just something I started in an effort to remind myself to never get cocky and to always remember to unclip. Every time I say it, I envision a slow-speed tipover at a stop sign. 

This morning, I took this picture of myself. I posted it on Instagram and Facebook and said, "Feeling fancy and legit today. This is the day I will fall off my bike."

This morning we had a 40% chance of showers we were trying to outrun. The roads were a little damp, but not wet enough to keep us inside. My group usually rides 40+. I haven't had a chance to ride with them since I actually broke 30, so this was new territory. We took a different route that I was unfamiliar with. Seeing all the variables here?

Anyway, we were almost back to my car and we were coming up on a green and it was a major intersection. I thought I heard our lead guy say "GOING!" so I cranked it only to hear him yell "STOPPING!" The pavement was wet by now as more showers had come through the area and I fishtailed pretty bad. My front tire was shaking and I was damn near out in the intersection (like, access road to the interstate intersection). The whole 2 seconds, I kept repeating to myself, "Get your foot out... get your foot out..." but I wasn't stable enough to get enough torque to get out. At the LAST second, I pulled out and managed to save myself. That, friends. That was terrifying. I'm glad it happened, though, to give me an idea of what to expect and how I would react. I'm glad it didn't happen on race day and I'm glad it happened with good friends but I never care to repeat that.

That was the last day that I'll ever say something to tempt fate when I'm getting on #brucethebike. Lesson learned.

Rhythm and Blues

This weekend was the Rhythm and Blues Half Marathon. I decided to do this race just a few weeks ago when my favorite local race was canceled. I've been training pretty diligently and figured I had plenty of time to up my mileage before the race. Turns out, I was right!

We went through our usual prerace routine of fettuccine alfredo dinner and were fortunate enough to pass the kids off to my folks for a sleepover. Doug and I headed home, laid out our gear (which is SO TINY after triathlon!), and tucked ourselves in early. This was the first race I wasn't nervous about. I knew I could manage the distance and when all else fails, walk a while. It took me a long time to get to this point (over two years and five half marathons), but now that I've arrived, it makes race day so much more pleasant.

After parking downtown (I'm, again, reminded of why I don't do downtown races), we made our way to the unofficial official starting line of ALL races - the portapotties. We managed to find 5 of our running friends before the start and found our way to the real starting line. I didn't even hear the start, but the mob started moving and so did I. We quickly lost our buddies, but we're all different paces so whatevs. Doug and two friends were doing the 1/4 marathon and the rest of us were tackling the 1/2, so our routes were even slightly different.

I never did see mile marker 1 or 2, so when I came up on 3 at 31:00, I was shocked. That would have been a PR 5K for me, so I was a little nervous. My fastest race to date was 2:34:02. My goal today was 2:30. I quickly did the math in my head and realized that if I maintained this pace, I'd finish in 2:22. THAT'S lofty - a 12-minute PR. I talked myself into trying to maintain and went about my way.

For a February race, it was HOT. Like water on my head at every aid station HOT. I had my hydration belt split half water and half Gatorade with a few Humas on my belt. I allowed myself a ShotBlock or a Huma every 45 minutes. Every aid station was 2 Gatorades and a water on my head. In February! What the heck??

Any-ol'-who, my "dark miles" are usually around 8-10. Once I pass 10, that's "just" a 5k and my brain leaves me alone. Around mile 8, I saw a friend on the opposite side of the course who told me that his fiance was just ahead of me. WHAT? Randi is fast. She's a 2-time Ironman, multiple-time marathoner, and countless-time half marathoner. And she's fast. And I was right behind her?? "Catch her!" he said. So I did. I set out to catch her and finally caught up at 12.5. Guess what? My dark miles were over and I didn't even notice.

Randi was the perfect rabbit. When I finally caught her, she was walking. When I said hey to her, she decided to run with me. Just before mile marker 13, she started picking it up and I lagged behind. "I'm not slowing down," she said. "Go on with your bad self," I retorted. "Nope. You're gonna have to catch me." Well hell's bells. Here we go again. So off I went to catch my rabbit. Even though she finished 10 seconds ahead of me, my chip time was actually a full minute faster than hers. And guess what? It was 2:21:57. I maintained and I finished in my projected time.

I am so very proud of this race. I had fun, I hydrated well, my nutrition was spot-on, and I destroyed my PR. This race was great for my mental game and I feel very ready to tackle Galveston in a short 9 weeks. These "little" milestones along the way are amazing for my training, confidence, and mental game. Not that I wasn't looking forward to Galveston before, but this race has renewed my vigor for the finish line. NINE WEEKS! Nine weeks and I'll be writing the race report I've been dreaming of for months.

Dreadmill Beast

This weekend we're headed to Giddings to see PopPop and Granny (aka, Doug's dad and stepmom). I try *really* hard not to drive other people crazy with my training schedule. For those who "get it," I make no exceptions. For those who don't, I really try hard. I knew that we'd have a big weekend of model rockets, catfish feeding, and country things, so I decided to head to the gym for my last "long" run before the half. I convinced myself to run a 10k on the treadmill. I see these northern folks do it all the time. No sweat, right?

I dropped Lia off at Kids Club, found myself a treadmill, and staked my claim. I laced up my shoes, refilled my water bottle, got my towel all situated and couldn't.find.my.earbuds. At this point, I had no choice but to run. Child at kid care, missed window of opportunity to run elsewhere... I was screwed. Here we go with that mental toughness thing again...

So there I was, Great Day Houston on one TV and Fox and Friends on the TV off to my left. What I really wanted to watch was Fox and Friends and their discussions about the prayer breakfast, but it was at this wonky angle and it was making me off-kilter. Great Day Houston was talking about the Grammys. You know how many craps I give about the Grammys. Less than zero. Less than zero craps about Ed Sheeran or Sam Smith or whoever these dudes were. We listen to Christian music, The Beatles, and The Wheels on the Bus. Popular music is lost on me.

This, my friends. THIS is mental toughness. Paula Abdul on the gym radio (it's the way that you love me.. ooooooooooh, it's the way that you love me), random dudes I care nothing about on the TV, and 6.2 miles on a treadmill. I'm generally trying to drown myself out and telling the voice of doubt to shut up, but today? I would have given ANYTHING to get lost in my own head.

Fortunately, a friend showed up about 20 minutes before I finished. She mercifully left her earbuds in her bag and chatted it up with me while I finished my run. That's what friends are for. Even though the first 40+ minutes were TORTURE, I'm so glad I got this run in before heading out of town for the weekend. Now if I can survive 3 hours in the car in 5:00 Friday afternoon traffic with 2 little people, I'll have earned my mental toughness badge for the day. Carry on, friends!