Hope / Training
In my mind, I'm still running those long pre-dawn 20-milers down by the beach with Adam. Euphoria bursting through my veins as the sun rises and the gulls stretch out overhead. In my mind I'm still wicked fast on my bike, able to drop the hammer and push past anything. Oh, and I can still swim too. But reality...reality is a little different than my Ironman days. Starting our own business took a toll on us -our minds, our time, our bodies, our finances, our sleep- everything was heavily taxed in the building of Bite Me Kitchen. Everything. I think the worst was watching that fitness, which was often our salvation, slip out from between our fingers. Watching our overworked, exhausted selves opt for a few beers and a hot bowl of soothing ramen over any kind of additional movement after being on our feet for 15 hours. It's understandable - when you can't afford to get sick, you can't afford to get any more sleep, and you certainly can't afford to ride your bike off a cliff. Mealtimes missed oddly don't mean epic weight loss - it just means a past-bedtime feeding frenzy which tends to pack on more pounds than anything.
We managed to get to San Francisco for Escape From Alcatraz and to Honu 70.3 last year, but before we even started racing in Honu, my body had decided it was done with me. I'd built up a wicked hip/glute issue as a result of jumping back into training way too hard after an illness & pizza induced break post-Ironman Arizona and aggravated it through being on my feet for ridiculous hours and a general lack of basic strength and recovery. We pushed hard at trail running since we had such limited training time. And the trail pushed hard back, demanding functional strength and recovery that we could not give ourselves. And we suffered injuries, setbacks and time off of everything.
Every time we've queued back up to start officially training some other flaming ball of holy-shit-must-handle-this-now leaps into our lives and we have to start juggling all over again, but this time with one hand only and on a tight-rope. All that soothing scheduling and daily dictating of to-do by Training Peaks? Gone. Again, and again, we start, ever hopeful that finally we may have a rhythm worthy of getting our training bodies (and sanity back).
Tired of feeling failure in training, we're lacing back up. We're shifting our hours. We're trying to get ahead. We're cutting the beer down, we're cutting the eating out, and we're relying on what we do best - our own healthy, nutritious and easy to assimilate plant-based meals. We're running when and where we can, we're riding sometimes at 5pm (who cares!) and I'm hoping we see a pool next week. All we've got is the OC Triathlon and Pac Coast Sprint, and it'd be really, awfully, totally, completely amazing if we could not only SHOW UP and RACE, but not be too half-assed about it.
I feel like there's hope on the horizon. That maybe as we get a little more help in the kitchen there will be shorter days. There will be more energy. There will be training and racing and being a triathlete worth a shit somewhere under this 2-year winter coat I've got. My numbers are depressingly slow, but it's a start, and I'm trusting in the endless chain of days we put in years prior, in the ritualistic beating of one's body into Ironman shape, that my body will remember along with my mind and together we'll be screaming through Santiago Canyon again and pumping up Modjeska like it's not all that bad and running through Peter's Canyon bitching about the heat, but feeling pretty strong after all and maybe even feeling smooth in the water again.