Yeah, ohhh where to begin. Last Friday morning I woke up and decided that I didn't want to do Ironman. You heard me. I would rather of cleaned the rhino cages at the zoo. All of my friends were going to Louisville the next day for the last big training session but my mind was made up, I wasn't going and no one was going to make me. I don't know if I had just ridden too many 100 milers or swam too much, I really don't know but, uh yeah, I wasn't going. And I didn't. Instead, I stayed home and took my frustrations out on my daughter's bedroom. I gutted it, painted it and spent Saturday re furnishing it, all the way down to the light sockets. I was done and I had zero shame.
Saturday morning, face down, in bed and no one dares even mention the words "swim, bike, run".
Here's the problem. When people talk about the Ironman, all you hear are the glory stories. Almost like a traveling Bruce Springsteen compilation of hard fought struggles to the finish. And, it's true, they are out there but I've found that no one talks much (except under their breath) about wanting to throw their bike down a flight of steps or burn their running shoes out in the front yard. I've loved 70% of my training, but the other 30% has been just a real test of my will power and sanity. Is it not supposed to be fun? If it is, someone please point me to the nearest help desk where I can locate "fun".
Want to hear the worst part?? I haven't even signed up for Louisville yet. That's correct. The race is still open but I can't bring myself to sign up yet. Each day that goes by, I feel like I'm healing and am somewhat interested in becoming an Ironman BUT only somewhat. I've been at this for so many months that in many ways, the Ironman has jumped the shark with me. I could lie, but I won't. People tell me this is normal. Mmmm, ok, well if it is, I want to be abnormal. I told my husband my feelings last night. Go ahead and imagine that for a second. We were at a Mexican restaurant and I thought he was going to throw his pile of tortillas at me. Rightly so. How many 8 hours days have I been gone now, sweating my ass off on the back roads of La Grange, KY, being sworn at by the local rednecks?? Many, my friends. Many.
If you're wondering about my training, well, I did take last Friday and Saturday off because I was picketing Ironman. It was a full fledged work-out strike. Woke up Sunday morning and decided that maybe a long run would do me good. So, I ran about 13 miles. It was hot out but I made it. 2:02 minutes. I've decided that I'll only TRAIN when I want from here on out. I'm taking control damn it. Or at least that's what I tell myself.
After work on Monday I WANTED to go to the lake for a swim.
But not after I had watched 3 hours of SHARK WEEK the night before.
Have any idea how difficult it is to swim 1.2 miles around a lake while trying not think of Megalodon (the 60 ft monster shark)? My poor daughter. I take her out with me each time I swim as my kayak support. It's quiet time for her but I screamed at her twice to "get closer" because "if something attacks me, you'll never be able to rescue me". She didn't deserve it but when I see tons of bubble below me, well, it has to be shark now doesn't it??
Why am I still training?? It's called auto pilot (another disease brought on by an Ironman training guide).
Anyway, I wish I had better news, sexier news. I wish I could blog and say "OH YEAH BABY, RACE DAY IS ALMOST HERE!! WOO HOO!!" But I'm not gonna lie, I look like Michael Keaton from that movie Mr. Mom when he was fixing the kids grilled cheese with an actual iron.