There's no telling what you could've done if you hadn't just given up

I feel sometimes as though I can see myself divided into two women, and they face eachother on a battlefield within my mind.  My negative, self-hating ogre faces off against the ambitious, self-assured heroine.  Despair overwhelms me. I stop caring.  I stop trying.  The ogre is winning.  But, there is fight in me, and I can feel our heroine gaining momentum.  I don't know why the battle needs to be so dramatic.  I don't understand why logic cannot just determine who should win.  The ogre has never been good for me, and I don't know where she comes from.  For the moment, I think we have banished the creature to her cave, and we might have a little peace to focus on getting things done.

I am ready to go again.  I dragged myself to the gym tonight, too late for spin class.  I grabbed "Fitness" magazine and took my rightful place on the failure's throne, the elliptical.  I love the elliptical, but it is where I go when I cannot muster up enough willpower to hit the treadmill.  When I'm on that machine it can feel as though I've given up.  As I thumbed through pages of beauty tips and workout routines, I began to feel better.  The comfort of the familiar problem statement, product to use, solution for you, formula began to bring a sense of peace to my battling feelings.  I felt good about my choice to use the elliptical, and I began to realize that I am adjusting to my sleep schedule. I will have some workouts I will not want to do because I am tired, but isn't this the type of discipline most people have to have when they hit the gym?  I'm not suffering anything new, and I am certainly not going to be suffering alone.  My husband's encouragement is finally sinking in, and I am realizing that even though my workouts are mostly done alone, the pride I'll feel in my acomplishements will always be shared.

The best laid plans of IronMen

Excel files pile up on my desktop with filenames like: IMtraining.xls, TrainingPlan.xls, MealPlan3.xls, and workoutroutine.xls.  The files are a cruel reminder of the failed plans, and the need to adapt to new hours.  The summer is coming. . .summertraining.xls here we come.  The loss of my old routine leaves me with a kind of grief.  I am losing the comfort of the familiar, and trying to rebuild my lifestyle around hot weather and daytime sleeping.  I have a passion for planning, for making things work, but I've completed my plan, and cannot shake the feeling of defeat.  This is a plan that looks unbearable on paper, filled with hours of workouts after 12 hour shifts.  The goal of finishing IMAZ in less than 12 hours dances in my mind, mocks me.  I have months of training ahead of me, and I have plowed headfirst into the wall.  I'm in the best shape of my life, set a PR for both a marathon and a metric century bike race this year, yet, I feel as though my accomplishments will be in vain.  They were supposed to be stepping stones to greatness, but now, I can't shake the feeling that I am drowning. . .

Motivation. . .lacking. . .need. . .chocolates. . .

Demotivator:

Nothing derails your training quite like watching a 60 year old with a beer gut zip past you while you ride your little heart out.  I am the first to admit, I am not a great cyclist, but come on guys!  I know the rules, ride more, do intervals etc.  I can get faster, sure, I just need to train as much as my 60 year-old buddy, Jimbo.  I am sure his training for this race was at least as intense as mine.  I'm sure he was hitting the gym for spin class twice a week, and his long rides took him up hills far more punishing that South Mountain.  His training schedule included a far more rigorous nutrition plan as well.  He's been eating nothing but the highest quality protein, MUFAs and complex carbohydrates.  He's been so strict on himself to lose the extra few pounds he swears are keeping him from averaging that 20 mph goal he's been striving to achieve that all his friends and co-workers tease him about what he's not going to eat that week.  Well, good for him.  I'm glad he made so many sacrifices to get so fast. . .

Drugs:

You know what else will buck you right of that horse?  A sudden change in your work schedule from 3p-3a to 6p-6a.  Since I am already struggling with sleep deprivation, let's just make it a touch worse by sending me home at sunrise.  It's a conspiracy, I tell you!  There is someone in management who just bought stock in whatever pharmaceutical company is currently churning out my monthly supply of ambien.  It is not that I am unable to sleep without the drug. . .I'm just unable to stay asleep without the drug.  This cute little problem makes it so I am a constant user during my workweek just to make sure I get enough sleep to remain conscious for my full 12 hour shift.  I am not complaining though. . .well, I am, but I will get used to this schedule, and things will be fine.  Besides, it gives me a chance to improve my cycling since I can now ride to work 3 days a week. . . I tell myself this to cheer me up when I am dragging my tired, sleep deprived body home at 6 in the morning.  Yes, the concept of getting more exercise cheers me up.  It IS a drug for me, yes.  Don't judge, you have your drugs too.  Perhaps, chocolate?  Maybe, your TV watching. . .hmm?  Perhaps your constant need for friendships?  Thank goodness I don't need friends because this schedule would make it impossible to create any kind of support network if you were say... suffering from severe depressive episodes . . .

Feeding:

Hopeless, I struggle to get back on track with my nutrition.  My whole plan fell apart because I could not see my IM dreams coming to life in the darkness of night.  I could not fathom the midnight training that must soon become my routine.  It exhausts me to think that summer is coming, and I will not be able to rise for my long ride until noon.  Ideas for when to train have been rolling around in my brain like marbles, colliding with one another and generating head-aches the likes of which only sleep-deprived, brain-munched, zombies can fully understand.  My nutrition went from controlled and planned to, F-it, I am going to eat this whole box of cereal- 2 days tops!  Cookies?  Bring it!  If beer guts can pass me on the bike, bring on the carbohydrates!!  Veggies? F-em, let's try jelly beans.  Fruit?  Sure, if it is covered in chocolate.  Peanut butter- better bring an extra jar if you want any because I am going to spoon this into my mouth until I puke.  Food is comforting.  Food is something that represents friendships and the gathering of people for celebrations.  That is why I eat it when I am lonely and my life spirals out of control.  Do I have an eating disorder?  Do I look like I have an eating disorder?  Where the hell did all the frosted flakes go?  But, I do have to hit the bottom. . .I have tried to abort the downward spiral.  It is like trying to suspend a ball in mid-air by blowing on it.  Eventually, you have to breathe, and then it comes down on your face. . .

My First Bike Race

I rode my first bike race this past weekend.  It was incredible!  I went from work to grab some breakfast and drive to the start, got there at about 5:15.  The race started at 6:15.  With 1300 cyclists and no staggering for the start, I was pretty nervous about getting knocked down or hitting another rider.  The start was intense, the gun went off, and we started out on a downhill traveling at 25 mph.  What a thrill!  I was scared out of my mind.  I was not there to set any records.  I didn't even set a time goal.  I was there to have fun.  I hadn't done a race without a goal since my second marathon.  It was great to take my time at the SAG stations, munch on pretzels and fruit, get some water, and talk with strangers about the weather and their hometown's weather. 

The ride was a total of 72 miles.  I completed it in 4:25 averaging 16.3 mph.  As people twice my age zoomed past me, I reminded myself that they probably slept the night before :-). 

If you think you can't. . . well, sometimes you still can

The Lost Dutchman Marathon began for me days before the gun would sound.  I had my carbohydrates all lined up and ready to become fuel.  I had packet pick-up figured out.  I had looked at weather, and I knew it would be a rainy weekend.  I had set my goal of 3:50, and planned my pacing strategy so I didn't start too fast like last time. 

Things started falling apart days before the race.  My father, who was going to give me a ride out there, and support me at the finish line with my two beautiful pups was not going to be able to go out there because of back problems.  My friend who was going to tag along with my husband and cheer me on at the finish could not make it either.  I found out that my husband's friend and his wife, who was going to run her first marathon that day, had to attend a funeral.  All the positive feelings the race had once generated were almost completely deflated. 

The night before the race, I could not fall asleep.  I tried every trick being a night shift employee had taught me except drugs; I wanted to avoid feeling groggy.  When I wished I'd taken something, it was too late for any medical intervention.  I finally gave up at 1:30 in the morning.  I put on a movie, and stretched/foam-rolled.  I ate my breakfast, and packed a snack for before the race.  I drove out in the dark to catch a bus to the start of what was sure to be my worst marathon yet. . .

The bus dropped me off in the middle of the desert with campfires burning.  I found a nice spot in front of one to sit down and drink a cup of hot tea which had been provided for the racers.  I enjoyed the warmth of the fire, and the anticipation of the race.  I told myself to start out slow, and not burn myself out too quickly.  There would be hills, and while I had trained for them, I knew they could sap my energy.  Strangely, I didn't feel sleepy.  I chatted with some of the other women warming up by the fires.  One woman was running her first marathon, and was hoping to beat Oprah's marathon time :-).  I thought that was a great goal.  I shared with her my goal to beat 3:50, all the while hoping I wouldn't just pass out at mile 12.

The gun went off shortly after sunrise.  I started off pacing myself well, I thought (8:30).  I was going to keep myself at this pace for the first 6 miles, and then let myself speed up a bit after that.  I did not keep that pace.  My second mile felt easy at 7:58, so I decided to pace myself a little faster.  After 6 miles, I was anxious to see what additional speed I could muster.  I started going at an 8:10, and felt pretty good.  That's when I ran into an old friend.  She was hoping to beat a 4 hour marathon time.  Seemed too easy for her based on the way she was freely chatting with me.  I was having a tough time talking at the pace I was keeping.  Eventually, I had to stop to use the port-o-jon, and she raced on.  I caught up with her again at mile 15, and she was not feeling like going any faster.  I had another 3 miles of pushing myself before I figured I would just go into 10 min/mi shuffle.  I kept myself moving, but energy stores were getting drained too fast, and I was late getting my gu fix.  I slowed to a 9 min/mile crawl. . . I didn't think anything of it.  I was going to make my 3:50 goal, and my body was not going to be pushed any harder.  Then, my friend passed me.  4 hour marathon, my ash!  That sandbagger.  The competitor in me took over, and whether it was good for me or not, I pushed myself back up to a sub 8:30 pace.

Mile 20, I had no idea where my sandbagger friend had gotten off to.  I spotted a new challenge.  The woman ahead of me had an ironman logo tatood on her calf.  "I am Ironman"  I thought to myself (or I might have said it aloud, at this point in the race you really have no control over such things).  I had to keep up with this girl. . .I had to beat this girl.  She was a tough target, and I thought I might loose her, as I could barely make out the tatoo.  I searched for some remaining energy, and pulled out a little extra I'd been saving.  I could see the IM symbol again, and felt like I would relax, and keep pace behind her until the final mile.  Then, she stopped at a water station.  I was off!  I had beaten her, and I was ready for the last 2 miles of the course.  I kept pushing myself, trying to find a little more to give.  I wanted to see what my pace had been, but didn't dare look at my garmin, lest I get my hopes up for a Boston qualifying time (which was of course, impossible). 

The last mile. . . I couldn't speed up.  I tried, but could only maintain a faster pace for seconds at a time.  The woman next to me was grumbling at herself to beat me.  Someone was trying to beat me?  At the time, I thought she was being kind of mean, but now that I think about it, I'm flattered.  I was worth competing with :-).

The finish line in site, I gave it my all.  I saw my husband and my dad!? at the finish line.  "10 seconds!" Steve yelled.  10 seconds for what?  Holy crap, Boston!  By the time I realized why he'd yelled it, I was already at the finish line.  I posed for a race photo, and grabbed my medal before stopping my garmin, but it said 3:40:46, much better than 3:50, and, as it turns out, a Boston qualifying time :-).   It turned out to be a great race, and my dad was able to be there with my puppies and my husband at the finish line! 

The Marathon (PFC)

The night before a marathon is rarely a restful one.  For a person trying to sleep at 8PM when she normally wakes at 3PM to start her day, sleep is an unweildy devil.  I had set my alarm for 4AM, but paranoia and troubling dreams lead me to hourly clock checks and no faith in the technology to wake me.   A nightmare of missing the race woke me at 1AM, and checking the clock (again), I reassured myself that I was not late for the marathon.  By 3AM, it was enough.  I got out of bed, and started getting myself ready.  My breakfast was already chosen for this morning when I signed up for the marathon in November.  It was just oatmeal with honey when I woke up, followed by 1/2 a peanutbutter sandwich and a banana a couple of hours before the race.  The morning ritual was comforting.  I felt like I knew my purpose for the day, and there were no decisions to make or a list of things I needed to get accomplished.  Just one thing to do.  Run. 

Waking up after hibernation. . .

I went to bed on Tuesday at around 6pm and did not get out of bed until about 2pm on Wednesday.  I would guess 20 hours of sleep is not normal for anyone, not even a night-shifter.  I felt completely exhausted.  I could not, and did not want to leave my bed.  It was as though I had the flu, but no symptoms aside from severe fatigue.  I swear I could feel the muscles in my legs trying to repair damage done over the past few months of training.  When I fell asleep on Tuesday, I fully intended it to be a 20 minute nap, and there I was, essentially paralyzed.  I thought I might have low energy because of my lower calorie diet, so I tried a snack, but to no avail, I was destined to reach a new personal sleep record.

When I woke up to go to work on Wednesday, I felt like I could have just kept on sleeping.  The whole "morning" I was dragging, not able to concentrate, and still, for all intents and purposes, asleep.  I went to the gym for a 30 minute treadmill workout, and I finally felt the neurons in my brain begin to fire.  When I came home after my shift, I fell right back to sleep, slept 7 hours, and was pretty cranky about it.  I feel great now, but what a strange couple of days!