Stutter

A couple days after the last post - maybe a day after - the NY Times had an article on how hard it is to "listen to your body" in training; about the difficulty in interpreting what it's saying, and when it's being serious. The article opened with a few paragraphs on motivation that are a nice bridge between last post and this. The article is worth a read, though its major heft is not what I'm discussing today. It kicks of thusly:

A COLLEAGUE of mine at The Times who is a triathlete had a question: Everyone tells you to listen to your body, but what are you supposed to listen to?

Turns out it’s not so obvious.

Deena Kastor, the American record holder for the marathon, interprets the advice selectively.

“Running isn’t always comfortable,” she said. “I remember running through a lot of discomfort and pain.”

And, Ms. Kastor added, she also runs when she does not feel like it.

“So many times the alarm goes off in the morning and you tell yourself you are too tired,” she said. “There are times when you are unmotivated, you don’t feel your best and most accomplished.”

But if you ignore those messages from your body and just go out and run or do your sport, she said, “those are the days when we have the most pride.”
-Gina Kolata, NYTimes, June 24, 2009

(Can you believe I don't even know how to properly attribute that AND I'm not even gonna look it up? Web...hubris....webris? Catching on? Ahhhh wah.)

If you have come to this post in deliberation over whether to donate money, please look away. Try this post. I think you'll like it.
If you've come for the RAW TRUTH: I fucked up this weekend. I took some me time to deal with my overactive heart and brain, and indulged in not really doing anything. Three weekends left before tapering for two weeks and then doing a motherloving Ironman, and I essentially took the weekend off. Not a second of non-exercise went by without knowing I would feel 400% better for persevering, and I still stood at the edge of the cliff looking. Struck out staring. Leaning back and polishing my nails, even. In the novel or score of my life, this is the repeating theme. Backing off.

I still got on my bike both days, and I still rode both days - about 45 miles total, the happy end goal of training weekends long past. I didn't run 17 miles. I watched my teammates post status updates about doing these things, the victories we absorb every few days, and did not join them. I don't think it was my personal crises that kept me lethargic and complacent. I think I gratefully accepted the crises' being then. I think it was the pattern - how I have to push myself to panic to perform. I'm not sure I've ever done it on this scale before. I'm stunned to find I'll do it on this scale.

**INTERRUPTED - to be finished **

No, it won't be finished. The day after I wrote this I got back on the wagon, and it's been great. I had a great two hour morning bike ride - left my house in Echo Park at 6, circled Silver Lake Reservoir, took Glendale to Griffith Park, rode along the river for five miles, and came back home through Chinatown while the morning fog was lifting off the skyscrapers downtown. I was using my Aerobars for the first time, and feeling how far I've come, how strong I'm still getting. I ran for an hour the next morning, swam with the team that night, took Friday off and kicked ass this weekend. I feel great, Ironwise. New post.