IronMatron

Guess what?
This week I trained.

Hard to believe, I know.
What actually is hard to believe is that I did NOT race this past weekend. I was scheduled to, but I didn't think it was in my best interest if I wanted to keep my marriage intact. Too many weekends racing in a row makes Mary absent too much. Absence does not make the heart grow fonder in certain cases--especially in the case of the married couple with three little kids. So I didn't race.

The last few days I have really worked the old body to shreds. It started on Saturday when I realized that since I wasn't racing, I really didn't deserve to rest. I decided to get my non-biking ass on the trainer and put in some good, hard, deathly boring trainer miles. I survived for 2 hours and 30 minutes, and I didn't even watch TV while doing it. Instead, I parented perched on top of the bike, and I listened to an excellent playlist I just made which includes such goodies as Back in Black (ac/dc, of course), My Own Worst Enemy (this is an appropriate Mary song, alas), Last Dance (I adore Donna Summer), Flashdance (I'm just dancing through my life), and Add it Up (Violent Femmes--lyrics hold a special place in my depraved heart.) So the ride wasn't so bad.
When that was done I went for a short run. I love transition runs, especially when they are wicked short.

On Sunday I felt like toast, but I needed to get in at least 12 running miles b/c that's how long I would've been running had I raced. My goal was to do the whole thing like it was a race. Right. Me vs. the road. Didn't work. I did choose a wicked, wicked, wicked hilly route though, and I forced myself to keep a good pace, if not exactly race pace. I had my trusty playlist with me again. I replayed Baby Got Back several times to keep me entertained, and sang aloud very loudly to I Can't Fight this Feeling Anymore (Reo Speedwagon--an old fav.).

On Monday I was feeling rather pooped, which irritated me because I am supposed to do a fucking IronMan in five short months, and a mere 2.5 hours on the trainer and a little 12 mile run shouldn't render me useless. So, I headed to the gym to whoop my own butt. I also went to the gym because the gym has childcare, and this is school vacation week. Me + kiddos - work -school = good, but longngngnggng week.

At the gym I ran for 30 minutes just to prove that I wasn't too tired to do so, and then I lifted and worked my core. I pushed a little too far for a little too long, I'm afraid. I'm sore everywhere--but especially in my shoulders and lats. Oops.

The fact that I am so sore did not prevent me from moving onward to my swim this morning (Tuesday). I was surprised that despite being so sore I swam pretty well. My 100s are getting faster. This morning I did four 1:19s in a row, and then a 1:18. That's good for me. I swam 3000 yards and after my shower I pulled on my running garb.

Off to the gym--where I would tussle and defeat the treadmill. It was a great day to run outside, but alas, kids are with me--need childcare to run! So the gym it was. My problem with the treadmill is not that it can be boring (and it can be), but that I get into a competition with my inner critic, who is a downright evil mother fucker, when I'm on it. The thing is that there is not escape from the DATA--bleep bleep bleep--right in front of you, staring you in the face. I started out at a nice 8:40 pace/slight grade to warm up. But it felt hard. Hard! 8:40 should be easy! So I pushed to 8:30s, then 8:20s, just to prove to that asshole the critic that I wasn't really tired. I was wiped before I even started the hill workout which was on the docket. Jen's plan said shoot for a moderate effort on the hills. Okay. Moderate. I can do moderate. I pushed it up to 6.0 grade and kept my pace. My heart rate shot through the roof. I slowed down, but then speeded up again. My critic starting using really foul language to describe me, and I couldn't take the heat. I had to do this.

At about this time, maybe 35mintues into the workout, a middle-aged man walked behind my treadmill. He walked back and forth several times, and I thought, hmmm, does he work here? He then parked himself directly in back of me. He proceeded to stand there STARING AT MY ASS for the next half hour. I thought about turning around and asking him if the view was good enough and should I drop trow now, or what? But I was too scared. So I just kept running. It was freaky though. He stayed there until I finished my workout a half hour later. Wow. That's all I have to say. That takes balls. I tried to give him a dirty look when I got off, but I just managed to look at him and then my eyes dropped to the floor. I'm not sure what I should've done. I kind of wished that Judi or Claire with there to give me power. They would know just what to say.

At least it took my mind off the pain!
I was supposed to go an hour, but I continued, because another problem I have with the treadmill is that I can't end when the numbers aren't even. And they're never even. 6.86 miles? Of course I need to stay on until 7miles! 1:01:20--well of course I need to stay on until 1:02!--7.08 miles--well of course I need to stay on until 7.1 miles! It never fucking ends. Am I crazy? (Don't answer that. I know it's some form of OCD.)

So, that's my training week thus far. This weekend I'm taking the kids and the hub. to Maine to see Ange, Alina and the gang. These are Alina's and my children at Christmas time. We have children who are exactly the same ages and exactly the same genders. We planned it. We have an in with God. (It's the swearing--he secretly loves it...)
Mine are all to the left of the pic, Alina's to the right.