They call it race week taper, because supposedly your body is all trained-up for the race at this point and now the goal is to focus on little workouts to stay limber, eating healthy and sleeping. The problem is that while your body is enjoying the ever relaxing week of the work-rest week, your head begins to take over. In my case, the 'Mean One' is so nasty from not getting her endorphin rush, that I wonder if we will make it to the race alive. When I dig deep into what is really happening, though, as opposed to the mean words that the one side of my brain actually uses, I sense that there is an ever present questioning if in fact we (I say we only because it seems that there are several people running frantic in my brain) are ready for this race and if tapering is actually for those that are more prepared perhaps, than us...or rather, me.
This was very clear as I stood beside the pool this week. The workout in front of me was going to be simple. I was going to swim 20 laps, equivalent to the 500 meters in the race and then I was going to ride my bike for 35 minutes, approximately the bike portion of the race. Seemed like an easy one and I was actually looking forward to it. Two sports, not too long and only 45 minutes all together. Perfect. I was feeling good about the fact that I may have more time to actually get some work done.
As I strip down to my bathing suit in the locker room and throw my swim bag over my shoulder, I think I caught myself silently humming. Fun, fun, fun.
Just then, out of no where, the 'mean one' chimes in.
Mean one: What's the bag for?
Rational One: We always bring the bag. It has our stuff in it.
Mean one: All we need are the goggles and bathing cap. Don't need the whole bag.
Rational One: But...it has the stuff in it.
Mean One: Right. But we don't need the stuff. This is a swim just like the one in the race and surely we won't be using the stuff in the race.
Rational One: I guess you're right. It's just 20 laps. Don't really need the buoy, paddles, or flippers. Just have to swim today. Right. Okay, that's fine.
Mean One: It better be fine, or we are in bigger trouble than I thought.
As I get to the pool and put on my goggles, I begin to feel sick. I had a routine. Take all the stuff out, line it all up, look at it, plan around it and then...jump in and swim. But this time, there was no stuff and suddenly I was pretty sure that I couldn't actually swim without it.
I hung up my towel, adjusted my goggles and looked at my watch.
Rational One: I will just focus on the time today. I will only concentrate on how long it will take me to actually swim the whole distance without stopping. I don't need stuff, just my watch.
I looked at the water again, and then back at the side of the pool, still empty.
Mean One: Hello? What's the hold up? Let's not make this 45 minute workout take all morning. We're at the pool, so how about we swim?!
At her very last loud remark, I jump in and began swimming, counting each lap as I go. In the end, I was Actually impressed with the ease of the 20 laps and was feeling giddy again. That is, until I looked at my brand new watch and saw that the water proof watch...was filled with water.
Rational One: Okay, so tomorrow we need a new watch. Good swim, but better write down that we need a new watch.
Mean One: Great...so we are ready for the swim, but maybe not the race, since we don't even know how to buy a watch that works in the water!
It was taper week for sure. Wind down the body, gear up the mind.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Friday, July 17, 2009
Triathlon Training - The Brick Workout
Like all of my training, it is clearly mapped out. I do not make it up, pretending to know what I need to be prepared for this race, I look it up and find a training program that I believe I can handle and print it out. It sits neatly on my desk, so that I can study the workouts for the week and then check them off with a red marker, to show I have completed it. I am unclear who it is I am proving "completion", but it's a system and I stick to it.
So I was mentally preparing for the workout yesterday, since it's one of the hardest for me. The "brick" workout. First you go out and ride for an hour, then hit the pavement running. On this occasion, I only had to run 20 minutes. Since I was used to riding for 2 hours and running for over an hour, how hard could this be? That is, unless you're going to do them one after another. That is where the name "brick" comes in, since that is remotely what your legs feel like. No one knows that I am headed out at 8am for this workout, and I have only made the commitment to myself, so I can't explain why I am nervous, but am. The commitment was to not only finish, since that would be obvious, but it was to NOT walk. This would be a bike and a run...with no walking, under any circumstances.
I am smart enough as a Coach to know that only positive words will get me through this, so I breathe deeply. A beautiful day. A great start! As I lock one of my shoes into the clips, I hear a little you go girl from underneath and am feeling thankful for the delicious oatmeal with blueberries I had eaten an hour before. Both feet clipped in and I was ready to go!
I have always told my friends that they are lucky they don't have to hear what goes on inside my head. It can be a racket for sure as the mean one and rational one go at it and it sounds something like this:
Twenty minutes into the hour bike ride I already hear my quads yelling from below.
Rational one: We're tired already. Do we really need a full-out 20 minute run?
Mean one: Give me a break. It's only 20 minutes. Not going to kill you. Anyone can run for 20 minutes.
Thirty minutes into the ride, another voice steps in to save me:
Rational one: Realistically this is overkill and we should just do a 30 minute ride, in order to get in the run.
Mean one: Get a grip. We'll do this because I said so.
When I finish the hour ride, I try to move swiftly into running mode. I am picturing how light and fast I am going to be in my old sneakers that are nearly weightless. I am excited that I cleaned them and remembered how great they were. I envision my fastest run ever. But as I grabbed the sneakers, I realized I hadn't put my orthodics in them, nor my Ipod piece, which will tell me when I have run 20 minutes. Not a graceful start, but after 3 minutes in what I will call "transitions" I was ready to roll. Not too shabby considering. I begin to run on my brick like legs, wondering if I have forgotten how to run. And after about 2 minutes, I remember why I these are my 'old' sneakers...and are now hurting my feet.
Mean one: This is where the rubber meets the road girl..not supposed to be pretty.
And so I run for what I think is as hard as I can.
Rational One: Is my Ipod broken? Surely it has been five minutes already!
Ipod: Ten minutes left. Half way mark.
I start to feel a little better as I turn around, but am determined to stop.
Rational One: Please. This is so ridiculous. You are clearly in pain here. Who will know if you walk for a minute or two? No one even cares. Have you noticed that you are the only one out here?
Mean one: I promised myself I would not walk. Period.
I keep my feet moving, but the last 10 minutes is a battle between the rational and the mean one and it's anyone's guess who will win.
Rational One: These old sneakers are pretty, but are killing. Pleeeeeease. Just for a minute.
Mean one: We can slow our pace, if we have to, but no stopping.
The voice reminds me of my wicked step mother. Very rigid in her ways.
Ipod: (finally!) Two minutes left.
Rational one: Come on...let's call it a day. I am about to throw up. Seriously, this is absurd. We're pretty much done. Good for us.
Mean one: (She seems really loud this time and I wonder how she has the energy). Two minutes! It's 2 minutes! You have felt pain for almost 4 years now and can surely make it through 2 more minutes.
She always brought the whole alone-divorce thing up. It was my weakness and I could feel my eyes well up. She knew how to keep my moving.
Mean One: Jesus, even if both your legs were fractured, you could run for 2 minutes. Run! Finish this!
And it is painful, but I finish, praying that my Ipod will announce that I ran a 7 minute/mile pace to justify all that pain for a mere 20 minutes.
Ipod: pace - 8:30 minute/mile.
Fine. I was proud of myself for hanging in there and not walking.
Mean one: Great job. All that belly-aching for nothing. I told you we would be fine and that we didn't have to walk.
Rational One: I know. You were right. It just seems a bit...I don't know...crazy. All that torture. For what? Is that even normal?
Mean one: If you want to get better, you have to keep pushing. Never stop pushing.
Rational One: I think we are good even when we are lying down relaxing, but whatever.
As I get into the kitchen to make my sleeping children my famous french toast, the voice comes back.
Rational One: Oh how I wish we could sit down. Maybe the boys could have some cereal for breakfast today.
Mean One: I promised them.
Rational One: (in this syrupy sweet voice) Fine, be mom of the day, but you know, I was thinking...maybe we should forget about that Olympic triathlon and just focus on the sprint one this year...it's too much, don't you think?
Mean One: (I think she may have slammed something before she spoke) You are always trying to get out of discomfort. Forget about it girl...
Training for anything is not easy. Nor is getting out of our comfort zone to get to some higher place. But what I have learned in my efforts to push forward, is that my little voices, although crazy sounding at times, really do help me get through. And I have especially learned that my voice of reason has always created comfort for me in the past, but not necessarily growth. I am happy to have found that louder, stern voice. The one that is teaching me to push through and appreciate the sights, once I get to the top of the mountain I have climbed.
http://www.lesleygeller.com/
So I was mentally preparing for the workout yesterday, since it's one of the hardest for me. The "brick" workout. First you go out and ride for an hour, then hit the pavement running. On this occasion, I only had to run 20 minutes. Since I was used to riding for 2 hours and running for over an hour, how hard could this be? That is, unless you're going to do them one after another. That is where the name "brick" comes in, since that is remotely what your legs feel like. No one knows that I am headed out at 8am for this workout, and I have only made the commitment to myself, so I can't explain why I am nervous, but am. The commitment was to not only finish, since that would be obvious, but it was to NOT walk. This would be a bike and a run...with no walking, under any circumstances.
I am smart enough as a Coach to know that only positive words will get me through this, so I breathe deeply. A beautiful day. A great start! As I lock one of my shoes into the clips, I hear a little you go girl from underneath and am feeling thankful for the delicious oatmeal with blueberries I had eaten an hour before. Both feet clipped in and I was ready to go!
I have always told my friends that they are lucky they don't have to hear what goes on inside my head. It can be a racket for sure as the mean one and rational one go at it and it sounds something like this:
Twenty minutes into the hour bike ride I already hear my quads yelling from below.
Rational one: We're tired already. Do we really need a full-out 20 minute run?
Mean one: Give me a break. It's only 20 minutes. Not going to kill you. Anyone can run for 20 minutes.
Thirty minutes into the ride, another voice steps in to save me:
Rational one: Realistically this is overkill and we should just do a 30 minute ride, in order to get in the run.
Mean one: Get a grip. We'll do this because I said so.
When I finish the hour ride, I try to move swiftly into running mode. I am picturing how light and fast I am going to be in my old sneakers that are nearly weightless. I am excited that I cleaned them and remembered how great they were. I envision my fastest run ever. But as I grabbed the sneakers, I realized I hadn't put my orthodics in them, nor my Ipod piece, which will tell me when I have run 20 minutes. Not a graceful start, but after 3 minutes in what I will call "transitions" I was ready to roll. Not too shabby considering. I begin to run on my brick like legs, wondering if I have forgotten how to run. And after about 2 minutes, I remember why I these are my 'old' sneakers...and are now hurting my feet.
Mean one: This is where the rubber meets the road girl..not supposed to be pretty.
And so I run for what I think is as hard as I can.
Rational One: Is my Ipod broken? Surely it has been five minutes already!
Ipod: Ten minutes left. Half way mark.
I start to feel a little better as I turn around, but am determined to stop.
Rational One: Please. This is so ridiculous. You are clearly in pain here. Who will know if you walk for a minute or two? No one even cares. Have you noticed that you are the only one out here?
Mean one: I promised myself I would not walk. Period.
I keep my feet moving, but the last 10 minutes is a battle between the rational and the mean one and it's anyone's guess who will win.
Rational One: These old sneakers are pretty, but are killing. Pleeeeeease. Just for a minute.
Mean one: We can slow our pace, if we have to, but no stopping.
The voice reminds me of my wicked step mother. Very rigid in her ways.
Ipod: (finally!) Two minutes left.
Rational one: Come on...let's call it a day. I am about to throw up. Seriously, this is absurd. We're pretty much done. Good for us.
Mean one: (She seems really loud this time and I wonder how she has the energy). Two minutes! It's 2 minutes! You have felt pain for almost 4 years now and can surely make it through 2 more minutes.
She always brought the whole alone-divorce thing up. It was my weakness and I could feel my eyes well up. She knew how to keep my moving.
Mean One: Jesus, even if both your legs were fractured, you could run for 2 minutes. Run! Finish this!
And it is painful, but I finish, praying that my Ipod will announce that I ran a 7 minute/mile pace to justify all that pain for a mere 20 minutes.
Ipod: pace - 8:30 minute/mile.
Fine. I was proud of myself for hanging in there and not walking.
Mean one: Great job. All that belly-aching for nothing. I told you we would be fine and that we didn't have to walk.
Rational One: I know. You were right. It just seems a bit...I don't know...crazy. All that torture. For what? Is that even normal?
Mean one: If you want to get better, you have to keep pushing. Never stop pushing.
Rational One: I think we are good even when we are lying down relaxing, but whatever.
As I get into the kitchen to make my sleeping children my famous french toast, the voice comes back.
Rational One: Oh how I wish we could sit down. Maybe the boys could have some cereal for breakfast today.
Mean One: I promised them.
Rational One: (in this syrupy sweet voice) Fine, be mom of the day, but you know, I was thinking...maybe we should forget about that Olympic triathlon and just focus on the sprint one this year...it's too much, don't you think?
Mean One: (I think she may have slammed something before she spoke) You are always trying to get out of discomfort. Forget about it girl...
Training for anything is not easy. Nor is getting out of our comfort zone to get to some higher place. But what I have learned in my efforts to push forward, is that my little voices, although crazy sounding at times, really do help me get through. And I have especially learned that my voice of reason has always created comfort for me in the past, but not necessarily growth. I am happy to have found that louder, stern voice. The one that is teaching me to push through and appreciate the sights, once I get to the top of the mountain I have climbed.
http://www.lesleygeller.com/
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Life's Pot Holes
After 5 weeks of training through the pain of what felt like broken ribs, I finally went to the doctor. It seemed like a mute point 5 weeks later, but there was an unexplainable pain that was traveling around to my rib cage in my back, which was unbearable. Not unbearable like I was going to stop training, but bad enough that I was back to putting heat on it every day and whimpering out loud. As suspected, though, I got x-rays, only to find that no, I had not broken a thing, but was just dealing with bruised ribs and some swelling around the tendons.
The treatment? Advil. Although I had been already been taking it regularly, I was relieved to hear that they were recommending taking it even before I began my training workouts. This was the best news yet! The doctor also mentioned that within another 5 weeks of time, I should be completely healed and not feeling a thing. Five more weeks? Fine, I had made it this far, only missing out on 3 days of training, what was another five more weeks?
I was in triathlete form and was not about to stop now...with or without the Advil.
www.LesleyGeller.com
The treatment? Advil. Although I had been already been taking it regularly, I was relieved to hear that they were recommending taking it even before I began my training workouts. This was the best news yet! The doctor also mentioned that within another 5 weeks of time, I should be completely healed and not feeling a thing. Five more weeks? Fine, I had made it this far, only missing out on 3 days of training, what was another five more weeks?
I was in triathlete form and was not about to stop now...with or without the Advil.
www.LesleyGeller.com
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