Here’s what I want to know. How the hell do you do it? Fit it all in?
This half ironman training is ridiculous. I seriously do not know how anyone trains for a full ironman and ever sees friends, gets work done, reads a book, cooks a meal, takes a dump, or washes the stains out of their shorts. Or, maybe they don’t. It’s insane.
This week I am trying to do a ten hour training week.
This is harder than it sounds. This means that most days I am doing double workouts or very long workouts. Today, for example, I got up and ran 7.17 miles and a few hours later went and swam 1,800 yds. That’s a total of 1:43 in workouts for today. Might not sound like much but when I’m trying to sandwich it in between work, kids and breathing, I find it challenging.
But, I did shower today mostly because the stench of my sweat and chlorine made me gag. I might have also had a skid in my skort from the run, but I’m not saying.
And, no, there can never be a picture without my dog in it. I think he is licking my scab. Bad dog. He follows me everywhere I go. He even doggy paddled while I swam laps today.
I was thinking about something. Why is this training kicking my butt so much when I train for and run marathons? I realized that even with marathon training, I would max out at about eight hours per week.
Maybe what I feared has come to pass. I really am a pussy.
A very small part of me is questioning why I signed up for this thing. I swear, I would consider dropping out (pussy) if I hadn’t paid $250 to sign up. Well, knowing me that is a lie. I wouldn’t drop out, but I will continue to wonder if I can keep this up.
In other daily news, son Sam left to go to Chicago for four days with my mom and dad. Yes, he’s 13, but I run a prison and he’s never been away from home without me for more than two nights. I like to think I am not an overly hovering or controlling mom, but I’m sure my kids might say different. Last night while watching his baseball game I texted him.
Me: I miss you already
Sam (after the game): You do? I’m looking at you right now.
When he left today I told him to call/text me so much it was annoying. I quickly got a text with this picture:
It said, “mom and baby laying on airport floor. knew you would like this.”
Made me smile.
I lied and told him he and I used to always do that. NOT. You won't catch me doing anything on an airport floor.
And now, I had a work appointment to get to in a hurry and my car is dead. Can you come over and jump me? Not in the dark alley sense, but in the jumper cable sense?
Do you lay on floors in airports?
How do you handle high high training volume without burning out or getting bitchy?
Are you a controlling parent? I like to think I am involved, but not controlling. I may be kidding myself.
It’s only 1:57 pm, but wine might be calling my name. I’ll try to hold off until 5pm.