A triathlete in paradise

Mostly, I think, this week is the proverbial calm before the storm. What better place to have a "calm," proverbial or not, than Maui, HI?

A note on Maui, or really Hawaii as a general entity. If there are more beautiful places in this world, they must be fake. Only the monstrous and financially powerful entities of this world could rival what lies here in the Pacific, and when they do their best, they create mistakes like Trump towers...or Vegas.

But I digress. Hawaii is incredible in every imaginable way. The weather seems stuck on perfect, the locals are never seen frowning, and the cuisine is basically a consistent carb load. Like I said, perfect.

Before thinking about my life as a triathlete this week, I am preoccupied by what is looming next week. After having a pretty intense conversation with my coach last week (picture tears, fist pumping, mixed with high intensity intervals of coffee drinking), we have devised a plan for the next two years of my life as an athlete. Summary of the plan: we're getting intense.

There was talk of power output on the bike, jazzy power meters to measure all of my lovely watts, winter riding, run endurance, anaerobic threshold, lactic acid. We also reviewed our mutual opinion about how dumb swimming is in general, a seemingly requisite topic at our meetings.

With all of that in mind for next week, let's get back to the present moment: me on a couch, bottle of beer sweating on the table next to me, hair still damp from my latest soak in the jacuzzi, and posing the nagging question of whether or not I should peel that skin off of my blistered foot resulting from my latest IronMan.  Paradise.

What I love about this week though, aside from the obvious that I'm in freakin' Hawaii, is that I don't have a plan for my training. If there are workouts loaded up for me in training peaks, I won't even look at them. (Coach Brian, if you're reading this, I'm lying completely for dramatic effect as a blogger and treat your recommendations as irrefutable law).

This week is mine. The week I allow myself to soak in hot tubs, eat Spam on rice, chill. If running sounds good, I have my shoes. If the thought of biking entices, I'll rent a bike. If swimming sounds reasonable, I have a support team here to check me in to emergency care because they know swimming never sounds good to me and I must be sick to say something so bizarre.

This week I get to be an athlete at my own pace. Perhaps I'll remember why I love this sport?  Isn't that the point?  While there is a bit of satisfaction in the rigor and discipline of training, don't I do this this because I fell in love with it long ago?  Well... answer me! (Rhetorical questions are as dumb as swimming, right?)

On the plane ride home I plan to tell you all about my training from the week. It may be a picture of a sunset with a palm tree artistically positioned just so in the foreground for effect. It may not. And right now, tonight, with my feet up and my beer calling, I have to say that I kind of love not knowing what I'll be writing on that plane ride.