Recovery week to end all recovery weeks

I came to Maui with one main objective: overeat like a champion and get fat. Wait, no. That isn't it, albeit what I managed to achieve. 

My objective rather was to have a recovery week, physically, mentally, spiritually...esoterically. My prescribed workouts from my coach read like this: "vacation week - do what you can."  Allow me to translate what he really said. "Dearest Chad. You are a lazy punk who will ignore any workouts I give you this week. Historically speaking, you ignore me so often anyway even when you aren't on vacation. I often fantasize about firing you as a client, but you pay on time so I put up with your crap. -love Brian. PS. You are almost assuredly going to eat too much and get fat."

I like a coach who understands me. I think it strengthens our relationship. 

Let's just summarize by saying I succeeded. I am recovered in every way a guy can be recovered. My body has healed, my thoughts have settled, my neck has ceased the trial of tetanus-like stiffness it dabbled with. To the delight of my future plastic surgeon, I also managed to bake in the sun enough to markedly wrinkle my face, not to mention, get fat. But I guess it's all facelifts and tummy tucks for every aging triathlete, right? Right? ...hello...is this thing on?

Something to look forward to I suppose. Until then, allow me to give you a glimpse of this delicious week. Read on. It will only make you dislike me more than you most likely already do. 

A triathlete must swim. It's how we start our race, our day, our life. I felt I should keep up my training at least in part. 

I intended to swim laps, really I did. Feel free to judge me. I'm used to it. 

You'll be surprised potentially to read that I did have a great bike ride! I logged a hair over 22 miles with a total vertical elevation change of over 6000 feet. Beat that! I've never had a ride with numbers so impressive. 

A small side note that warrants mention is that every foot of that vertical change was downhill. Whatever! I'm still taking credit and you can't take that from me. 

Here's the view from the top of Haleakala at sunrise. One of the most awe inspiring and magical moments I've experienced in all of my 33 years. I wish this picture did it a fraction of the justice it demands. 

From the peak of 10,000 feet, we were bussed down a ways and hopped on a beast of a bike! For a guy used to a carbon fiber tri bike, a mountain bike equipped with disk brakes and shocks feels akin to a waif-like bikini model driving a freakin Hummer. I felt invincible. Never mind skipping those bumps and cracks in the road, I aimed for them! I'm sure it bothered my fellow riders, but each time I successfully triumphed over said bumps or cracks, my maniacal villain-themed laughter would ring out boisterously all the way back to the top of the volcano. Occasionally I would wonder why said laughter is so high pitched and screechy, but this was no time for deep thoughts. I had speed bumps to destroy. 

Upon return to the shop, I thought it best to pose eloquently on my beast to commemorate such a blessed event. 

Apparently I also was channelling my inner gangsta'. Maybe it was the helmet?

But never mind all of that. If I know what's best for my career and this blog I'll delete it all before publishing. What I actually did do to train was, no big surprise, running. 

Sometimes I ran on the beach, other times on beachside walkways, and on one unfortunate occasion, a major highway. Nothing like speeding car traffic to inspire a sprint workout. 

As this picture indicates, I also balanced on one leg pretending to run, like an asshole, yelling "take the picture" while maintaining a winning smile. Should physiotherapy and triathlons not work for me, I might consider my luck with ventriloquy. Nothing wrong with having a plan B. 

How many hours did I train? How many miles did I cover? Did I do enough, too much, just right? Who cares. Perhaps this last picture sums up my week of recovery and the message I will fail to convey with words?