As eluded to, Monday was the beginning of the next 2 years. I was pumped. Like 120 psi pumped. Strangely though, my typical monday work schedule starts at 8am and ends at 8pm. Translation: day off from training. No problem. I cleaned up my diet nice and spiffy like. Felt pretty good. Day 1 was a success.
Tuesday. Let's talk about tuesday. In typical, "follow-my-advice-because-I'm-not-using-it" fashion, I chose not to ramp up my training gradually, but rather hit it HARD right out of the gate. Good thinking. I lifted weights for an hour, flirting the majority of the time with throw-up burps and light headedness. Enough? Nope. Then I ran for 40 minutes.
Tuesday night: the process of hating myself had fully initiated.
Wednesday I was sore which was no surprise, but actually not as bad as I was expecting. I could lift a cup to my mouth without crying out for example, so clearly I had more to give. Good remedy for that? Another weight lifting session of higher intensity than the day before, preceded by a maniacal spin class led by a rather angry and aggressive young woman punishing us for her troubled childhood.
I woke up Thursday morning because a light breeze from the open window sent pains through my body. Soreness was not the right word for my musculoskeletal system. Let's go with burning fires of hell. That just sounds closer.
I was running late that morning because it took me 12 and a half minutes to walk from my bed to the bathroom. I made up for lost time by choosing slip on shoes as I was unable to bend down to tie any of the laced options. I hobbled my way in to the computer to look at my prescribed workout for the day. Run. 1.5 hours at marathon pace. I ruined my keyboard from the tears. A new one was ordered later.
I sent a message to my coach saying along the lines of, "hate me if you will, but there is no way I can run today. Walking is asking a bit much. Can I do this long run on saturday instead of the short tempo run listed?" He responded saying, "erase this phone number. I do not accept calls/texts/solicitations from turds." I took that as a "yes, that is a perfectly reasonable response for your current state. Good smart training choice, Chad."
Ok, day off. A gift to my body. One unplanned day to recover, eat well, and be ready for Friday. Well...... I did as planned on thursday but then friday started to get wonky.
Two things happened.
1. I was performing in a cabaret on friday night for a charity ride I do from Boston to NYC (www.brakingaidsride.org). I was scheduled to do a 40 mile ride for power training but I had concerns that waking up at 530am and beating my ass on some hills and getting exhausted would negatively impact my ability to sing. As it turns out, it wouldn't have made things much worse, but that's for another blog.
2. My mom, biggest and brightest Chad fan there is, was coming into town to see said cabaret. Now I love my mom more than cherry cobbler, but anytime you get an out of town guest, your routine changes.
Suffice it to say, I talked myself out of the bike ride on friday. A significant demerit for this week, but it still felt salvageable. But don't worry dear reader, I can sabotage anything worth the efforts.
Post-cabaret the air had a celebratory feel to it. Money was raised, two drink minimums were complied with, voices were sung hoarse. What better to do than stay out till 2am and continue drinking? I know! Top it off with an order of disgusting french toast at a sticky-floored diner, and you have your answer.
I woke up saturday morning, tongue glued to my upper lip from dehydration and told myself I had to do that 1.5 hour run I had delayed. I might as well have stapled my tongue to my lip where it was. It would have sounded better. How awful. The guilt was mixing nicely with the dehydration and distended french toast belly.
And don't forget that Mom was in town. "I know," I said to myself. "I'll take Mom out for a day in NYC. She NEEDS me to skip my run to do that for her, right?" Decision was made.
Fade to sunday and I am so buried in paperwork, powerpoint presentations, blog entries, and kettle corn that I just couldn't figure out how to fit in the bike ride I was schedule to do. Another day missed; Monday deadlines looming. Out of my hands, right?
What did this failure of a training week teach me? I was reminded how incredibly dedicated those in our sport have to be to achieve greatness. I did not achieve greatness this week. I barely got by with mediocre-ness, and that is with the class curve. I hate being mediocre. Mediocre in my mind equals not worth wasting my time with.
Time management, dedication, consistency, focus. Those ended up being the lessons I got out of this week. An Iron Man is not made in a day I was reminded, and I didn't even need my coach to give me stank-face to remember.
And don't worry, I'm giving myself enough stank-face to make McKayla Maroney proud.
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