In case you’ve been wondering, I have been running. And biking. And there’s even been a little bit of swimming and some yoga. While I still haven’t selected any real ‘goals’ yet, I felt the need to jump back in to training as if my life depends on it. In many ways, it does.
I crave the routine and focus that come with training. Formulating a plan, setting up a schedule, tracking the data – all these tasks bring me a sense of calm, a sense of order and control. After placing my life on “hold” for the better part of the year, it’s a relief to be grinding up hills, planning 400 meter intervals and falling asleep too soon after dinner.
The first few weeks back are always the hardest – mentally and physically. The lazy relaxed pace is now reserved for ‘easy’ days as I struggle to get the legs to turn over faster. That’s been a shock to the system – shifting gears from a constant slow and steady pace, to something that requires work, concentration and some amount of pain.
Reflecting on my goal-less decision to inflict pain on myself, I realized that if I didn’t turn up the heat, I’d just continue to tread water, content to get lost in the zen-like steadiness I’d already established. Then last weekend, I decided to push outside the comfort zone a bit, and bravely opted to ride the B-ride with my cycling club (15-17 mph average pace). I knew I wasn’t quite ready, but I also knew that if I didn’t just jump in head first, that I would continue to find reasons to leave the training wheels on.
At about 50 miles in to the 61-mile ride, I realized that I had taken on a bit more than I should have – eyes bigger than my stomach, so to speak. I was tired, over-heated and cranky. My legs were sore – my quads were toasted. I was mortified that the group had to wait for me on more than one occasion. I desperately tried to find a shorter route home, so I could ride alone in my suffering. But they weren’t having any of my whining, and one of the riders insisted that he would stay with me for the rest of the ride, no matter what.
I was on the verge of tears. I whined a bit more about how I had still had to ride home from the ride start/finish point. An offer was made: ‘Once we get back, you can throw your bike in my truck and I’ll drop you off at home.’ That was all it took. I responded: ‘Nah. I’m a tough guy. I’ll pedal the 3-miles home at 10 mph before I’ll accept a ride.’ Happily, my pace didn’t need to be quite that tame, and I made it home in one piece with *most* of my dignity still in tact.
As I was cruising bloglines a few days later, I came across a post that Little Miss Runner Pants wrote, which featured some (many) inspirational words via Gym Jones. This rings so true for me, I had to share it:
“You have to be willing to bite off more than you can chew, to overdose, and to fail. If you won’t risk the answer you won’t ask the question. If you lack the will to ask then consciousness will not unite with muscle and bone. I criticize such a lack of will (especially in myself) and ask, “What’s the worst that can happen?” The fearful part of me replies, “I may fall short of my expectations. I may not be who I pretend to others. My perception of self may be proven wrong, very wrong.” The confident part of me says, “So what … only after breaking myself apart may rebuilding begin.” So go ahead, break stuff. Break yourself on the once-hard edges of yourself. And recycle the debris into the foundation of your future.”
Even though I was a bit broken by the time I got home, I am rebuilding and ready to try some more, try harder and will gladly suffer in the process.
