Started the week feeling ridiculously tired, bearing in mind I'd only done a sprint triathlon at the weekend, the residual tiredness was outrageously off the scale. I was just weary as I dragged my butt onto my bike for a 1.5 hour speed session. Later in the day I had to talk myself into a pool swim - and this was a bank holiday so no excuses.
This time of year is tough for teachers, report writing is a huge task, taking about an hour per pupil, so in my case that equates to around 29 extra hours I have to find. This is probably why I was having 'a moment' on Wednesday night. I confessed to a friend that I was having a meltdown. Tiredness, training, work, needing time with my boys, was all taking its toll. This is when you really need friends. A motivational text message had me virtually sobbing in my swimming pool cubicle. I wiped my eyes, donned my steamed up goggles and cracked on.
That's what this is all about.
There's a pecking order of worries, the 'can I be arsed' worry is so far down that list as to be insignificant. Yes it crops up, yes I sometimes wallow in it, but if it's only a case of mind over matter then it's easy to defeat. The work/guilt worries are worse. But by far and above all else, the injury worry is the worst. My achilles - both of them - are playing up. Plus a few other niggles. This is knocking the edge off my run training. Worse than that I'm worrying about keeping my body together for another 10 weeks. I'm willing to make a pact with the devil to see this through.
Yes - 10 weeks today I will be racing! I've invested more than 20 weeks in Project Ironman 2014. That's 5-months of my life. Peak training starts this week.
So in true roller coaster style, after Wednesday's meltdown, came Thursday's run. Straight out of the classroom into a13-miles run. Finished strong, negative split, plenty more in the tank.
Good job too, as I had a real challenge looming - the Caledonia Etape - an 81-mile bike ride. Now, I'm not and will never consider myself 'a cyclist'. I cycle in order to do triathlon. There's a subtle difference.
I was totally freaked out by the thought of the sweeper lorry nipping at my back wheel and the idea of cycling - peleton style for 81 miles.
I'd entered months ago, not for fun, but as a training ride. I was sure I'd never want to do it again. But, strangely enough, here I am, analysing results and wondering what could have been if only I'd let go of the brakes going downhill!!
What an amazing day it's been. IronPhil and I took a no-drafting approach to make it as realistic as possible. Triathlon rules don't allow for group riding. However, as we set off my iron hubby and I got separated. I set off in the wave ahead of him, decided he'd catch me up so I just kept going. Within the first two-miles, my bike computer went tumbling into the road. Now, if you've never cycled in a big event like this, then let me explain. It's a bit like losing a wheel trim on the motorway. I carefully stopped, pulled over and stood on the pavement, keeping my beady eye on the little black object lying helpless in the middle of the road, willing the dozens of cyclists to avoid crushing it. Eventually, there was a safe gap in which to rescue it. Then along came IronPhil. "Come on, get a move on let's catch this group," he yelled. Closely followed by another similar set of instructions. My hackles were up. "Look, if you're going to yell at me like this for 81-miles, bog off and I'll see you at the end!" I replied.
Peace resumed. IronPhil conceded defeat. He'd already decided to ride with me rather than plough his own macho furrow. He now realised that all hope was lost, TriDye just wasn't up to the job, he would have to make his excuses in the office on Monday morning to the two colleagues who'd bagged an smart slot with Chris Boardman at the front of the elite pack. "I was doing it for the wife," I could hear him saying ... next year boys, next year...
Well, next year indeed maybe yours IronPhil, but this year was mine!
My mentor, my guru, my coach was left wanting when the time came today. Leaving the last feed station with 16-miles to go, I heard a faint: "Wait for me!" I figured it was a joke and cracked on. When he eventually pulled up alongside muttering something about a good pace I happily took the pat on the back. Then I realised, Ironphil was struggling.
The conversation went something like: "Darling, are you OK? Come, let me be the wind under your wing and we'll finish this together." To which he replied: "No, go my butterfly, ride high and finish strong."
No, I'm lying. He actually muttered something about the fact that he was "blowing out of his a***" and I smelled blood and went in for the kill. A few miles later, he was back by my side shouting: "I'm not being chicked by my wife." Then God delivered a fatal blow. A series of short, sharp hills to finish him off. I spied the first one and knew the kill was mine. "I'll tell your mates you're on your way!" I whispered, as I took off. Heh, it's just a bit of fun. But the bottom line was, I'd nailed my nutrition today (thanks Maxi for hammering it home). I wasn't the fastest kid on block. But, when I finished 81 miles of cycling - I wasn't finished. That's a great confidence boost and a great way to end a tough week.
Peak training - here I come!
Well done Maria, I'm already thinking do I have to wait a whole year for the next one!
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