try, try, TRI

Fun fact: 3/4 of a bottle of prosecco (consumed, mind you, over the course of 7 hours), fruity though it may be, is not proper pre-run fuel. 4 miles became two sweaty, humid, ethanol-soaked miles.

I think I’ve found a 5-k goal race in June, and I’m going to try to get back to some longish runs starting next weekend to ready myself for RnR Chicago. Gotta find some new routes, though. My neighborhood out-and-back is 2 miles, and I don’t enjoy doing it over and over to get to 6 or 8 miles. And my once-favorite nearby route is now tainted by the Dog Chase Incident of 2012. It just feels stupid to always be driving somewhere to run. Rough life, yes.

I need a new goal.

I’ve run a few times since Big Sur, but nothing more than a couple of miles. I put my bike on the trainer this week and could barely motivate myself to go 20 minutes. I can’t figure how tridad and others lock into that for 5+ hours. I ought to wtfu and take the bike outside, but I’m still nervous after my debacle in March. Maybe I should get a set of baby pedals to ease myself back into riding? I can’t really plan for any triathlons till I get over my fear of the bike. Thinking I’ll ask my husband to pay for a bike fitting for Mothers Day, since I never did that when I first got the bike.

In the meantime, we are kicking around the idea of the RnR half in Chicago in July. Hubs is an actor, so I’m plying him with Steppenwolf tickets as an incentive. He’s never been to Chicago, so that would be a lot of fun. I guess that’s goal enough for now, but I feel guilty about my beautiful bike being denied the chance to smoke some tris this summer. Decisions.

I am on a bus. 2 hours til go time. So far, I think I’ve only forgotten 1 thing. It feels like a crucial thing (my water bottle), but it’s really not. I’m going to do this. It’s going to be hard. But whatever I do today, it will be a marathon PR for me. I can live with that.

Ah, irony.

I didn’t remember until I finally got around to writing a recap of week 10 that my last post was titled “Protecting my Investment.” Oy.

Thursday of last week I headed to Pawleys Island, SC, for a Liberty Fellowship seminar. I have been looking forward to it for months—the fellowship is a part of the Aspen Institut, and basically each seminar involves me sitting in a room with a bunch of awesome smart people talking about interesting shit all day and then spending all night eating and drinking and reliving our youth. Like going back to college. My one concern was trying to keep my running going—the schedule is intense, and I do NOT like running at night. Especially on desolate barrier islands with narrow, windy roads.

As soon as I got there, I was shown to my cabin, complete with outdoor shower. An earlier version of me would have freaked about this arrangement, but I was surprisingly excited about al fresco bathing and rustic quarters. I through my stuff on the bed, changed clothes, and went out for a run. My schedule called for Yasso 800s, but I didn’t have time before dinner for all the repeats, so I just ran really fast for about 3.5 miles and called it a day.

Saturday, my only option for running was at 6AM. Although I was staying right on the beach, I opted not to run out there because there are a bunch of groins in the sand that stick up, and I was afraid I’d trip and kill myself in the dark. That left running on the aforementioned narrow, windy roads. In the pitch black, no street lights dark. Eesh. I used my phone as a flash light and took off. I learned quickly to hold the flashlight away from my body so that I wouldn’t keep getting scared by my own shadow. Still, I managed to be petrified. Did I mention I’m afraid of the dark? Like, for real? Yeah. Things were going fine until a car passed me and then stopped about 300 yards away. It just sat there. As I got closer and closer, I got more and more freaked out. At some point, I just folded and bolted back toward the cabin. Again, another speedy morning.

Sunday called for 18 miles. Which was absurd, since I was supposed to be ready to go for the seminar by 9:30 AM. I roped one of my fellow fellows into getting up with me, and at 6AM, I set off in the dark with my friend Pat. He hung with my for about 4 miles. by that time, the light was coming up—I was fine running alone after that. I ran the full length of the island twice, which comes out to about 13.5 miles. Given the circumstances, I thought that was pretty damned good.

So what’s the problem? Sounds like I managed my limitations pretty well last week, no?

If only.

Monday, when we realized we had a whole 2 hours to ourselves, my friend Amy and I decided we would go riding together. Exciting! I had ridden my new bike a couple of times in my neighborhood, but never with a friend. The problem is that when I get really excited about stuff like that, I become a total moron.

Twice before I ever even got to her house (6 doors down) to pick her up, I fell off of the bike while trying to clip in. The second time, I felt a twinge in my left ankle, and I skinned my knee up, but that was not about to slow me down. Amy’s gravel driveway, on the other hand, slowed me down considerably when I fell on it ON MY BACK while trying to stop. When I stood up, my knee was bleeding like mad, and the twinge in my left ankle had become an angry pulse.

So, obviously, I rode a few miles before giving up. Just to be sure I was really hurt.

That night, I shed a fair number of tears. Thinking about how hard I’d worked to get to this point, wondering how I could have been so foolish as to risk it all on a single bike ride. But my friends were amazing—plying me with advil and ice and pillows and beer.

I took most of this week off and only tried to run for the first time today. Things are still a little tight—my entire body is covered in vicious bruises—but under the circumstances, I’m fine. The schedule says 5 for tomorrow and 20 for Sunday.

We’ll see. I think it’s about time to start hedging my bets.