It is safe to say that in general, I have no idea what the fuck is going on.
Not in like my life or my job – both of which I still have and therefor consider myself a rousing success at decision-making.
However, with all the decision making prowess that comes with being a success at living (beyond the involuntary function of breathing) and being a success at my career (this includes a range of activities that go from “not getting hit with an errant sports ball” to “making massive communications decisions for a highly visible, front-facing University department*“), sometimes I make questionable decisions in triathlon training.
*this means double-checking copy to ensure that I’ve not written a stream of obscenities.
I’m on day two of a recovery week, and before I go into the bullshit of that … I want to officially come out as a “Recovery Run Denier.” You want to talk about bullshit – the concept of a recovery run. Is that like being “a little bit pregnant.”
Like go eff yourself training plan … EXCEPt that GOD DANG It, it seems to work, and manages to flush the lactic acid out of my body so I can perform the next stressful work out optimally.
I’m annoyed that I have to do them. I think it’s false – a placebo. And organized religion of running that makes you do stupid things like speak in tongue in an aisle or run 2.47 miles in the woods behind your university, get absolutely lost and almost start crying only to have your friend come find you because you managed to wear a highlighter yellow t-shirt.
Obviously the above example is a hypothetical and I did not actually cry in the woods behind USM. I merely thought about crying.
Anywho.
As I’ve previously mentioned (and you reader definitely pay attention to everything I write), I am undertaking a much higher volume training plan, and I’ve just come off of a build phase which BECAUSE I AM SO LUCKY happened to coincide with the busiest three weeks of work this academic year.
It was or has been a challenge, but I’ve done a good job of managing it all, and as far as I can tell I didn’t commit any crimes. But as I may have subtly alluded to, it was not without its moments of near tears, wanting to take mid-work day naps (which is a super hard thing to do in a noisy press box – also I shouldn’t do that so I didn’t), and questioning WHY IN tHE HELL DID I SIGN UP FOR AN IRONMAN?
But I made it (through this round 😑), and I am, like I said, in a recovery week. HOWEVER, I’m quickly realizing that is about as sensical as a recovery run.
Yep, after a well-earned rest day yesterday (in which even my training plan was like “Bitch, you tired. Be extra lazy”), my first workout of my low-volume week was a 1:30 brick … 30 minutes on my bike in Zone 2, and then a one-hour run with 6×2:30 ZONE FOUR speed intervals.
HOW IS … How … How is this recovery? Eat a bowl of turd training plan.
Anyway, I begrudgingly got on my bike, cruised along at ~16mph in Scotland (Zwift is neat), and then put on my running shoes (an older pair because my current pair were still soaked from my 10-mile run on Sunday in the rain – that is another blog post entirely 🌧️🌧️🌧️🌧️) and headed out the door.
First of all, I live in some sort of hill vortex, if I go right, I go immediately steeply downhill and then have to run up hill forever, and if I go left I immediately have to go uphill – so what I am saying is I live in the running hell mouth.
But back to my run …
After my 15 minutes gradual warm-up my watch beeped at me to “get fucking going” and I got myself into my desired pace and turned my volume up so I wouldn’t hear my breathing.
I did this successfully each interval and on the fourth one, the one I was convinced I would struggle with because of the incline and being “le tired” as the french say, I absolutely crushed it (WE ARE CHOOSING to ignore the wheezing sounds I made) and I was feeling very good about myself.
Yes! Sunday’s long run felt really good and strong, and now this BS interval speed sheeeeeet was being mastered. I am the greatest mediocre athlete to have ever lived!
Anyway, I banged out the fifth with equal success and entered into that final recovery period ready to nail number six and so when my watch beeped I was ready to take off and win the day!
And then my brain misfired, and I hit pause and end run.
Like involuntarily.
I was still running.
Honestly, I don’t know what happened but I do know that in general I have no idea what the fuck is going on.
Long story short, I didn’t even realize what i did until glancing down at my watch to see it was stopped.
So, there you have it. I have learned nothing, and I have no idea where I am.
Cheers to another six days of “recovery week training” before heading into the final 10 weeks and beginning my race specific training. Also for context, recovery is 8 hours of training, and next week will be just under 14 assuming I swim fast.
Cracolici Does An Ironman 