What do you say when there's nothing to say? Or, maybe, it's because there's everything to say?
I don't know what happened this year. I had things I wanted to do, races I wanted to race ... but perhaps I didn't want it badly enough. I'm pretty sure I touched on this earlier this year, but it is entirely possible (quite probable) that after 100 or so races, the finish line didn't mean enough anymore.
A year or two ago, at the former Tuesday Evenings at Skirt Sports series, Siri Lindley spoke. Siri, if you don't know, is a former pro triathlete and current high-profile triathlon coach. She's coached Hillary Biscay; she currently coaches Mirinda Carfrae (and, if you're not a tri geek like me, you may have seen Brian Aubuchon's story around IM Boulder of a guy who kept trying and failing at the distance (though he finally finished IM Mont Tremblant)). A big thing she (and indeed, most of the world) mentioned was finding your why. Why you train. Why you race. You need to figure out your why because it is your why that keeps you going.
I have to admit; I struggled with this more than I possibly should have. At the time, I said I train because I like the race - that the finish line feels like no other. I race IRONMAN because I actually like the marathon part. I'm not competitive (except with myself) and I know deep within that if I can just get to the run, I will get to the finish line (and nothing is like an IRONMAN finish line. Nothing.). But ... if that's the finish line feeling I love ... and if I'm not always racing 140.6 miles at a pop ... why am I racing at all?
This personal existential crisis, combined with frustration about climbing weight and a run that kept getting shittier and shittier (seemingly) no matter what I did ... well, I guess it's no surprise that everything exploded this year.
I started the year just fine, like I usually do. I think. As far as I can remember. But looking back, I can tell the fire just wasn't there. I recall at one point in late May, I believe, trying to cram for my sprint tri (that I DNFed), that I just wondered what I was doing. I know I didn't have purpose and that I was trying to force it.
So, I quit. I decided to move if it felt good, ate whatever, went hiking a lot, tried playing hockey again.
And it was fine, for a little while.
But I know that eating whatever will cause me to gain weight and I am not happy with how squishy I am. How I'm thankful I pretty much live in athleisure (Skirt Sports for the win) because most of my regular clothes look like absolute shit on me. I thought I bottomed out in September, but as not much has changed, clearly not.
And then I wonder, what is wrong with me? No, seriously, what the fuck is wrong with me? I hate being slow, I hate being squishy ... but apparently not enough to want to change? Am I just going to have to learn to choke down green juices and kombucha and quinoa kale salads and beets and all the things that are super healthy for me but trigger my gag reflex when I try to consume them? I cannot tell you how many times I've made protein pancakes and tried to eat a whole serving before giving up and throwing them away because my throat revolted when I tried to make it swallow another bite.
Our bodies have a funny way of recognizing trauma, and I think mine remembers 2007. Back in 2007, I was working at 24 Hour Fitness and in general, feeling pretty shitty about myself compared to all my coworkers. My birthday gift to myself that year was the bodybugg (hey remember that?). That whole summer I remember being obsessed with hitting the numbers. Spending hours in the gym (partially training for my first triathlon which was a lone bright spot that summer). Obsessively tracking my food to make sure I ate enough protein and stayed within my fat range. As I (kind of) joke about it now, I lived on egg beaters, oatmeal, fish, and vegetables. I ate low-fat/fat-free cheese (which is an abomination) and turkey sausage. If I were to do anything like, god forbid, eat ice cream, I would either work out extra to compensate or go to the ColdStone a mile and a half from the house and walk there and back so that it would be okay.
I also remember not losing weight, no matter what I did. Not losing the inches. I remember being absolutely miserable around everyone. It is why, to this day, I hesitate tracking my food closely because I fear/believe it will send me straight back to crazy town.
But if I was miserable with my physical body then, and I'm miserable with my physical body now ... does it matter how I'm miserable? Should I just fight my gag reflex and my taste buds and forcefeed myself to stomach the aforementioned healthy foods because at least then I'll be healthy while I'm miserable?
How bad do I want it? How bad do you have to want it? How do you change it into a lifestyle? They say it takes 21 days to make a habit. I went two or three months without a day off from working out - that should in theory mean that working out is a habit, right? But then I got a little sick. I hopped back on the train when I was better, and that worked for a week or two ... but then I got the flu and right as I was maybe starting to get over that, we went on vacation. Since then, it has been damn near impossible to get back going again.
I have plans, big plans, for 2019. A half-marathon in April, a 70.3 in June ... and in September, I plan on returning to the 140.6 distance at IM Wisconsin. I also am planning on doing a 10,000m swim (okay, 10,100m) for my birthday (instead of a 100x100, I'm doing a monster pyramid of DEATH set because I love me my pyramid swims). I have all of my long run, swim, and bike distances planned out from the first week of January all through IMoo. I have my training weeks planned out through March.
And it all fucking terrifies me. 2019 is the first year in a long while where I look at my hopeful, proposed schedule and I feel nothing but trepidation and, if I'm being honest, a little excitement. That little excitement is what I'm going to cling to, desperately, to be able to survive.
*****
I'm not even sure if that was coherent, or if it had a point, or if it had a flow. I just know that I needed to get it out.
And if I had 2018 goals ... I know I probably missed every single one (except my sub-goal of riding outside every month. That one I hit. Proof on the Instagrams). And that right now, is okay. Because it has to be.
The lede is buried at the bottom (but that's fine because this is not a news article in which the entire thing is summed up in the first 25-word sentence, which I know you understand): You have that feeling of trepidation-slash-excitement. If you had only said that you feel trepidation, I'd worry you were already overwhelmed. And if you had only said that you feel excitement, I'd fear you were lying to yourself.
ReplyDeleteWhen I was a kid, I LOVED performing but got terrible, paralyzing stage fright that ruined piano recitals and dance performances. It took years to learn that I could redirect most of that anxiety into a nervous excitement. Eventually, I could get through a whole performance and even win speech contests because I had made myself believe I was feeling excitement rather than terror. Was I lying to myself? No, I was merely learning that I could redirect myself -- and I think I was also learning to believe in myself.
It's not easy to refocus your outlook and feelings, but I think you're well on the way there. And if you want some accountability help, I'm happy to be a fellow cheerleader. (But I cannot guarantee that I'll be coherent or typo-free, especially if I just worked a 12-hour shift and haven't slept in 25 hours.)
I'm glad you found a lede because I wasn't sure I actually had one there. :-p
DeleteI will always take accountability help/cheerleading. :) I'm also hoping (*crosses fingers*) to do a weekly recap blog of what's been going on in the world of training like I did when I first trained for IM back in 2013. I have them all scheduled in my planner, so in theory, this plan should work!