Don't Talk About it . . . Be About It

This is my new motto.

What the bloody hell does this mean?, you might ask. Well, it's gonna take me a minute to get there, so bear with me.

I haven't been around a lot lately. If you have been stopping by (and I owe a large part of my ever-fleeting sanity to those of you who do), you'll notice that, while I'm updating my dates and workout log, I haven't really been journaling. It's not because I haven't had a whole lot to say about my training, it's just that I haven't really made any of my characteristic entries reflecting on those training-related revelations. This is due in part to internet and computer access issues, moving and closing madness, and loss of ability to sneak on at work. And (I know you're thinking it, so I'm gonna say it), I've also had a lot of drama, and I've been pretty wrapped up in that.

I made the mistake of celebrating while training and stressing, somwehat like a newly-released inmate (or a college freshman, to use one pal's analogy), and it didn't go over too well. Don't get me wrong. Training never stopped for the drama. I continued to labor through it. I never had any real "off" weeks, but I had some seriously slow weeks. Training "unofficially" started the week of Christmas, and "officially" commenced on December 31; however, for several weeks during January, I made only one or two workouts, and on a few weeks, I made only half of some of those. But even those days are long over.

My former boss told me that I don't have enough people in my life that are hard on me. Well, nothing could be farther from the truth. Over the past few turbuent months, I've gotten more lip from more friends and accquaintances than a cosmetic surgeon at a Botox-and-collagen party. Anyone who's known me longer than 5 years knows I've only gone from one relationship to another ONCE - and it ended up in divorce. As stupid as some of you may think I am, I'm not stupid enough to repeat the mistake. Nor am I in a "downward spiral." If the word "rehab" comes out of my mouth, you can bet that it's completely in jest. If it comes out of someone else's, that's another story. A very wise woman - and she knows who she is - told me in no uncertain terms to put on my big girl panties and deal with it. Well, the actual advice went something like this: you've made your lists, you've pissed and moaned, you've reveled in all the bullshit you've experienced. And yes, it's bad. But you have to move on. In other words: put the stick down. The horse is dead.


I heard you loud and clear.


The past 2-3 weeks, I've been gradually picking up the pace. I made every single one of my 9 workouts last week. I splurged on a Polar 200SD and a pair of fins. I finally replaced the New Balance 767Ws that got me through last year's Oly, Half, and Philly training (and the races). I've learned to keep my cadence in the 90's. My swims regularly get into the 2km range. Gone is my "windmill" stroke. My shoes, swim gear, bicycle pump and rack, shower and workout accesories, and an entire spare kit of makeup LIVE in my car along with a bag of Gus, Clif Shot mix, vitamins, 5-hour energy shots, yoga mats, water bottles, several gallons of water. I've made friends with the girls in the Vipers, the kids' swim team at the Y on the side of town where I'll be living in about a week. (By the way, I've seen 4 of the Ys in my area, as my attitude has been "I'm going to work out wherever the f*&^ I am.") I even got a decent-quality, fold-up, travel-size hair dryer with attachments for doing my hair both curly AND straight - and am going to start carrying my flatiron around with me too - so I have NO excuses not to go straight to/from the gym and home and work, including lunch break sessions if need be. And every single one of my friends knows that, if they want to see me, they have to do so on a rest day, after a workout, or they have to suck it up and work out with me, at the expense of completely getting their ass kicked by a fat chick. (I'm not saying I'm all that fast, it's just that the average exerciser among my friends is a 3-5 day-a-week walker, some of them just venturing into 5ks. We were all there once, and we all appreciate a warning, when we go out with someone who trains for 2-3 hours a day and has 9 workouts per week, that we might get our ass handed to us. Believe me, when my Iron-distance friends deign to work out with me, I get my ass handed to me on a regular basis.)


Which brings us the long way back to my opening statement: don't talk about it, be about it. And that's a fun way of saying that I've been too busy actually being a triathlete to talk about. Although I enjoy journaling, and I'll continue to do so (though the frequency may not reach its former peak), you won't be seeing as much of me. I wish I could be as cool as Tea and IMAble and Duane and all of you whom I admire so much, but I can't.

Just don't worry. If you don't see me here, it's because I'm out on the bike, in the pool, or breaking in my latest pair of 767w's.