I’m generally a happy person, but for the better part of the past two months, the joy factor was unusually, and inexplicably high. I felt satisfied, patient, excited. I soaked in it, knowing that these things ebb and flow. This past week, that good old ebb came around for a visit.
It’s not as if I’m suddenly sad—more of a shift from happy-go-lucky to frustrated, as if clear skies grew suddenly stormy. It’s more a feeling of urgency and impatience, a harder feeling than melancholy. This too I am trying to accept and acknowledge, and not squirrel it away as I’m prone to do. I’ll withhold the details, but that’s what’s up in HT land.
One perk of this new “energy,” for lack of better word, is that when channeled into training, it has produced unusually high motivation levels. After a slight dip in volume for Coast Ride recovery, I jumped back into the swing of things almost immediately. This past week, however, was just downright strange: I woke up before 6 am to train every single day. As a result, I went to bed around 9:30 every night. And here’s the zinger: Not a single alcoholic beverage passed my lips Monday through Wednesday (the pattern was broken Thursday with a much-needed happy hour with a favorite friend). This unusual blend of mood, sleep, and diet kept the fire burning unusually hot all week.
Compartmentalization always intrigues me. We have so many selves: relationship self, career self, triathlon self, inner self. How can certain selves feel so healthy and harmonic, while at the same time, another can feel wound so tight?
Anyway. My triathlon self is doing just-peachy-thank-you-very-much. So peachy that our little three rider pile-up (thanks to an old couple who should not have been operating a vehicle) five hours into my six hour ride yesterday didn’t phase me much.* A couple scrapes and bruises, one dysfunctional rear derailleur, and an hour of unplanned big-gear work later and I was out on my 20 minute brick run happy as a clam. Today’s 10K PR (43:55/7:04 pace) at the Cardiff Kook wrapped the weekend up nicely as well.
For now, I’ll run with that.
*The irony is, I didn’t want to do the Boulevard road race again this year for fear of crashing before Ironman South Africa. Turns out I can crash right here in North County! And yes, we got their phone number.