Ironman Arizona was 2 and a half weeks ago. I've now been back to work (in my office) for a week. Every day in the 2 and a half week, every single day, I've had to explain to someone what happened. I have accepted what happened that day from the very beginning, in fact, probably before I actually missed the cut off, I had prepared myself for this. And I also knew from the very beginning that I was going to have to tell people. And that telling people was going to suck. And I was fairly certain of the responses that I was going to get from people. From my endurance athlete friends, they surpassed the anticipated support and comfort offered. Occasionally, from my non-endurance athlete friends, you get the deer in the headlights look. I've told them what happened, and they really didn't understand what I was doing in the first place, or what it really meant. So then to hear that I wasn't successful is baffling to them. They REALLY don't know what that means. This is also, occasionally, amusing. But far more frequently, it's frustrating. I understand that people mean well when they ask about it. But it's getting really freaking old. How much longer am I going to have to answer this question? Days, weeks...MONTHS???
In an attempt not to go bat-shit crazy, pull my hair out, or beat anyone who might ask me the dreaded question with a 2x4, I am instead using this as motivation. Motivation in the form of "I never want to answer this question ever again, so I'm going to make sure I don't have to" type of motivation.
I knew long before the race that I wanted and needed to take some time off. Other than when I was recovering from surgery, I haven't really taken time off from working out, or at the very least, given myself permission to take time off...so I wouldn't feel guilty for not working out. I gave myself 2 weeks, and then a week of transitional time (which we're currently in the middle of).
The two weeks off were...somewhat fantastic. I wasn't at home, which was fine. I spent time with family, I ate pizza and cookies with great pleasure, and I had some very lovely wine. I gained weight, and I knew at the time what I was eating was going to make that happen. And I gave myself permission for that to be ok. So what happened at the end of the two weeks? I came back home, and felt like crap because I had been eating pizza, and other assorted yumminess and stepped on the scale. My first thought was "huh, I didn't gain as much as expected." Ok, so it was 4 pounds.
I immediately got back on the wagon of eating healthy (except for one, well deserved evening where I consumed a mostly liquid dinner with two of my favorite people...and the following day where the fastest way to feel better was to eat some greasy food). I even did my first official, structured work out this week. And it felt great.
So, at the moment, I'm feeling a bit of...what's next? Where do I go from here? Well, my winter goals of strength training and swimming are still at the top of the list. And I need to make a more structured training schedule for myself. Nothing super intensive, no two a day workouts. Something manageable, but productive. Any maybe throw in some stuff that isn't swimming, biking or running. *gasp* Maybe doing something else that -
Sorry...my mind began to wander. And I found myself incapable of finishing that sentence. It's purely to blame on sentence structure because I was thinking "other things that make you sweat" and in my head I was referring to cleaning my apartment (because mopping floors can be hard work). And then I listened to my own sentence in my head. And now I'm sure you're thinking it too.
You're welcome :)
It's funny, one would think it's the physical trauma that your body needs the most recovery from. And while your body does need rest, I often think/wonder if it's the mental recovery that takes longer. I know I definitely need the time. And I'm looking forward to checking off a few of things on my "when I have time, I should really..." list.
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