WEEK 1
Triathlon training for the Life Time Minneapolis Olympic distance triathlon begins. I have signed up for an 8-week training program, which began two weeks ago. I am late to everything. Three days a week (Tuesday, Thursday, Sunday) I will meet with
Coach Mike, the rest of the training is emailed to me by
Coach Troy via Training Peaks. I have never been coached before. Not sure I am coachable.
WEEK 2
I sign up for Master’s Swimming because there is no way I will motivate myself to do the extra swim workouts on my own. Coach Barb picks up every last detail of my poor technique, which she had worked very hard to correct last year (how can that woman see underwater like that?).
WEEK 3
First week of summer. All kids home all the time. I am terrified. I attempt to conquer the fear by becoming hyper-scheduled. On paper my training will look like this:
Monday: Strength train during gymnastics lessons. Swim during their swim lesson.
Tuesday: Early morning workout with coach.
Wednesday: Run with The Boy in stroller while girls on bikes.
Thursday: Early morning workout with coach. Strength during daughter’s martial arts.
Friday: Get sitter for bike ride on my own. Yoga when possible.
Saturday: Off or yoga.
Sunday: Early morning workout with coach.
Could this look better on paper? This is how week really goes.
Monday strength workout: orthodontist visit that goes longer than expected.
Wednesday run: where did the time go?
Friday bike: pediatrician visit instead. The Boy claims to have inserted the booger from our Operation game into his nose. The pediatrician extracts a long, green, squishy booger--just like the one from our Operation game--but this one is biological and belongs to him. I have missed my bike workout and I am raising a pathological liar.
WEEK 4
Had a great 28-mile bike ride on Sunday but now my spine feels like a stack of Legos and I live in fear that a 3-year-old will take pleasure in knocking them over. I do my strength workout in hopes of calling on my core muscles to DO THEIR JOB.
The little green booger from the Operation game turns up. The Boy sticks to his story and claims it came out of his nose. I am still skeptical. This is the same child who denies pooping in his pants when the smell clearly implicates him.
I keep looking at the training plan that comes via email with every intention of doing the workouts I am supposed to do on my own. But don’t. I keep them, though, because I might get to them later in the week. (Isn't that funny? Forever optimistic.)
At the end of the week I get in two 20-mile bike rides. I remind myself the Olympic distance bike ride is almost 25 miles. My back hurts too much to go on. The problem, I am sure, is my bike and not my 43-year-old body.
WEEK 5
A good friend from Texas is spending the week with me. This is the friend who introduced me to triathlon 20 years ago. I forego the scheduled training runs and enjoy fun runs with my friend. In lieu of pain killers and muscle relaxers I make a batch of sangria that I drink with my friend on the porch late into the nights.
I have to skip the coached workout on Thursday to take friend to airport. I have only five days to get in serious training before leaving for another five days for a family trip. My body feels too broken for serious training. Not sure I want to do the race anymore.
The bike fit guy at the bike store tells me my bike appears to be adjusted properly but that if I have not ridden my bike much (true that) my back might hurt some until I get used to the position. He suggests stretching more, something I have done not at all the last five weeks.
Sunday I ride the bike course with a big training group. Have a blast. Run 3 miles of the course. Feel great. Decide doing the race is not all or nothing. Switch to sprint distance race. The anxiety disappears. I feel trained for the sprint triathlon. Excited again.
WEEK 6
Do lunges, squats, push ups, and plank during kids gymnastics class while the other moms sit in chairs and watch their kids. I am not self-conscious about this at all. I could not sit still and watch for an hour if you paid me. Plus, must send more love to my core. Wake up core! Stick with me!
On Tuesday swim in open water. If only I could swim in open water with just three people. Three nice people who give me lots of space. Water is smooth glass. Sunrise fills me with hope. Hope is not the same as stretching.
The training emails keep coming. I start deleting them before I read what they say.
On Wednesday drive to Wisconsin to spend five days with family. I do a 20-minute open water swim on my own without freaking out. Brother-in-law guides me on a 23-mile-ride on the roads around his cabin. Great to have company, a change of scenery, to feel like I have gas in the tank, to jump in the lake, to play. Briefly second guess switching to sprint race.
Because I have missed two group workouts this week I attempt a ride on my own on Sunday. Haven’t slept much in last few days due to sharing bed with small children, intense heat, too many yummy cocktails mixed by my sisters-in-law. Force myself to ride 15 miles. The same distance as the race. I am reminded the sprint distance is plenty.
WEEK 7
Have last group workout on Tuesday. We tell Coach Mike we want to sleep in on Thursday. He complies. Nope. Not coachable. I decide the money is still well spent due to all the fun I've had with my training group.
On Wednesday planned to run with stroller but borrowed a Burly from my neighbor and ride with kids through the Arboretum instead. We have a blast. But it is not “training.” I realize I don’t need a race to motivate me to be active.
Thursday sleep in. Go paddle boarding with friends. It is not training. It is pure bliss.
Forget about mandatory packet pick up on Friday at expo. Think this could be deal breaker. I want to skip driving four kids downtown more than I want to race. I tell them to put on their swim suits; that we are going somewhere fun after. They want to know where we are going. I say it is a surprise, but really, I have no idea.
They are delightful angels during the expo and make me signs while I wait in line for my packet. Grateful no one kidnaps them while I am gone. Triathletes are good people. We stay longer than anticipated because we are having fun raiding the Cliff Bar booth of all samples and buying cute new headbands. Must make good on surprise, so take them to an aquatics park on the way home. They love me for this. I love them no matter what. I try to stay submerged underwater so my legs can “rest” in the cool weightlessness. The only way a mom on duty can “put her feet up.”
RACE DAY
Decide I can’t take my apathetic attitude to the race with me. This will be my only race of the year. Plus, someone I care about can’t do the race. Perspective. I GET to do this. There is absolutely no reason for me not to give it 110%. So I do. Even pee my pants on the run, by way of proof. (For the record, this was not due to a weak pelvic floor, rather choosing to skip taking a pit stop in order to finish faster. This is a sign of a veteran triathlete not a woman who has birthed four children, although I am sure there is some gray area here.)
The race, especially now as a mother, is easier than training for the race. Oh how I love getting to that finish line!
Posts
