25th February 2017
Two unusual things about this weekend: I was on the telly last night. And I’m going to participate in a triathlon tomorrow. #Truefacts. Oh, and I’m blogging. But that’s more an aberration than merely unusual. (Sorry Emma). Blogging focus of late = nil. Training focus of late = not much better. Focus on muscular thighs = extreme. 😀
I’d love to tell you that my silver screen appearance was in a feature on heroic mothers who have made mercy dashes to save their children. (Herbert cut his chin at school, so I did have to take him to hospital for a few stitches).
But no – that wasn’t it.
The reality is I went to Suncorp. I nearly typed Scunthorpe. But that is the town in the UK from whence I came. Suncorp is the stadium to which I bussed.
So, if you happened to catch the Reds’ match on TV, you will see me. Looking focussed.
The Grumpster needed to reward himself. After all, pulling off his part-time husbanding stunt was pretty epic. Thus he is a Reds member now. And because he wanted a friend to go with, young Herbert is too.
Anyone spotted the deliberate mistake?
But there was a small spanner in the works of their manly pursuits last night.
Herbert has taken a secret liking to debating.
With his newfound, vast teenage knowledge on ALL THINGS and coupled with his ability to argue the toss ON ANY TOPIC ad nauseam, he’s found debating to be more up his street than he expected.
His team had a match last night, and whilst he allegedly made an effort (half-hearted at best, to my mind), he was unable to be spared. His team were able to successfully argue that they regretted the recent census… (I felt sorry for the opposition having to defend it).
I got to cheer for thighs.
My focus on triathlon training leaves room for improvement. More blue tape, than blue steel…
And I’ve noticed this is a bit of a pattern. The closer I get to the pointy end of the training programme, and the event is looming, my training turns to shite.
Before my first Raby Bay, it wasn’t too bad. I was sufficiently motivated by fear of drowning; I stuck to the plan.
But that then set up my current dilemma.
I did so much better than I had imagined possible, I’m now daunted at the prospect of living up to my own achievement.
So, self sabotage happens. With bells on.
When my knee felt a wee bit sore, I gave myself permission to rest. It was alarming the speed with which I got from twinge in knee via permission to rest to the bottom of a bottle of wine. For 2 weeks. Including no swimming. Because, well, we all know that swimming really stresses your knee…
To be fair, it is now a blue taped knee. After avoiding training, quite fervently (so that I didn’t have to answer tricky questions about why I still hadn’t been to see the physio) I finally booked in and got to see the wonderful Anna. Who figured out that my ITB is a bit inflamed.
Did you know that the Swedes are genetically programmed to be amazing at massage? Well, I think this must be the case, because – oh my – Anna can winkle out tight spots with her elbow! (Go to Body Leadership people – they are awesome!)
So, my knee has some strapping. I have permission to race on Sunday (#damnit) and then a review next week.
I have issues with the statement “trust the process”.
I have trust issues. Mostly with myself.
And I’m really not keen on process.
But wise coaches use this phrase. A lot. Trust the process.
Trust the training process. Follow the plan. (And secretly – just between us – I do like structure). I like the structure a plan brings to my training, to my week, to my life.
And back at the start, I did trust the process. Or at least I stuck to the plan. And then I shocked myself with 1 hour 30 minutes for my initial sprint triathlon. I didn’t drown. I didn’t fall off my bike. And I ran 5km faster than I had done in about 5 years. It hurt more than I expected, by the way. 1 hour 30 minutes isn’t fast. But it’s pretty respectable. And I was proud of myself.
For 8 weeks leading up to tomorrow, I did follow the plan. I did trust the process.
Then I got scared. I mean, my leg started hurting. And I rested. With a wine glass in my hand.
I’m not even scared about tomorrow’s race. (Well, it’s not my main focus of cowardice). Mooloolaba is my real fear. My first Olympic distance.
(I’ve run 10km twice in the last forever, so the thought of pulling it out of the hat after a 40km bike ride in a couple of weeks is daunting).
Has it been enough? (Not the wine….) The training I did.
Tomorrow I will have to focus on the power in my own thighs, forget the blue strapping and remember that there will be no televised photo finishes as I reach the finish tape. 😉 Tomorrow is just about fun. A morning with some of my favourite club mates. #sbtc_greenarmy
PS. Massive congratulations to Melissa on your Tweed achievement. It’s seeing what happens when you’ve trained consistently and with focus that reminds me to recommit, so thank you for being both awesome and inspiring. xx