Yesterday I went for the longest run of my life -- 9 miles. If you had told me before January 2005 that some day I would run 9 miles, I would have laughed my ass off. If you had told me that some day I would run 9 miles, then climb into a tub of freezing cold water and marinate in it for 10 minutes, I would have started to cackle till I fell over mid cackle and continued cackling as I rolled around on the ground for a while.
In case it's unclear, that's exactly what I did yesterday (only after having swum for 45 minutes at 7 a.m. on a Sunday and only before an hour and a half of yoga and in between consuming three times my body weight in food).
It's torture. Just look at this gnarly rugby player who is clearly struggling with the overwhelming urge to jump out of his ice bath, chase down his trainer and beat him/her to a pulp. I decided to endure the torture simply because getting out of bed the day after a long run was even more torturous. I was going to try icing all my joints (knees, hips, ankles) instead, but that just seemed like way too much of a pain. It does seem to make a difference, even if every child within a three block radius has been corrupted by my copious amounts of swearing during the immersion process.
Besides, if Runner's Magazine says it's so, it must be!
Monday, March 26, 2007
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Redefining sexy
The fashion and cosmetic industry experts would you have believe that a woman is most attractive and alluring when she's swathed in the latest haute couture and painted to perfection. I have to report that a little spandex, a sports bra and copious amounts of sweat have always produced more consistent results for me!It never ceases to amaze me the reactions that my workout attire, messy hair and flushed face can elicit from the male population in my neighborhood. They stare, they whistle, they yell "hey baby" and "good lookin'". Tonight I got a few calls as I walked from Riverside to my apartment and another "hiii, darlin" once inside my building. When I walked in, I immediately went to the bathroom to blow my nose for another 10 min, but when I looked into the mirror my hair was a sweaty, awful mess.
Now, I believe I look good in my running clothes (that's my standard running ensemble pictured there, minus the hat which was a celebratory flourish for my New Year's run in Central Park) but I have no illusions about my overall appearance. Looking in the mirror tonight just confirmed my suspicions that men could care less about your face or your hair or your expensive shoes. They just want to see some curves!
Monday, March 19, 2007
Back in the saddle
I've been completely knocked out by a cold for the last week and completely avoiding my blog for the last month. Five days with no exercise. It's been quite a while since that's happened! Tonight I climbed back on Rocinante for a light 60 min spin during my Northern Exposure viewing in the hopes I might sweat the last of this cold right on out.
I remain unconvinced that my exercise alone is going to do the trick so I just added some NyQuil to the equation. I must type quickly now before coherent thought becomes an impossibility.
These five days have also provided me with an opportunity to really examine my whole triathlon quest. The first few days I was racked with guilt over the workouts I was missing, as though a few days without biking, swimming or running were going to land me back at square one after months of diligent work. As my cold continued to get worse and I began hurtling toward total despondency, the girlfriend stepped in with some sage words, "Baby, it's supposed to be fun."
It hit me like a ton of bricks. I choose to do this. Presumably, I choose to do it because I like it. No one makes me do it. I'm the only one who cares if I miss a workout - the only one who'd be crying on race day if I didn't cross that finish line. While my friends and family cheer me on, they only care about how I do because they know I care.
The question is, am I having fun crossing that finish line? And more importantly, am I having fun during the long quest that it takes to even reach the starting line?
Those workouts where you can feel your fitness building are definitely fun. Even the totally exhausting, pushed yourself a little too hard workouts are fun when they're over and I know I toughed it out. What isn't fun is the guilt whenever I miss one. So I'm saying to hell with the guilt.
If life gets in the way of a workout because I wanted to hang out late with friends or take advantage of some event in this wild, crazy city, then so be it. If it means I don't cross the finish line on race day, then I'll know it's because something else was more worth my while. If the only thing I can say about six months of my life is "I did a half Ironman" then that is NOT time well spent in my book. And I accept the consequences of that decision, with a smile on my face.
I remain unconvinced that my exercise alone is going to do the trick so I just added some NyQuil to the equation. I must type quickly now before coherent thought becomes an impossibility.
These five days have also provided me with an opportunity to really examine my whole triathlon quest. The first few days I was racked with guilt over the workouts I was missing, as though a few days without biking, swimming or running were going to land me back at square one after months of diligent work. As my cold continued to get worse and I began hurtling toward total despondency, the girlfriend stepped in with some sage words, "Baby, it's supposed to be fun."
It hit me like a ton of bricks. I choose to do this. Presumably, I choose to do it because I like it. No one makes me do it. I'm the only one who cares if I miss a workout - the only one who'd be crying on race day if I didn't cross that finish line. While my friends and family cheer me on, they only care about how I do because they know I care.
The question is, am I having fun crossing that finish line? And more importantly, am I having fun during the long quest that it takes to even reach the starting line?
Those workouts where you can feel your fitness building are definitely fun. Even the totally exhausting, pushed yourself a little too hard workouts are fun when they're over and I know I toughed it out. What isn't fun is the guilt whenever I miss one. So I'm saying to hell with the guilt.
If life gets in the way of a workout because I wanted to hang out late with friends or take advantage of some event in this wild, crazy city, then so be it. If it means I don't cross the finish line on race day, then I'll know it's because something else was more worth my while. If the only thing I can say about six months of my life is "I did a half Ironman" then that is NOT time well spent in my book. And I accept the consequences of that decision, with a smile on my face.
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