I am a wee bit sick. Not horribly sick, and I’m mostly feeling better; but not at the top of my game. In addition to the mild chest cold that I’m on my way out of (but whose effects will likely last forever and ever amen if I don’t take it easy on my lungs which are prone to bronchitis and pneumonia), we’ve been having a shitty winter.
The Weather Channel rated Portland as the US’s most miserable city for the 2016/17 winter so far. (Not that we’re colder or have more snow than you – I know we don’t – but we have so much more cold or snow than we’re used to, and I don’t care who you are, that’s miserable.)
These two items in conjunction with the fact that I signed up for not one, but TWO races, is what leads me to believe that I’m dealing with a conspiracy theory.
2016. I signed up for two races. I paid to do a women’s running group. I attended the first two meetings. I got the ‘flu, even though (like every freaking year), I’d gotten the flu shot. I was so sick that I was hallucinating from lack of sleep. I couldn’t even begin to run again until well after the first race (a 5K) was over and the second (a half marathon) was quickly approaching.
2015. I signed up for five races. (An indoor tri, a sprint tri, two olys, and a 70.3). I secured the services of the best coach in these here You-Nited States of ‘Murica. I placed 2nd in my age group in the indoor sprint tri. I immediately got a sinus infection and double pneumonia. Oh – and strep throat. AT THE SAME TIME. I did manage to do the second race I was signed up for, but just couldn’t get ‘er done for anything else.
Now – getting sick once as I begin a rigorous training schedule might be chalked up to an accident. And twice? Totally a coincidence. But three times in three springs? (This time, I feel like the weather started it, but when I made noises about heading to the gym to run on the treadmill, my body said, “Fuck this shit!”)
And just in case you’re disinclined to believe me, in 2010 when I’d started training for my second marathon I hurt my foot so badly that I needed surgery. In 2011 when I started training for my (still second) marathon, I got pregnant. THAT WAS NO ACCIDENT! (Heh. See what I did there?)
2012 was kinda a wash, what with my dad dying and my kid being born, and the debilitating post partum depression.
What I’m saying is that my body is extremely opposed to training. Or rigor. Or any kind of physical motivation.
In fact, it seems to like sitting on the couch, arguing with misogynistic douchecanoes on the internet, and
drinking wine eating fruit salad best of all.
Solution? Probably not continue to sit on the couch, arguing with asscandles on the internet (I’ve gotten one death wish and one FB block…I could strive to do better).
I told my PSM the other day that what I really need is for someone to invent a moderation pill. I’d be first in line to sign up for the clinical trial (that’s not an immoderate response, is it?). I just have no chill. I’m either all in or all out. I did my yoga as promised Monday – and accidentally found the hardest hip opening hatha class in existence. So when I realized how hard it was going to be, did I (a) stop the class and find another, easier class, (b) modify the harder poses to be gentle on my body, or (c) push as hard as I could because this gazelles doesn’t quit?
Yeah. Obviously C. Could I move my legs without pain yesterday? No. No I could not.
I’m sure I’ve blogged about my struggle with moderation before. Things have not noticeably changed in the…ever since this has been a problem.
So, wise internets…what would you do? Continue to make ridiculous training plans that are impossible to successfully complete and then give up entirely when you fail? Skip that first part and go straight to the giving up entirely, but with wine?
If you are an immoderate person, how do you force yourself into moderation?
Speak to me! Tell me the solution that I can implement immediately, thus making myself a 123% better person by the weekend.
Follow me on social!