If at first you don’t succeed…

Guess I survived yesterday’s non-workout — inspiration hit in the late afternoon, and I downloaded Beck’s “Loser.” Loud music while singing “Soy un perdedor, I’m a loser baby, so why don’t you kill me” was just the thing. Mostly I was distracted by other work, followed by a pretty lousy night’s sleep. Then the alarm blaring at 6am. Never one to risk injury by leaping out of bed too soon, I crawled out at about 6:30, and slithered down to the magic coffeemaker, which has its own alarm that wakes it up to make me coffee while I oversleep.

I’ve dried out my clothes in the dryer, but the metatarsal pads in my shoes are like sponges, and both pairs are still really wet. Well, nothing for it but to stick my dry feet in there and try not to think about it too much. I get out to the bike path by 7:30. Its in the low 40s, foggy, misty, and damp, but no actual rain. I set out for a 5k warmup with flexibility drills. Then I do 2k loops for 22k, averaging 7:36/km. I’m really feeling it by then, but the hardest part’s just starting: I’m supposed to push the pace for the last 8k. And I do, from 7:36/km to 7:22/km. I was pretty beat, things were aching, seemed like surely I’d get out to the turnaround point and just be stuck there, a kilometer from my car, and have to crawl back. Started thinking about how my schedule really said “32-35k” so even if I stopped, I’d still have completed the schedule, so what was the big deal?? Then I thought about yesterday’s cut-short workout, and how I’d been unable to shift gears partway through, and just told myself “Don’t stop!” Focused on how stopping was a change, so it was easier to just keep going. Reminded myself this was the LAST 35K!!!! before the race, told myself it would all be easier after this. (This one didn’t work — my next thought was, “race?? No f*cking way I’m doing the race!” ) Told myself if I had to crawl back, I’d crawl, it wouldn’t kill me. Then, the incredible relief of crossing the edge of the path and being done.

At home, I weigh myself: 3-4 pounds less than the start of the workout. I drink some water, the rest of the coffee, grab some cheese and crackers, throw on dry clothes, then jump back into the car: its the first day of the winter quarter, and I have to get to class! I’m right on the edge of not being good to drive, but I make it in, then see that my class is in the furthest building from my office, so I shuffle my way diagonally across campus, looking 5 ways before crossing, and stopping at the flashing “don’t walk”‘s since I’m not sure I can get across fast enough. Its just like the last leg of my workouts, when I have to get back to my car: I don’t feel okay enough to make it, but I don’t see any alternative, so I push till I make it. Its not exactly optimal workout recovery, but thankfully my colleague does the stand-and-talk part today, I don’t have to lecture, I just sit with an ice pack on my foot, feeling everything gradually tighten up, trying to convince a brain cell or two to fire.

Now, sitting at home, digesting two plates of lasagna, it hits me: I did it!!!!

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