Case in point, this weekend I was cleared to get back to training so I decided to act as if I had taken no time off and did not just have surgery.
On Saturday, Run Buddy and I decided kind of last minute to try a bike ride, so I powered up with a hearty breakfast of half a banana (Exhibit A of RBR Brilliance)
We headed out with no clear plan of what we were doing in terms of distance or where we were going. As is always the case when I train with my uber-competitive Run buddy (ok, I am a smidge guilty of it myself) we head out WAY too fast. I think initially we were both thinking we would do about 20 miles to get back into it, but at 10.5 miles out we stopped to access where the hell we were (translation: we where a teensy bit lost. Oops) and how far we wanted to ride today and me saying this ride was harder for me than I had hoped for.
This lead to full scale, semi-hysterical, laughing/crying breakdown on the side of the road (I know it is an odd response, but it is how I roll. *shrugs*) about how there was NO WAY IN HELL I could get ready for a full iron triathlon by the end of July, yet I had to train for it anyway because my hubby wants me to and thinks I am capable of anything seemingly impossible, and he will be spending this summer going through radiation treatment, and I do not want him to think for even one second that he was in any way the reason for, what I am certain will be come to be known as, "RBR's Iron Failure Numero Dos"....
Breathe RBR, breathe. *wipes snot on sleeve*
My Run Buddy starts punching me in the arm to make me stop crying saying that was her big brother's answer. This made me laugh and compose myself.
But now, angry at myself, I decide we are riding farther (Exhibit B of RBR Brilliance) I powered down ALL of the nutrition I brought on this ride, three Cliff Shot blocks (umm...yeah Exhibit C of RBR Brilliance)) , and we headed out to do thirty miles. Still lost, we finally figured out where we were going and at what would be the turn around for about a 32 mile ride, Run Buddy says, "Lets keep going for an even 35"
Sure. I am not going to be the one that pussed out, so we keep going. (Exhibit D of RBR Brilliance)
After getting lost AGAIN, we turn around, and 40 miles later we are home. By this time we have both bonked due to piss poor nutrition, are barely able to stay upright on our bikes, and our communication has been reduced to grunts and snotty looks at each other.
This has lead to a great debate in my head. A debate on which I would appreciate the thoughtful reader's opinion (yes, that means you).
1. Continue this charade. Train my heart out knowing that the likelihood of me being able to complete Vineman at the end of July is about the same as the likelihood that I will be selected as the next spokes model for Levi's skinny jeans and let whatever will be, be on July 31st (and can I add a hearty "Fuck you" to whatever soulless asshole brought the little slice of hell called "skinny jeans" back in fashion? They look good on approximately 0.00076% of the population and that number drops dramatically if you exclude people under the age of 14)
I did not make this image, but I could have. This is the oh-so-flattering ice cream cone effect of skinny jeans.
2. Drop back to Barb's Race 1/2 Iron for July 31st and register for Redman Iron distance on September 25th.
3. Forget this whole stupid pipe dream, sell my bike to go buy more donuts, and take up needlepoint as my new hobby.
Ok, I guess that is not really an option, but this is a funny needlepoint. For more like this, go here www.subversivecrossstitch.com. Hysterical.