Week in Review: April 23 - April 29, 2006

All figures in minutes, unless otherwise indicated

Mon (scheduled): Swim 16, Bike 28
Mon (actual): {}

Tue (scheduled): Swim 21, Run 16
Tue (actual): Bike 30, Swim 25, Run 30

Wed (scheduled): Run 6 miles
Wed (actual): Run 6 miles

Thu (scheduled): Swim 26
Thu (actual): Swim 26

Fri (scheduled): Bike 53
Fri (actual): Run 33

Sat (scheduled): Run 26
Sat (actual): Bike 70

Total time: 274 minutes

Becoming Who I'm Meant to Be

I get so restless with the process of self-change. I feel very deeply that I'm moving toward something -- different, important, destined. In an email I sent the other day, I likened it to the process of a sculptor. . . but I am the marble. Everything that is not essential to who I will end up as, is being chipped away.

But you cannot rush a sculpture. It risks a crack in the marble, and ruin.

I've been reflecting on this passage a lot lately. And trying to look around more. Appreciate the journey for what it is.

"Above all, trust in the slow work of God. We are, quite naturally,
impatient in everything to reach the end without delay.

We should like to skip the intermediate stages; we are impatient of being on
the way to something unknown, something new. And yet, it is the law of all
progress that it is made by passing through some stage of instability...and
that it may take a very long time.

And so I think it is with you, your ideas mature gradually -- let them grow.
Let them shape themselves, without undue haste. Don't try to force them on,
as though you could be today what time (that is to say, grace and
circumstances acting on your own good will) will make you tomorrow.

Only God could say what this new spirit gradually forming within you will
be. Give our Lord the benefit of believing that His hand is leading you, and
accept the anxiety of feeling yourself in suspense and incomplete...


Above all, trust in the slow work of God. We are, quite naturally, impatient
in everything to reach the end without delay.

We should like to skip the intermediate stages; we are impatient of being on
the way to something unknown, something new. And yet, it is the law of all
progress that it is made by passing through some stage of instability...and
that it may take a very long time.

And so I think it is with you, your ideas mature gradually -- let them grow.
Let them shape themselves, without undue haste. Don't try to force them on,
as though you could be today what time (that is to say, grace and
circumstances acting on your own good will) will make you tomorrow.

Only God could say what this new spirit gradually forming within you will
be. Give our Lord the benefit of believing that His hand is leading you, and
accept the anxiety of feeling yourself in suspense and incomplete... "

Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
(From a letter to his cousin Marguerite Teilhard, July 4, 1915 in The Making
of a Mind: Letters from a Soldier-Priest 1914-1919, p. 57)

There Is Such a Thing as a Tesseract

Remember how, like, one whole post ago, I was saying that I swam 400 yards at one time and was halfway to being able to cover the distance I needed to swim for my sprint tris?

Well, apparently someone folded the string under this little ant, because today, I EASILY did 800 yards. With a HR of 132 (calculated sans HRM, because it is so very dead).

I seriously cannot stop smiling.

YAY! / BOO!

#1:
I successfully resisted spending an obscene amount of money on very, very cute clothes at the trunk show that I went to last night. My bank account says: YAY!

This is totally because the line was cut for a “European style,” per the saleswoman. Apparently when one says “European,” one means “willowy, with a French aesthetic” and not “squat, with a Slavic aesthetic.” Thick-waisted, big-hipped girls (that is to say: me) are notsomuch the market for this particular designer. My self esteem says: BOO!

#2:
I swam 450 yards without feeling like I was going to die during my training swim yesterday morning! That’s the typical sprint-tri swim leg. I might be able to do more than just drag my water-logged carcass from the water and limply drip-dry through the bike leg! I might even be able to meet my goal of finishing the swim with a heartrate in the 130s! My motivation says: YAY!

I do not know what my heartrate was when I finished the 450, because when I consulted my HRM after my warm-up, I noticed that it had swallowed a big gulp of water, which was burbling contentedly in front of the LCD panel. My Polar Pacer says: BOO! (And also: glurb!) (Also, also: both my sprints have 800m swims. My drowning-averseness says: BOO^2! Which is pronounced “boo to the 2,” if you must know).

#3:
Spring weather. My mental health says: YAY!

Allergies. My head and throat say: BOO!

#4:
Took a quickie run along the lakefront yesterday with Portly Training Partner. It was so beautiful to watch the waves crashing over the rocks and splashing up onto the path that we were running on, showering us with liquid diamonds. My soul says: YAY!

Realizing I need to be able to swim half a mile in that in three short months. The butterflies in my stomach say: BOO!

#5:
Ran six PAIN-FREE(!!!) miles at lunch today, in gorgeous, 60-degree weather, with a perfectly clear blue sky, past budding trees and gardens, in a gentle breeze. Veeg says: YAY!

Um. . . did you not just read what I wrote? How could there POSSIBLY be a "BOO!" there?

Week in Review: April 10 - April 16, 2006

Monday (Scheduled): Swim 14, Bike 29
Monday (Actual): Swim 15, Bike 29

Tuesday (Scheduled): Swim 16, Run 14
Tuesday (Actual): Swim 20, Run 15

Wednesday (Scheduled): Run 4M
Wednesday (Actual): Run 4M

Thursday (Scheduled): Swim 20
Thursday (Actual): Swim 25

Friday (Scheduled): Bike 48
Friday (Actual): [crickets]

Saturday (Scheduled): Run 24
Saturday (Actual): Run 4M (40:30)

Sunday: off

Scheduled for this week:

Monday: S14,R14
Tuesday: S19,B29
Wednesday: R5M
Thursday: S23
Friday: B48
Saturday: R3M
Sunday: off

The Secret

I kept reading, asking, chasing. . . looking for The Secret. The one that would help me magically get comfortable in the water and feel the way I was supposed to feel.

It occurred to me this morning, as I chanted through the start of each new lap ("Relax. Slow down. Let the legs come along for the ride. High elbow. Relaxed forearm. Drive the hips. Hold the water."), that I'd stumbled across it. Or rather, I'd stumbled across the fact that there ISN'T any Secret.

There's only this: Preparation. Execution. Repetition.

The search for The Secret. . . that's all just Preparation. The mental warm-up. Workout foreplay. The head-space counterpart to laying out underwear, shoes, goggles, swimsuit, shampoo, and then putting it all my bag every night before bed. It doesn't NEED to be done, but it makes all the difference between a half-assed effort and a fulfilling one. Any plan is better than no plan.

Execution, of course, is putting the plan into practice. Execution is what gets me from reading about "shark-fin position" to actually slicing my arm into the water instead of slapping it down like my bicep's doing a belly-flop. Execution is the place where I feel like an idiot and look like a dumbass. Often. Until one day. . . I don't. Not because I discovered a secret. Not because of Magic.

Because of Repetition. Y'know in Kill Bill, when The Bride rams her fist into the board over and over and over again? Yeah. It's like that. Except with less blood. And no Pai Mei (which is really too bad -- my life could use a little more Pai Mei). When Preparation and Execution are mindful, Repetition slowly works on breaking the board in front of you. Until one day, you slam through it, as though you'd been able to do it all along. Then you glance around you in a brief moment of triumph until you notice that there's another board in front of you. And it starts all over again.

Preparation. Execution. Repetition. That is all I have. But it is enough.

Other People's Tears

I wake to gentle patter -- rain and Steve Innskeep. Four miles on the schedule. First morning to break 60 degrees this year -- couldn't let it go to waste just because of a little drizzle.

Feet on the floor, butt out the door.

The splish-splashing of the raindrops in the puddles creates a lovely light show with the help of the streetlights. The warm air smells like moist earth and wet asphalt. There's more than a little bit of a headwind on my out-and-back route. More than enough to steer the raindrops into my eyelashes. The water drips from lashes to eyes, stinging them with sweat, leftover mascara, and other less-familiar pollutants. The droplets dribble out my eyes, down my face.

The deeper breathing, the hint of rawness in the back of my throat, the burning eyes, the wetness trickling down my cheeks -- it's almost an exact physiological replica of crying my eyes out. But I feel no fear, no sadness, no loss, no frustration at my impotence.

A woman floats into my mind -- her voice raw, eyes puffy, shoulders bent with weeping. She's so lost, at the bottom of herself, feeling that she has no more tears to cry. I feel an undeniable certainty that I'm meant to help her. That I'm supposed to get strong to carry her burden for her. This is what God -- what the Universe -- what I mean for me to do.

I WILL be strong. I will lift her up. And for today, I will use the rain to cry her tears, so she can begin to move forward.

I didn't blow off my workout this morning.

This is bigger news than it might seem.

You see, the switch from daylight-saving time to standard time is kicking.my.ass. Especially in the morning. And at night. . . well, the temptation to finish "just one more thing" is even HARDER to resist when I'm not that tired yet. Feeding into the vicious circle of being "too tired" in the mornings. Yadda yadda yadda. . . excuse, excuse, excuse.

So, I stayed up until well past midnight last night, working on writing the hour-long talk that I'm supposed to give on a women's retreat weekend next month. And doing laundry (including folding! And putting away!). And cleaning up the kitchen. And all manner of other things which (of course) need doing, but are not getting me any closer to my training goals for this year.

When 5:15 rolled around and the dulcet tones of NPR drifted from my alarm clock, I felt a very strong urge to hit snooze and snuggle deeper into the covers. I thought, "It's just one workout. What difference does it make if I just do 30 minutes of training? In the grand scheme of things, it's no big deal. I can do it tonight after volleyball! Or, I could run at lunch and then just swim tonight. Or, I could run at lunch and switch my swim until tomorrow. And really, 15 minutes of two skills is not going to make or break me. Right?"

And then, clear as a bell, a voice from somewhere that was both outside myself and deep within me said, "Do what you're meant to do."

Feet on the floor. Butt out the door.

And the swim. . . did not suck. (The swim is actually getting better every time I do it, which is exciting! And motivating! And drowning-free!). The run totally DID suck, but only because I was stupid about hydration and very under-rested. And really, in hindsight, it only sucked for the first 10 minutes. I do believe there is much wisdom in Wil's theory.

It was only one tiny step. But it was in the direction that I mean to go.

"The will to win means nothing without the will to prepare." ~ Juma Ikangaa

On deck

Here's my proposed training schedule for the week. One day at a time, baybee! (Note to Pony: the shoes are at left. My soleus and calcaneus lurve them. The skin of my arches is slightly less-enamored. Also: I totally am saying your name in my head like something out of The Outsiders: "Poooooo-Neeeeeeee!")

Mon: Swim 14 min, Bike 29 min
Tue: Swim 16 min, Run 24 min
Wed: Run 4 miles
Thurs: Swim 20 min,
Friday: Bike 48 min
Saturday: Run 34 min

Happy six years

"I never made promises lightly,
and there have been some that I've broken
But I swear, in the days still left
We will walk in fields of gold." --Sting

Happy sixth anniversary to my Weez. Thank you for all you've given me and forgiven me.

And one more guess.

Guess who doesn't hate the swim any more?

A Guessing Game

Guess who ran last night? Guess who could still walk this morning? Guess who loves the ever-lovin’ heck out of her shnazzy new running shoes? Guess who just put together her (probably too-ambitious) training plan?

Guess who knows deep in her bones that this is definitely going to happen, and it is going. To. Rock.

'Bout damn time.

So. . . one month later. And I'm back. The Achilles is still twinging once in a while, and I haven't run more than 100 yards or so on it yet, but I'm biking. And swimming (not drowning!). And lifting.

Yo, VIP. Let's kick it.