Missing the Motivation

...to race, that is. I think it basically comes down to stress. There is a degree of stress that goes into racing, good stress most of the time (eustress, for the technical types), even when you are in tip top shape and eagerly awaiting your chance to go. The details of final preparation, gear checks, lists, a slight fear of the pain you will inflict on yourself. 

I know I don't have a necessarily stressful job, or at least one that involves deadlines or public speaking. Except, on second thought, I do have to feed the toddler every single day before he gets cranky, and I am talking constantly to an audience (edit: I'm answering questions. There are so many questions about the world to be answered. Some questions I've never pondered before, and then some answers I may get slightly wrong. Like why it gets colder in the winter--it's not as simple as I made it!). There is an increased level of stress involved in the care of little children, and I do work very hard at it. I find myself avoiding participation in races this year, just because the stress is too great given the reward of finishing another race with a ho-hum result. If I could really do something fantastic on my 6 hrs/week, I might change my mind. 

I am, on the other hand, really enjoying triathlon training itself. Group rides, a "super brick" on a Saturday, yeah count me in! I want to be part of that, and I'll even try to beat you on the one mile all out brick run, but strap a chip on my ankle and I am out. 

For now you can find me out running with the stroller up monster hills (I mean, 450ft of climbing in 3.3 miles?! WTF), then relaxing in the dirt or sand, with a glass of wine in one hand, and a bulldozer in the other. 

Big, 

Or small

Even in the rain

Best day ever: backhoe working right across the street (AND it's garbage day)

 

Why I Run

The short story is this:

Yeah I know, the helmet. It's an 8-year-old's!

The details include this:

What happened was an (of course, self-proclaimed) awesome hit straight to the "pitcher," who wasn't supposed to be making plays. 

It was the 8 year old nephew's baseball team against their moms, one sister (Em), and an aunt (me), and the coach was running the pitching machine. But that's ok because I got a hit every other time at bat, scored, and only got that one out. 

However, a very terrible play that was luckily not caught on video was the fly ball that I had like 30 seconds to get in position for, and I still missed it. 

Jenny about to score. 

Jackson on third hoping to get his mom out. 

Emily hitting another one. 

And that is why I run. At least the toddler seems to have gotten his dad's coordination and not mine.

It's a Germ*

My toddler sleuth managed to find that one germ leftover from Jeremy's GI virus a few weeks ago, and apparently he ate it. So recovery from my half marathon pains consisted of a couple of days of spinning on the trainer, with intermittent (unsuccessful) dodging of a little person's vomit, followed by a few days of my own toilet hugging. The thing about a baby's stomach bug is that they don't know what's about to happen, so they don't warn you to watch out, or even
to carry them away from the bed. Poor sweet baby boy, he was so scared the first time it happened, he ran away from it. But after a couple practice rounds I could get him to laugh about his tummy saying it didn't want all that stuff in it anymore. We took lots of baths and read lots of books and I even let him watch lots of Mickey Mouse (while lying on a very protected couch).

He seemed to get back to 100% pretty quickly, and just in time for his birthday week!

My one year old (for 3 more days!) grows up a little more even during short naps. It's incredible. He doesn't just scribble anymore. He did this all by himself and then said, "Apple. With a stem on it."

We constructed a cardboard box playhouse that we have been decorating. Mostly with eggs of his, but we all chip in a little. Like the egg above the door? "Jenny drew that egg," Hunter told me. 

This one started out as an egg, then he kept adding to it until it was a kitty cat waving with one arm, and holding an egg with the other arm (bottom right corner). He is finishing up the whiskers. 

He can say about a million words now, and in 10 word sentences. Mostly commands. I told him one night if he would get in bed I would tell him a story. He said, "Mom, just say story now." He especially loves his animal stories, though he has combined a few I've told him and talks about how "Ladybug kitty cat fell in pool. Nana got her out with raft!" Well ok. That's how stories are passed down in history. 

And his counting! He counts everything. "Eighteen, nineteen, leven-teen!!" He is possibly adding as well...TBD. And he's too big for his britches. I asked, how old are you going to be on your birthday? He answered, "Four."

I didn't miss running at all this week, I didn't think about swimming, but I did finally have enough energy on Saturday to go outside for a ride in the sun. There is a hill that winds up the river bluff on the north side of the river that I always see other bikes on. It's not much of an incline compared to our NM mtns, or very long, about 250 feet up in a mile, but it's a good steady smooth road that ends at an old military facility/ now VA hospital. Or so I thought it ended. There's a path that goes along beside the campus that I just had to ride along, and found that it curves along the ridge of Big Rock Mountain, which has a shear cliff dropping down to the river. I rode a few miles along it stopping to notice the view of the entire city, the river, and the distant hills. Even panoramic pictures don't do it justice. 

I still don't miss running but with the warm weather and daylight savings this week I may change my mind soon.

*I totally identified with Seinfeld's David Putty on this particular episode.

A week's rest

Just taking a week off from running can really mess with your head. Partly it was the way I felt about running this past week: I couldn't fathom enjoying it, and it made me start sweating just thinking about it. Or maybe that was the fever breaking. I took 2 days completely off from exercise other than the usual Hunter chasing and lifting and playing, started back swimming, then rode, and took another day off. During that time, I would forget that it was the sickness talking when I worried that I was headed back toward 2009-10 shape (which was sickly and pitiful).

I'm planning another sweltering bike ride for today, but with plenty of water, and I may get up before dawn tomorrow to attempt the run (who am I kidding? 8am will be good for me). So I'm one week down in my half marathon training, with zero miles to show for it. Better now than race week. 

Competition Motivation

This job has given me another new perspective on exercise, performance, fitness, GROUP fitness, and motivation. Everyone who is active duty in this branch (well, any branch) of the military is required to take a fitness test at least once a year. It is an interesting study of sports psychology --particularly motivation. A lot of these people's sole motivation is to keep their job and/or rank, an external reward. A large number of these people hate running. They get no internal satisfaction from getting out on the road and using their own energy to move; there's no happiness that comes from pushing past limits; they don't get that accomplished feeling from finishing a tough workout successfully. How miserable must running be to them!

I'm thankful I enjoyed running even before I found out I had to take the fitness test as a job requirement. So I'll admit to doing a few pushups and a minute or two worth of situps in the weeks leading up to the test. I even went out and ran the 1.5 mile on the track to make sure this wasn't going to be an issue. After all, the 7:10 pace I needed to run to get maximum points is significantly slower than I've run, oh, 8 and a half times that far (half marathon). It was easy. Regardless, the looming test was starting to stress me out, and I finally pinpointed why. I've spent the last year or more calming down my competitive side, which used to be key in my motivation. When you can't manage to perform at even a fraction of your previous ability, it's something you have to do. Anyway, as the test got closer, I started feeling some competitive energy from some girls who were also testing. They're in good shape for the average person, but far from competitive athletes that I'm used to getting whooped by. The pressure was on to max out the test. And for the nervousness I felt, you'd have thought it was a championship race. And I didn't like the feeling. I didn't like the competitive energy, I didn't like the pre-test jitters, and I didn't like all the talk of how I was going to "do just fine." I finally came out of my self-depreciating shell long enough to verbalize that I'd run a half marathon at a faster clip, only to get a mild ridiculing for it.

It turned out to be an easy test to max. I did a few extra pushups and situps, just for good measure, not to rub it in to the competitive girls who failed to max pushups, of course. That my scrawny little non-swimming arms could endure longer than theirs actually was a surprise to me, since they are the self-labeled group fitness "Divas." I think the mentality around these parts is that the number of group fitness classes -- in particular, spinning, body pump, and yoga -- that you can complete in a week is the barometer of fitness. Extra points if you taught them.

After being pushed into attending the body pump instructor training, I quickly realized that I am not a group fitness instructor at heart. I do love teaching spinning, but I like to teach how I ride, and it's not like an aerobics class. I have enjoyed attending body pump classes, but that's where it ends. I don't want to spend my time learning counts to a bunch of songs for body pump; this isn't making me smarter, it's just wasting my time. I think people assume that athletic types are automatically fitness fanatics. There's a big difference. I'm going to have to work on changing my label around here.

This weekend will be the first real race of the year. It's another reverse triathlon, like I ended my season with last year, but shorter. I've always considered my strength to be specifically running off the bike, which means my edge has been taken away. But that's how it goes around these dry parts. I better work on making cycling off the run my thing. I would like to forewarn the faster swimmers that contrary to what the race information suggests, I will not be stopping at the end of the pool lanes to let faster swimmers go by. I'm just not doing it. Nobody pulls over to the side of the road and lets the faster bikes go by, even when it's congested. No fair.

I'm excited to pull out the new Zipps and race gear for a real test of my fitness. I think.

Motivators

Less than two weeks after our city's new all time low temperature record of -17F, we got to 75 Sunday and today, getting the husband and me out on our actual bikes. Outside. It hurt in all the usual places, like quads, butt, and neck. We both seem to be suffering from a bit of Winter Neck Syndrome, where it hurts to keep holding your head up after a long winter of no bike riding.

Shortly after getting back from our hill repeats tonight, my new wheels arrived at my door! Thanks to my awesome teammate who switched from 650 to 700 wheels this year, I got only slightly used, incredibly fast, best wheels without a motor-- ZedTechs. And they match my bike.

My new job, even though not physically demanding in the least, has been a major stress to me. There are things about it that have me waking up in the middle of the night too uptight to go back to sleep. This is something that has never happened to me before, and while I realize now how lucky I've been all these years to avoid it, I'm not enjoying the morning hangover feeling that follows. 

But I'm still working on getting up to swim in the mornings. It's been a hard change. I'm trying to remember my new favorite quote from Nancy, "Change is hard. Drowning is worse." Nothing like fear of death as a motivator.

Missing. Reward.

LOST:
One pair of running legs, 1977 model. Short, stocky, top-heavy, a nice shade of winter white. Small dent in left one. Usually very responsive to requests to run faster. Can stay on pace for numerous 400m repeats or during Ironman marathons. Last seen Nov 1, 2008 in Panama City. Owner is distraught over loss. Reward or trade for pair of sitting legs.

Goals

This past weekend was filled with all things marathon. First I met up with fellow blogger chicks for some pre-race (or pre-spectating) carb loading at the warehouse of spaghetti on Friday. Angie left before the picture to get Duane home for a pre-marathon sleep. We didn't forget her, and held a sign up for representation. Here we have Damie, Mira, me, Laura, and Sam.


Saturday was a long day of bike riding, cheering, chasing Olaf around town, shivering in the cold, more cheering, riding with marathoners to the finish, and a little more shivering. It was fun watching Olaf, Sam, Laura, Gina, Lindsay, Steve, Layla, Cayce, Duane, Lisa, Casey, Rachel, Carolyn and the other 10,000 runners strive to meet their goals. The goals ranged from a 2:50 marathon, to PRing in the half despite sickness, to finishing a first full marathon. It seems to me that just about everyone whose goals I knew of met them.

That got me to thinking about my athletic goals. I'm scared to admit them most of the time. If I have a real, true, deep-down dream goal, I almost never say it aloud. If I do verbalize a goal to anybody, it's a goal that I'm pretty sure I can hit. I'm not pessimistic about my abilities, I try to be more realistic. Why is it that most people are not scared to share a dream goal that they may fail at meeting? What's so hard about letting people know that I am disappointed in myself sometimes? And what's wrong with being disappointed sometimes?

At work we teach about setting SMART goals: goals that are Specific, Measurable, Attainable, Rewarding, and Time-oriented. If you don't make goals attainable, then you'll end up disappointing yourself when you don't reach them, right? But in running, is this really a bad thing? Maybe sharing goals will keep me accountable for actually training to meet those goals.

I mentioned to Damie last time we were at track and running a 7:00 pace that I'd like to run a marathon at that pace. But I think I'm scared to actually try. I know it's a way-out-there goal for me, but if I really worked for it, I don't see why I couldn't do it. Come to think of it, I just might be scared to run another flat out, stand alone marathon. I'm pretty sure I could run faster than the only one I've done, which was 8 years ago, and is now only 3 minutes faster than my Ironman best marathon. But how much faster? 5 minutes? 20 minutes? Oh it sounds so painful!

Thanks to everyone who shared their true goals this weekend. I'm getting my motivation back thanks to you.

It is a most mortifying reflection for a man to consider what he has done, compared to what he might have done. ~Samuel Johnson, in Boswell's Life of Johnson, 1770