I had a lot on tap for last weekend. Thursday I volunteered at my favorite homeless shelter (can you have favorite homeless shelters? And it’s really a long-term transitional shelter), and although I slept through the night, which was a nice surprise, that means I got 5 hours of sleep. Luckily, I was working from home on Friday, so I took an hour-long nap when I got home. Then I let Katie drag me out for a swim workout, which I took kind of easy because 1)I hate swimming and 2)I was racing this weekend!
Friday night, Wes was playing at Iota, and my parents were coming to watch the show. Except Wes didn’t go on until 11. And my parents got caught in traffic, so I didn’t really eat dinner. I’m ashamed to say that when we got back into the car at 12:30, my dad was like, “Here’s a pack of Twizzlers. Want some?” and I almost bit his hand off.
Then, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but it was hot Saturday. Like heat index of 108 hot. So my running partners wanted to meet at 6 to get the run over with. Which meant another night of 5-hour sleep. Luckily, I’d been banking up my sleep all week (or something) because I felt much better than I ever expected to. We got out there in the heat, I tried to eat some extra calories, and we got through 13 miles in just over 2 hours. It’s a little slower than I like to run, but when it’s 85 degrees and 70% humidity at 6am, you do what you can.
After the run, Coach George came over and told me to please strongly consider dropping out of the race that night. Homeboy didn’t even know about the triathlon the next day. So I figured I’d skip the tri and get some sleep, but still do the race. But George’s exact words to me? “You’re going to dig yourself into a fatigue hole so deep that it will take you days to come out of.”
When I related that story over breakfast, Wes and my dad had a field day with the idea of fatigue holes and dubbed me The Fatigue Mole, because, according to Wes, all I do is dig fatigue holes.
My parents left at 4:30 or so, and I went and laid down–and passed out until 6:30. When I woke up I was feeling shaky and groggy and dehydrated. So I decided to skip the race. I put on my CAR gear, but slipped into my trusty Lunarglides instead of my new Omnis, so I wouldn’t be tempted to run, and Wes and I headed out to Crystal City to cheer on our friends.
And sure enough, the announcer counted down to race start, and I stood along the side holding my bib and chip in my hand, I wanted to run SO BADLY, but I was wearing the wrong sneakers. So I took some pics instead.
Afterward, Olympian Brian Sell was signing autographs. The line was shockingly short, but I didn’t really know what I would say to him, so I just creepily took some pictures and walked away.
I don’t think his eyes normally look like that, but it was dark.
Anyway, yadda yadda yadda, we went out to eat at Baileys, which was a shit hole with ZERO vegetarian options, and even though we got a big discount on our check, that did not make up for the fact that I sat there for two hours looking at a guy wearing a shirt that said “$5 Footlongs” and had an arrow on it. Let’s just say he’s lucky I was in the middle of 8 people on a bench or he probably would have had my crappy mahi mahi sandwich in his face. Or at least had to defend his choice of shirt to the humorless feminist. But he got away with it, and Bailey’s stole two hours of my life that I will never have back.
Sunday I was pretty wrecked from days of weird sleeping, so I slept in and declined Katie’s offer of a bike ride to run 3 miles on my own. Which was probably a good call, because while she was fending off bees and rogue gravel patches, I felt good and went for 6 miles. By the end I was really feeling the heat, but an ice bath and another nap and the Tour de France helped me out.
What’s that? I was supposed to run a triathlon on Sunday morning? You’re right. But then I figured I’d been sleeping so terribly, and I hate swimming, and there were jellyfish in the bay, so I’d better not do it. But then when I missed the race, I decided I would do it after all…except then I realized that I’d never gone to pick up my packet. D’oh!
So the fatigue mole took a little break this weekend. I kept telling myself it was all in the name of Boston. That this way, I’d be all ready for the 45-mile week coming up.
How about you guys? Do you ever do something when you know you shouldn’t? Ever talked yourself out of a race and not regretted it?
And…just got back from the nutritionist! Stay tuned for a post about my new food plan!