I just got my butt kicked by my new coach, and he wasn’t even at the gym with me. I suspect that if he had been supervising me in person rather than my subconscious, I would have had to crawl out of there on all fours rather than limping slightly as I did.
My warm-up started with the rowing machine and I was panting within 2 minutes. 20 minutes felt like an eternity. I stared intently at the digital display, mentally willing the time to move as fast as the meter counter. No such luck, but by the time it was over I at least had my breathing under control and wasn’t as concerned about passing out. I thought briefly about calling it quits right then, but the fun was only beginning.
Flutterkicks. I despise flutterkicks. Leave it to an Army Ranger to slip those into the mix, and first item of business no less. The first set of 20 were bearable, but by the third set my legs felt like concrete blocks and I’m certain my feet weren’t anywhere close to 6 inches off the ground, which is one of the first phrases bored into your memory at basic training. My push-ups were pathetic, though the one redeeming item of note was that I was able to progressively increase my ratio of “real” versus “girly” push-ups. I used to rock the push-ups in my PT tests back in the day, but it’s finally sinking in that those days were a really long time ago.
The core exercises weren’t much better, punishing me for all those Girl Scout cookies I inhaled in the name of supporting my troop. The sounds of Lifehouse and the Chili Peppers took me back to the last time my core got so much attention, more than a year ago when unemployment gave me the freedom to go to the gym every day with a friend; we would push each other to do a little more or try something new. The piece of paper on the ground next to me that contained my routine wasn’t nearly as convincing. Going forward, seeing results will be the motivation I need to keep at it, this time’s just for the right to say I finished.
The last item on my list was my choice of pull-ups or chin-ups, as if one is somehow more appealing than the other; Coach was even generous by only requiring 5 of them per set. I am not tall, and I carry the bulk of my body weight in my lower half, so I was doubtful but in the spirit of the moment wanted to at least give it a shot. I eyed the bar above my head, and even though I could reach it with my fingers, it seemed like it was at least a foot over my head. After a couple lousy attempts, the best of which pulled me a measly couple of inches off the ground, I called it quits. Those feats of strength will take some time to master.
This was my first assignment: it was supposed to be a mostly "core and light leg workout" to see where I’m at and what I’ve got. It turned out to be a sharp slap of reality with the clear message that I’ve got some serious catch-up work to do. Especially humbling is that the workout was pegged to be at an intensity level of 4, on a 9 point scale. I don't want to admit what I would have really rated it for at this point in time. And this is the first workout; it’s only going to be more intense when he’s actually in the gym with me or gives me a serious routine!
I can’t believe I have so far to go already; it feels like just yesterday I was sailing over the finish mat in Tempe. Now I’m already battered and honestly just plain out of shape. Just about everything is sore now, to some degree or other. But as I reflect on the soreness, I realize that even though it hurts at first, it’s not a crippling pain. And it will continue to subside as my muscles rebuild and I grow stronger. I’m still taking it easy on the feet and not running, but I can continue to focus on my other muscles in the meantime so that when the time is right I’ll be ready to take on the road again. I just have to get out of this chair first...
Friday, March 25, 2011
Friday, March 18, 2011
A New Course of Action
I went to the pool this week, the first time in a very long time. As I looked at my legs through the water they seemed especially pale, and it seemed I had lost quite a bit of my muscle tone. Or at least that's what it looked like through the greenish tint. My teammate had showed me her regimen already handed down from our coach, who I haven't met with yet, and the concepts buzzed through my head as I quietly let it all sink in while she got started. I've never put this much thought into swimming before, though it makes perfect sense. Counting laps and timing them, marking the starting point to be able to document progress; this certainly appeals to my nature. Before I was just concerned about form, with the hope of not getting so tired (or drowning) during the swim portion of a triathlon, and I've never tried to correlate it with the pressure I put on myself while running to obtain a certain race time that's dependent on maintaining a set pace. I'm sure I'll get more excited about those parts when I do get in the pool with our coach, but for that first day it was just about seeing where I'm at, what I've got in me to get from one end of the pool to the other. It wasn't even a very big pool, only 25 meters, but considering how long it had been since I last swam, it felt a lot longer than that.
I can get talked into most things, which is how I ended up at my first triathlon, the West Plains WunderWoman, in August 2008. I had high hopes going into that, not to place but to have it at least fare well; I had taken swimming lessons with a friend and we went for one long (more than 10 miles) bike ride. What a terrible experience. First I had to get off my bike and throw up on the side of the road thanks to the harsh lesson that you never try anything new on race day, especially fancy looking electrolyte pills that come in the goody bag. Then it warmed up to 100 or so degrees, they ran out of water, and I had to walk a mile back to my car after missing the shuttle busses. But like most bad days, once I had recovered I was ready to try it again. With a foot race, I aim for certain finishing times, but for a triathlon I merely try to make it to the finish line without dying. Literally. There are always photographers on the course, and I can belt out my best smile when I can see and expect them, but they have managed to snap quite a few pictures of me that look like I barely escaped with my life. These races are no joke, no matter the distance.
It's not that I don't know how to swim; I just can't swim efficiently or maintain good form for more than a few good sets of strokes which tires me easily. But I got started, first one length and slowly building up to a continuous lap; two laps would be the most I could do that day without stopping. I realized that despite their appearance right now, my legs are still powerful. I haven't been able to run for two months now but the strength I built up is not completely gone, and it will sustain me in a different way until I can get back out on the road. I tried not to think about how different the open water is from the pool environment, which compounds my anxieties, or even the fact that the distance of my little sprint triathlon in July will still be the equivalent of many more laps than what I had eked out. Instead I finally realized that I can only start with where I'm at today and build up from there as I train. In time the muscle definition will return, my form will improve, and I will be able to swim better than I can today.
I have a new goal for this event; it's not based on time, certainly not on placing, or even survival or not throwing up (though of course those are still crucial components). This time, I don't want my pictures to look quite so pitiful!
I can get talked into most things, which is how I ended up at my first triathlon, the West Plains WunderWoman, in August 2008. I had high hopes going into that, not to place but to have it at least fare well; I had taken swimming lessons with a friend and we went for one long (more than 10 miles) bike ride. What a terrible experience. First I had to get off my bike and throw up on the side of the road thanks to the harsh lesson that you never try anything new on race day, especially fancy looking electrolyte pills that come in the goody bag. Then it warmed up to 100 or so degrees, they ran out of water, and I had to walk a mile back to my car after missing the shuttle busses. But like most bad days, once I had recovered I was ready to try it again. With a foot race, I aim for certain finishing times, but for a triathlon I merely try to make it to the finish line without dying. Literally. There are always photographers on the course, and I can belt out my best smile when I can see and expect them, but they have managed to snap quite a few pictures of me that look like I barely escaped with my life. These races are no joke, no matter the distance.
It's not that I don't know how to swim; I just can't swim efficiently or maintain good form for more than a few good sets of strokes which tires me easily. But I got started, first one length and slowly building up to a continuous lap; two laps would be the most I could do that day without stopping. I realized that despite their appearance right now, my legs are still powerful. I haven't been able to run for two months now but the strength I built up is not completely gone, and it will sustain me in a different way until I can get back out on the road. I tried not to think about how different the open water is from the pool environment, which compounds my anxieties, or even the fact that the distance of my little sprint triathlon in July will still be the equivalent of many more laps than what I had eked out. Instead I finally realized that I can only start with where I'm at today and build up from there as I train. In time the muscle definition will return, my form will improve, and I will be able to swim better than I can today.
I have a new goal for this event; it's not based on time, certainly not on placing, or even survival or not throwing up (though of course those are still crucial components). This time, I don't want my pictures to look quite so pitiful!
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