Tonight I am feeling a little glum about the difficulties of maintaining some degree of fitness in middle age.
I have been trying to be cheerful about the way the triathlon turned out, but I was disappointed that my time was so slow. I was not expecting to tear up the course, because I made a deliberate decision to do fewer endurance workouts each week (three of them per week, with one workout that involved two sports) so I could lift with Joe three times a week. And I only had two months to go from couch to triathlon, so I guess my time was always going to reflect those months away from the (COVID-infested) gym. But I was also slow for silly reasons, as I discovered when I looked at the data from my watch.
When you go from bike to run, it's really easy to go too fast. I know this; I know I can't run by feel without setting myself up for misery. What did I do on Saturday? I ran by feel, that's what. Every time I finished a block of running I was gasping for air. During the race I chalked it up to a tough bike leg and insufficient intake. Yesterday I discovered that in every one of those blocks I was hitting a per-mile pace that was 2.5 minutes/mile faster than my training runs. No wonder I was gasping! No wonder I was plodding in between! That was a totally avoidable flavor of difficult.
Part of the purpose of endurance workouts is to teach your body to be less uncomfortable while exerting itself, and part of the purpose is to teach your brain that you can be uncomfortable and it won't kill you. I didn't manage my energy very well during the triathlon-- I was moving pretty briskly, by my standards, when I crossed the finish line, and it didn't feel hard. This means I had enough in the tank that I could have raised the overall pace, even though it didn't feel like that at all on the course.
Amy and I are talking about doing another triathlon in the fall, and I am trying to decide how I feel about the idea. Races are really motivating for me, but I dislike the sensation of public mediocrity. This shouldn't really worry me, I know. No announcer is going to say "And bringing up the rear, the pitiable Jamie Gladly of Gladlyville!" I have a couple of slower local friends who race often, and I would never say, "I don't know why they even bother." I have only enthusiasm for their efforts, so I don't know why I have trouble thinking about myself in the same way.
But I do.
Tonight I went to the climbing gym for the first time in a while, and it was a discouraging trip. I left with a serious case of the WHY BOTHERs.
But I think I am going to get up and run tomorrow, and lift on Thursday and Saturday, and complete my race on Sunday even if it is slow and painful. I think I am going to say yes to the fall triathlon, even though I still feel self-conscious about the last one. Probably decrepitude is worth avoiding. Probably.
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