Whether it’s fast or slow, productive or destructive, each of us is on a certain track. The decisions we make day-to-day ultimately determine where our life heads over the coming weeks, months and years.
I thought about where I was at this time in previous years. Answer? In the thick of Boston training.
One year ago I was injured and pool running for 90 minutes after a 90-minute cycling class.
Two years ago I did an 18 miler in 13 degree temps
Sounds kind of studly yes?
So where am I this year? I decided not to go to Boston and gave myself a physical and mental half-year break from my quest for the Big, Hairy, Audacious Goal.
Live and learn: For me, no BHAG = training plateau.
While I think it’s fine not to be in constant pursuit of a running BHAG, in hindsight, I should have set a different goal that was equally challenging.
Although running will stay the same until official marathon training starts, my track changed last week.
New goal: Crosstrain like it’s my job.
Weight Training
I’ve been good about getting corework and strength training done at home but I’d fallen into a rut. To shake things up, I’m back in orbit with Mars, my trainer (better than circling Uranus right? sorry couldn’t resist). We had a session last week. It was hard. Very hard. Pleas to preserve my legs for speedwork the following day resulted in a meager 72 weighted squats. I spent the following days in Clutch Cargo mode (just my mouth moving, nothing stops that) because my body was seized up in revolt. You may not remember Clutch Cargo unless you’re from the antiquities but it’s fun all the same.
I will orbit Mars weekly until I am able to work out with equal intensity on my own.
Yoga
Other than a pose or two at home, I’ve been blowing this off all year. I finally made it to a class. The studio mirrors were swarmed by what looked like the entire cast from Cirque Shanghai. Before class even started they were doing crazy nutbag very advanced poses like this:
I hid in the corner behind a ficus tree and hoped for the best. Gosh it was hard. So hard my mind didn’t dare wander. Mark of a good yoga class? When even my skin hurts afterward. Success.
I will hide behind my ficus tree at at least one weekly yoga class.
The new track doesn’t end there but you get the gist. I won’t lie–my inner suck monkey gave me a good berating about how I let myself slip into a plateau. But we’re all good now.
