Sometimes, training isn't great. Sometimes you don't get to daydream about strong finishes and hear your own soundtrack in your head, urging you forward. Sometimes you don't get what you want, and sometimes you probably should have stayed home.
Yup. Sometimes it just sucks.
And such is life.
From whence this melancholy come? Last week. Or, more specifically, 1:15 PM last Saturday.
Here's the deal. My coach dialed me back for the week for a couple of reasons. First, I have a build coming up for a STUPENDOUS EARTH SHATTERING PEAK for my first race of the season. Okay, I kid a bit with the shattering stuff, but there will be a peak involved I'm told.
And second, I had a 2 hour run on the schedule for Saturday. It's my longest so far on deck since last season and a source of a little consternation about being properly rested and whatnot. But *I* was confident that it would be *just dandy* and *don't worry* about me because 2 hours sound *peachy.* I can do it in my sleep.
Ah, bravado. How did I make it through my 20s without you?
So (warning: admission coming ahead), I'm not really - um - all that great at the rest week thingy. Actually, I'm pretty craptastic at it. Here's why.
"Rest week" in my world (apparently) is translated "everything is optional week."
(I know, I know.)
My poor coach. I should have warned her that I have two speeds -- training or sittinginbedwatchingtveatingbonbons.
(no, not really bonbons. maybe berry gelato. but that was just ONCE.)*
I was peachey for my swims, but that quick run on Tuesday? My headache had an easy time of convincing me otherwise. The bike on Wednesday? Notsomuch.
AND WHAT WAS THE RESULT???
Huh? Huh, genius?
That would be knee pain. AND YES, I know, it has happened before. Um, can we say the 2006 Philly Marathon? Yeah, my ITB hates trying to throw out there a 2 hour run when I haven't given it the time of day for a week.
So, Saturday was a day of no lollipops and nary a rainbow. Just one p-ed off runner walking dejectedly home an hour early. And in pain. And really angry with the world (read: myself and my knee).
I iced and I moped and I complained and moped some more. And this tempermental triathlete tantrum didn't end until I finally got on the bike on Sunday to finish up the week's plan.
And you know what? That. Sucked. Too.
It can't all be lollipops and rainbows, I guess. Sometimes it just doesn't work. Sometimes I've gotta just remember the good runs and shut up and move on.
And for right now, I've gotta find a local place that sells foam rollers. Because I needs me one. Pronto.
* okay, twice.