The Big 2-0

The Gear

So today was an actual scheduled rest day.  Lettin' those leg muscles relax and repair for tomorrow's big 20-miler.  I spent the morning hunting and gathering supplies (a girl must have her Gu and recovery drinks) and even snuck a new running shirt into the purchases (feeling pretty makes me faster).  I spent the afternoon calmly cleaning, folding laundry, snuggling with a sleepy babe, and helping the older monkeys primp and dress for their Grandparents Dance this evening.  The route is mapped; the fueling is planned and procured; the proper steps have been taken.  And, after all, it's just a training run.

But...twenty miles.  TWENTY.  MILES.  That's kind of a lot.  Since I started running longer distances, one of my new OCD quirks is to reset the trip odometer and find pride in knowing I've run longer distances than I typically drive.  I know the back roads around here now, because I have run them over and over again, slowly learning their intersections and loops.  I have run past the kids' old daycare, past our church, past the lake I long to fish in, up the mountain and back down, across the Delaware River and back...but TWENTY MILES suddenly seems a ginormous number. 

Before

So let's break it down.  Anything less than ten miles feels silly anymore.  So the first half of this run is a warm up, right?  Right.  I ran my Rock N Roll Half Marathon last year in 2:37.  Now I am typically at 14.5 miles in that time, still feeling quite strong and closing in on home.  At that point tomorrow, I will be on the verge of a fuel break, replenishing my water supply and eating an energy bar left on the front porch by Cheerleader Hubby.  Once the fuel belts have been swapped out, I am off for one last loop around the daycare and back - what I have come to view as a quick and easy run that averages anywhere from 1:15 to 1:30.  Assuming I keep my past pace, I ought to be done in just over four hours, with my usual pauses for stretching and Gu-ing.  Four hours, though a freakish time to some, doesn't sound bad at all.  I can do four hours.

During

Now that we have made everything sound so reasonable, let us not speak of that other number.  At least, not until it is under my belt and I am once again Fully Awesome and Ready To Brag.  If I set off at 6:00 am as planned, I ought to be Bragging by 10:30.  Log on, little Readers, and I will regale you with each step, song, stretch, and moment of doubt (to always be quickly followed by Moments of Greatness, naturally).  I know you'll be thinking of me tomorrow as I chug through the Water Gap, and perhaps you will be motivated to lace up your own running shoes.  Which would be FABULOUS, because then we can start signing up for races together.  I need more running partners.  Currently, I have only myself and my Ego (and that chick just keeps getting bigger all the time).

After

I'm Not Tired!...*yawn*

I've got this workout thing down.  I have endurance, motivation, and a sincere love for all things endorphin-producing.  Alas, I am not as disciplined when it comes to the nutrition side of fitness.  And when I say "not as disciplined," I mean "not disciplined at all."  As in, both boxes of Samoas and both boxes of Thin Mints are G-O-N-E.  So is the Nutella.  And the leftover General Tso's (extra spicy!) with a side of pork fried rice.  Did I mention Hubby and I stopped at Hot Dog Johnny's yesterday?  Where I ate two Johnny Dogs and a bag of fries?  And proceeded to wonder why my body felt so incredibly awful.

Really, I was doing very well for a substantial amount of time.  I drink my Shakeology every morning and plan our meals and snacks very carefully.  Then came a stretch of days that had us away from home at mealtimes and so packed with errands and events that I had no time to hit up Wegmans.  And I relapsed into old ordering habits, each restaurant pulling me farther and farther down the slow and sluggish rabbit hole.  I started with Chic-Fil-A grilled chicken wraps and side salads (not so bad for a drive-thru order) and went all the way to bacon cheeseburgers (at our favorite diner) and the aforementioned General Tso's (from a not-worth-it takeout Chinese pit whose convenience is the only reason we use it).  I kept up with my two-a-days and long run schedule throughout this downward food spiral, so my calories were actually in check.  My nutrition, sadly, was not.

Two days ago, I found myself lacking in get-up-and-go.  I figured I'd take a rest day as I hadn't had a true "rest" in awhile.  Then yesterday, I continually ran into workout roadblocks: Hubby needed a ride to the eye doctor for a nasty case of pink eye; we had bank stops and office visits following the eye appointment; the babe required much tending to once we were home.  I was thinking ahead and planning an early bedtime for the kiddos so I could squeeze in my workouts before I hit the hay myself.  And then, THE WALL.  I hit it.  Hard. 

I told Hubby I wanted to lay down with the babe for a bit while he napped, figuring on a half hour rest.  I awoke two hours later, a sweaty, drooling mess with no more energy than I'd had before my sleep.  My limbs were leaden and my head heavy.  And I finally put all those puzzle pieces together: I needed my iron.

I have suffered from anemia since my teen years but can usually bypass iron supplements so long as I keep dark leafy greens and the occasional steak in my diet.  Not only had I let my nutrition slide, I was still exercising as though I hadn't.  Yes, calories were in check.  But my essential nutrients (and my iron) were not.  It finally clicked for me: if I want to train like an athlete and continue my workout schedule at the intensity I enjoy, I actually need to eat the way I train.  Brilliant!  Why hasn't anyone thought of this before?!? Oh, right...

It is so simple, and I have said it to others so many times.  I preach it to my children on a daily basis.  But I finally took a step back and figured I needed to apply it to myself.  Diet is not a four-letter word; it is a lifestyle.  It is something I need to follow if I expect my body to continue performing at the level I have become accustomed to.  So I'm back on the healthy food train, chugging right along.  My run today felt a little sluggish, but I got it done and recovered nicely and with enough energy to complete my Ab Sculpt and Kenpo X sessions I had scheduled for today.  And now, I am feeling a tad hungry (read: RAVENOUS) so I'm gonna head to my kitchen and pull out last night's leftovers (Beachbody's sweet pepper pork) and snack on some fresh strawberries and kiwi for dessert.  I swear I have learned my lesson this time! (Just please, don't put me anywhere near chocolate cake...)

The Rest Of It

      

Yes, it's true.  I very much enjoy kicking ass on a daily basis, sometimes powering through two or more workouts in a single day.  I am very awesome that way, but there are times when my body is not.  On those days, I suck it up and rest my weary muscles.

Resting does not mean I am curled in bed with a box from Chocolate Lab, watching Fashion Police and The Daily Show...necessarily.  There are days like that, too, but I feel I earn them because I spend so many of my days kicking ass.  In general, resting means I don't do a formal workout.  I (yawn) scour the house; I (yay!) strap the babe into a stroller and stroll; I (even better!) wander the mall and salivate over fashions I can't afford.  I'm still moving, just not at quite so an accelrated rate.  Sometimes (not as often as I should), I stretch or do calming yoga, which makes my brain happy, because it can then shut up about not working out.  Because, folks, let's face it: no matter how often or how hard I exercise, I always have a some whiney little guilt in the deep dark areas of my Type A brain when I take a full rest day.  I've learned to accept it and bitch slap it every now and then when it gets too loud, but it never completely leaves.  Like me, it's not a quitter.

I do enjoy soaking up a little extra reading time on rest days.  And yes, catching up on the DVR list.  And this summer, there will be hours spent lounging poolside...if the babe agrees to nap at any point...BUT...one day is enough for me.  I need to sweat.  I need to kick and punch and lift.  I need to get back to kicking ass.

Adding Injury to Injury

I consider myself "in training." Right now, for my first marathon and Spartan Race.  So being able to actually complete my workouts every day seems pretty integral in the process.  Not so easy when my right knee swells up like grapefruit (or maybe more like a clementine, but still...) and my right foot yelps each time I put weight on it.  What to do???
Oh right...REST.  Lest I injure myself further and be forced to take weeks away from training, I choose to take an unscheduled rest day and placate my aching bones.  And remind myself, over and over and over again, that it is PERFECTLY OKAY to take a break.  Especially when your body is screaming for you to do so. 
So, yesterday, I rested.  My two-hour run the previous day in old running shoes left me feeling...well...not good.  As in, can't-walk-down-the-steps-without-grimacing-hobbling-like-Quasimoto not good.  I needed a break.  No bouncing, no lifting, not even a stretch.  I did bowl a game, but I swear, I did not exert myself in any way.  I had a cheesesteak to get back to...(because my taste buds also wanted a break from training).
I think we can get so caught up in the end game, overly focused on the results and goals we're reaching for, and forget that our bodies need a little TLC every now and then.  I am determined that I will not wait for the screams of pain next time.  I will schedule in a rest day...maybe even two...after my more extreme runs.  After all, knees need love, too...