Back in the Bubble

It had been a pretty excellent summer in Colorado. I did a ton of training and was setting new personal bests left, right and center – both in training and on the race courses. We had refocused my training from the big volume of New Zealand to a slightly lower volume and higher intensity. The training goal for the summer was “as much steady as possible”.

I had been going pretty solid since I’d left Los Angeles and by mid-summer my body was looking for a little season break. The mind wasn’t going to give it, so the body took the initiative and sent me into a doorframe so hard I bruised a couple ribs. Bloody hurt, that did. So much that I couldn’t even run, let alone swim or bike. I could only hike, and even then, I couldn’t let my heart rate get up too high as it hurt my rib to breathe too deeply.

So there it was, two weeks completely off training. By the third week I was able to run again, but then I got drunk. ;-) I suffered a mega-hangover, which rolled into a weird bit of a cold – just a cough. Another week off. I was spending all of September back at my Mom’s in Canada and somewhere along the way, my motivation took a nosedive. I had drafted a training schedule that was to average about 15 hours a week max. However, I was only managing to pull off about five hours of it. I was falling apart.

The last two weeks before I left for New Zealand, I started joking with my friends that I needed to get back into my training bubble – back in my triathlon environment. I did manage to get in about 10 hours a week for those last two, but I was beginning to worry. The plan for my arrival in New Zealand was “big volume”. Gordo was planning three months of 30-hour weeks for me. Yikes! I sure hoped I could step it up for that.

Well, I’m currently halfway through my first-ever 30-hour week and still rolling along like a fire engine on a three-alarm call. My first week here ended with 25 hours of training. I was a little tired at the end of that week, but two days of easy training bounced me back so fast I felt like I was mid-way through a taper. Not only that, during my second week of training I was having breakthrough after breakthrough in the pool. About time too, I’ve been swimming the same pace for well over a year now.

I don’t know what it is about being here in New Zealand that does this to me. There is an energy here – a vibe that resonates with me in some way. Maybe it has something to do with the effervescent glow of the ocean that ebbs outside my bay windows. Maybe it has something to with the ground I stand on being that of an ancient extinct volcano. Maybe it’s simply the environment – I live with, train alongside, and associate with world-class athletes. Not to mention world-class coaches. Everywhere I go there are packs of cyclists on the roads. On the evening news they tell you what the weather forecast is... for your triathlon on the weekend! Where else does the news acknowledge local triathlons?

Life is pretty darned good in the bubble. It’s good to be back.

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Everyday is Saturday

When I was working full time, Saturdays were my favourite days. Sure, Sundays were great – heading out for long rides with the SoCal crew or off to races. Often we’d go to a café for post-ride lunch and socializing, but then I was pretty much done for the day. And what day comes after Sunday? You got it, Monday. Ugh.

Saturdays were wide open. Saturdays were the start of the weekend. Saturdays were full of energy and good vibes. You could do anything and everything on Saturdays – even stay out late if you wanted to be a rebel. Saturdays were like mini-vacations four times a month. You could sit in a comfy chair at a beach front café watching the tides come and go until the sun fell into the ocean. Nowhere to be, no one to see, no deadlines to meet, no traffic. Not a care in the world. You could turn your mind off completely and just watch the world go about its business. Ah yes, Saturdays.

It’s been 10 months now since I started my little walkabout adventure. I don’t know quite when I started saying it, but I know it was sometime in the spring. “Everyday is Saturday”. That’s how I answered when people asked me how my walkabout was going. Yeppers, everyday is Saturday. Back in Boulder one afternoon, my roommate, Chuck, asked me what day it was. Saturday, of course. He wasn't sure what day it was, but he knew it wasn't Saturday. He didn’t quite get it then. ;-)

I got to thinking about all this today on my ride. Walkabouts and Saturdays. I had stopped in at a gas station and the attendant asked me if I was having a good day. Must have been that big perma-grin on my face. It just dawned on me that life is pretty darned great these days. Best thing I ever did was quit my job, give up my apartment and give away my cat. I told him everyday was a good day, everyday was Saturday. He got a kick out that and asked what I say if I have a bad day? I said there are no bad days, just good days and Saturdays. :-)

What day is your holiday?

16 October 2003

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Training is a Drug

My head is in a funny place right now. I'm not on fire and kind of bugged by it. I think I figured it out on my BLOODY FREEZING ride today. I tell ya, when those southerly winds kick up it feels like the Arctics here.

The first two weeks that I was back here in Christchurch I was on such a high. Training was kickin' butt and I was having breakthrough after breakthrough. It seemed everyday at masters I was setting new personal bests. I was riding strong and running not only strong, but faster at lower heart rates. Every single workout I felt like I was coming off a taper, raring to go and whoopin’ out loud because I just couldn’t keep all that energy inside.

This week, the third week here, I've felt like I've just been plugging along - not overly motivated. I’ve been feeling like I’m not having any quality training, that I "fell off the wagon", even though I'm still making improvements. I did a run test the other day that really impressed Coach G. He ran my split numbers and said I'm running two minutes per mile faster... in one year.

So what I figure is, maybe I haven't been sucking as badly as I thought. Maybe I was just so high on my training - in such a euphoric state - that when I came down, even though I'm now at a level higher than I was before, it just "feels" lower. It’s all in my head no doubt. Training is a drug, I’ve decided. I got high on great training and jumped up three steps. When the drug wore off I stepped down only one step, but it felt like four – mentally.

I’m still having some great training. Every day I have this big grin on my face that I just can’t swipe off. I’m just not wired for sound... at the moment. I’ll save that rush for March. ;-)

27 October 2003

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