First brick of the season. What the hell is a brick? It's when you do two out of the three excercises that make up a triathlon, back to back. So for example: on Sunday, we rode the bike 20 miles and then we ran for 20 minutes right after. This gets one used to the horrible feeling of trying to do a second terrible excercise, right after you just did the first terrible excercise.
Todays ride included this hill that everyone is always complaining about. Its this long upward sloping hill at the end of our ride, that you do once you've passed the beginner phase in the training. It gets you ready for all the rolling hills in the actual Triathlon. Here's how I feel about it: its not that bad. I'm being honest when I say that this particular hill is do-able. I could really see how far I have come in a year with my training. Now, lets talk about what it's really like while you are actually doing it. At first I feel like: "oh ok, I can do this- whatever". Then I feel like: "oh it's getting a little harder, gonna go into a lower gear". Then I feel like: "ok this is hard, but I can handle it." (my mom would be really proud to hear me say that, because she is always telling me that I can do and handle anything). Then comes the part where I start panting like a dog. I actually literally pant like a dog. I go so slow that I wonder how the natural rotation of the earth isn't making my bike fall over. I also feel incredibly angry. This happens to me every time I have to exert myself to this type of physical level- I have sudden onset rage that lashes out to the nearest victim. Today's particlar victim is a friendly team mate riding in front of me called Joel. In my mind I was screaming: "Fuck you Joel, I hate you. I hate those stupid blue bike shorts you're wearing". It's not something that I seem to be able to control. What I can control, is the ability to keep my lips pressed tightly together in a grip of rage, so that I don't spiral into a tourettes like shout down to my nearest biking companion. Followed by the rage, is elation. Once I have reached the top of the hill where we stop to gather with our group the ehileration high takes over. The elation is so intense that I find my self talking to strangers I have never spoken to before on the team, in teary eyed joy about what wonderful people they seem to be. The elation-high is as strange to me as the rage, because both although not foreign to my personality, are also not common for me either.
After the hill ride we then ran. Our instructions were to run 10 minutes out and then 10 minutes back in. If you've ever run after riding a bike you will undertsnad that this is not fun. Your legs feel like you're wearing 1980's moon boots that you can't kick off. You feel slower then a slug after zipping along on your bike. It's an ugly transition that often leaves you feeling like "what the hell is wrong with me?". I wasn't looking forward to doing this at all, but its better to do now then later, closer to the race. At least now I have time to get used to it.
So off we ran on the horse trail, I surprised myself by feeling good. Prancing along the trail with energy to spare, I looked around me for someone to share the good news with. When no one really looked like they wanted to chat I stopped at a porta potty to quickly pee after holding it for too long. If you have ever used one then you know that porta pottys are not awesome. They are however a nesscessity when on the road. This particular one was drenched in diareah. Not just the seat mind you, but everywhere- as if someone had put a sprinkler spiget into their butthole and sprayed the area down generously. I spent my entire time peeing marvelling at the mere accuracy of every surface being covered. I was so distracted by this that I forgot to lock the door and was shocked and mortified when a fellow team mate flung the door open. I don't know this particular women on the team, nor have I ever spoken to her before, yet I was compelled to explain to her why I was peeing over the mens urinal. That I was trying to save myself from the diraaeha booth of death by squatting over the one area I could actually still see. After I relayed this long detailed explaination to this stranger, where I had rudely interruped her previous buisness with my long and laborious bathroom story, she then introduced herself to me. This is when the realization hit me that I am truly crazy. You know how after you have been talking to someone for a while, and then the person pauses and looks you dead in the eye and introduces themselves to you, that they are one of two things: A) utterly amazed and glamorized by your fantatisc wit or B) so horrified by you that they want to know your name so when they re-tell the story later to their friends they have a name for The crazy.
I'd like to say that the training is going well, because it is...but I would be lying if I said that me training for a triathlon isn't very similiar to an episode of Laverne and Shirley. Until next time my friends...shcmeal, schmazel hosinpepper incorporated....
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