Image by privatenobby via Flickr

I wrote in my last post that I wasn’t going to cry. But…  yesterday I did indeed cry. I was doing my run workout and as I was running, these thoughts floated through my head.

“It’s a good thing that another commitment prevented me from running with the team because I know I’d be the slowest one AND I really need/want to run with music today.” I clutched my earbuds to my head a little more closely. It was like Linus’ security blanket, running with my comforting music.

“I kind of can’t wait for This to be over.” This meaning triathlon training, of course.

“I really miss some of the other things I used to do for exercise.” Like seeing my beloved trainer (not since July!), going to Nia class, going for beautiful hikes, just walking with friends or whatever.

“I feel like I’m 9 months pregnant.” This was a sort of amusing and sort of horrifying thought. I realized that I was looking at the upcoming triathlon the way I anticipated labor when I was pregnant: an extremely painful and difficult event that would end up with a great outcome. (although, I laughed to myself, I’ll still be able to sleep in! especially on weekends! after the tri)

“No wonder they call these ENDURANCE events.” Then it hit me: I am really just enduring this. I am enduring the workouts and the practices and I feel like I am going to be gritting my teeth and using every last fiber of determination to get through that event.  Is that what it’s supposed to be about?

I know it’s supposed to be “fun.” I mean some things have been fun. The social part. Meeting my awesome workout buddy and other members of the team. But I can’t really say that most of the workouts have been “fun.” They’ve been hard, grueling, challenging and sometimes ultimately rewarding. But not fun.

I thought about what I say to new Weight Watchers members every single week when I talk about exercise. “Find something that you LIKE to do. Find something that is fun, that you really look forward to.”

It was then that I burst into huge sobs as I was running, and I was gulping, “Wh-wh-why are you DOING this to me?” (you meaning me AND me) I was all, “This is NOT FUN!”

Then I stood at the side of the beautiful Bay and sobbed a bunch of snotty sobs into the wind. I was feeling verrrrrrrrry sorry for myself.

Today I went back to the sports psychologist and rehashed the whole thing. She was very patient. She’s a great listener, and good at teasing out the little moments.  She reminded me of several things to feel good about. And then she offered something which I truly think is going to be the make it or break it session: we’re going to meet IN OPEN WATER in the lake near my house. In wetsuits. She said, “I’m not going to be your kayak.” (meaning she won’t rescue me) She said she was going to be with me to see WHAT HAPPENS in those moments when/if I start being unable to breathe. I really feel like this is my last hope. I have only one weekend left, and then it’s showtime.

I am so incredibly grateful and scared and hopeful and freaked out.

Image by miracle adult via Flickr
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