Conferences and Training

I was in Pittsburgh last week for three days at a conference for work.  Three training days.  I had every intention of working out while I was there.  I mean, Ironman hopefuls don't stop training because they fly to Pittsburgh, right?  I brought my bathing suit, goggles, swim cap, three sets of running clothes, and a pair of bike shorts just in case.  I was scheduled to return late Saturday night, so I knew that I would be able to bike long with Wes on Sunday; the bike workout while in Pittsburgh was frankly optional.

The plan ("The Plan") was to wake up early every morning and run for an hour before the conference.  Knowing that I would be sitting in a dark conference room for 8 hours was pretty good inspiration to get me up out of bed and pounding out some miles.  The Plan was solid.  Or so I thought.

I didn't workout once.  NOT ONCE.  I meant to, I really did.  But after the conference ends every day, there's dinner.  And with dinner, there's sometimes wine.  And then there should be delicious sleep, except I slept terribly all three nights I was out of town.  I set my alarm early every morning, anticipating that swim or run.  And I reset the alarm every morning.  I promised myself every day that the next day I would get it right, and then I didn't.

For a couple of days, I felt bad about this non-working-out, realizing that drinking a couple glasses of wine (or 4 on the last night I was there) and getting really bad sleep (the latter activity perhaps related to the former) is not the path that will take me across the finish line before midnight in Louisville this August.  It's too bad that it won't, too, because I had a great time drinking 4 glasses of wine.  But then I realized, even Ironmen have hiccups in their training plans.  So I forgave myself for my three-in-a-row rest days and had an awesome bike ride with Wes on Sunday.  I was exhausted, and it hurt a little, but it felt really great.

The point of all this is that I'm slowly beginning to take to heart something I heard recently: that the training is the point, and the race is like the cherry on top. Thirty weeks is a long time to train for and focus on one event, regardless how important the event may be to me.  Thirty weeks is a long time not to miss a training day (or 3).  Thirty weeks is a long time not to have an occasional glass of wine (or 4!).  And thirty weeks is a very, very long time to worry about a race.  I am fairly certain that my past month or so of cruddy sleep is attributable, in large part, to my high level of anxiety, worry, and fear regarding my Ironman race.  I want so badly to finish that race before midnight, it's often what I think about as I lie in bed trying to fall asleep.  Thoughts of it literally keep me up at night.

So from here on out, for the remaining 22.5 weeks of training, my thoughts are not so much about crossing the Ironman finish line before midnight (and how quickly I need to swim, bike, and run to make that happen) but rather about enjoying my training and becoming as strong as I possibly can.  I feel fairly certain that this is easier said than done, but there it is.  That's my goal.  Maybe now I can get some sleep at night.  And as it turns out, I'll be out of town again in a couple weeks for another work conference.  Maybe while I'm gone I'll go for a run, purely for the sake of going for a run.  And then again, maybe I won't, and that will be okay.