I have registered for my first 70.3.
I’m sorry. I just read that back and it looked like it said that I have
registered for my first 70.3.
To the uninitiated, a “70.3” is a 70.3 mile race. Sometimes known as a “Half Iron Distance” triathlon. It consists of:
1.2 mile swim (open water)
56 mile bike ride (bollocks)
13.1 mile run (yep. A half marathon)
By the end of 2015, I will be a “Triathlete”. Until now, I cringed at describing myself as anything involving the word “athlete” due to my penchant for beers and cakes. Yes. Plural. SO MUCH PLURAL.
This was, of course, until I found out that golfers and darts players and fucking LAWN BOWLS players call themselves “athletes” and I thought NAH FUCK IT. I run 3 times a week, I turbo-train and ride 3 times a week, I PB’d on 100m Front Crawl last week. I say things like “I’m down on my protein for today” and “ugh. My quads are in tatters”. If they’re athletes, I’m an athlete. (Nope. Can’t. Still cringing).
Officially the 30 week plan starts on January 18th. But why wait? Intensity has been upped in prep. I (rather smugly) maintained my base fitness with ease over Christmas and New Year. I’ve begun Sufferfest (mixed emotions heavily weighted towards hatred) and hill repeats (pure hatred) and hope above all hope that they both get less shit.
After two sessions with my Strength, Conditioning and Nutrition coach (JP) I have discovered I am both weaker and stronger than I thought. My squats were “shite” (gutted. I thought advanced Pilates had schooled me well…) and I can do about 3 pull ups before I want to die. Happily, with mutual hard work and determination, I will be stronger and fitter and healthier than ever. I need JP to tear the pastries from my hangry paws…
Of course. Being me, I couldn’t start a training plan at just ANY time of the year… I had to start one in January. Which is during winter. And I live in Scotland. And it’s Buying Season. Thumbs up, Bean.
Buying Season is a good way to fuck with a routine. 4am starts, hotels in unsavoury locations, gym-less hotels etc etc. Where possible, I will not be beaten this year. Last year’s “oh but I’m soooooooo tired” excuses can bolt. I am determined. And celebrated this by replacing my former panic of “oh shit! Where’s my laptop” to “how will my TRAINERS fit in this case?”
Instead of wallowing in a hotel bed and then leisurely getting ready to go work, this morning I shoved on my trainers and hit a dreich, grumpy Hammersmith for a 5k run. This ended up being 4k. Because even after training for a marathon and a kiltwalk, my distance perception skills are UTTERLY DISMAL.
All in all, however, I am a changed woman.
These are my Gel Noosa’s. They’re awfy subtle though, you may not see them in the picture.
The weather has mostly been 100% against me. Literally. There is a constant headwind no matter where the fuck I go at the moment. This happily means that the miles I do when the weather improves will feel so much more enjoyable. However, I do enjoy earning #hardasnails points by running in blizzards and cycling through storms and such-like mental things that would draw eye-rolls and sighs from those less fond of endurance.
What startles me more than anything is that I ABSOLUTELY LOVE IT. I am wired. To the point where my body is freaking out a bit and I cannot bloody sleep. I know this will pass. When I sleep, it is coma-like. But it involves hours of Busy-Brain beforehand. You would think all the training and buying and life stuff would make me sleep if I stop moving. It is quite the opposite…
And so it begins…
The months of hard work and grit and determination and a bit of sacrifice and a lot of fun. Oh and pizza.