I’m not racing.
Well, I’m not racing YOU. I’m constantly racing me, and I have a tendency to get annoyed when other people get mixed up in the race I’m having with myself.
Athletes seem to be a peculiarly mathematical breed. Even if an athlete is right-brained, athleticism seems to spark to life an analytical math and science gene. Though I'm a social worker and geared toward emotions, I’ve always had a facility with numbers and an inclination toward science. This may make my athlete gene more pronounced. Measurements are key.
Athletes love to measure. We talk numbers constantly, whether it’s calories or time or elevation gain or distance or heart rate or complex ratios of all of the above. And we love anatomy, analyzing in the minutest detail the workings of every body part and its interaction with every other body part. It’s just in our nature.
I like to track my performance. (You may have noted weekly mileage reports at the bottom of every blog post, for example.) I push myself hard, note the results, and then see if I can do better next time. This seems to be pretty standard athlete behavior.
For example, yesterday the team did a double brick (bike, run, repeat), which is a perfect opportunity to measure, since you get to repeat the same activity back to back. The bike went out 15 miles, climbing Mt. Diablo to the junction for the last 8, then descending back to the start for 30 miles round-trip. I was 5 minutes slower getting to the junction the second time, and I stopped at the water stop on the way back (95 degrees!), resulting in a total of 15 minutes gained in round 2 (2:00 vs. 2:15). Similarly, I completed the first 5-mile run in 44 minutes, and the second in 49. I don’t beat myself up about these numbers (mostly). Instead, I try to think about them objectively and consider areas of improvement. I used a 4:1 run/walk interval on the second run, which was fabulous given my exhaustion and the heat, and I kept my pace up, but I ran out of steam in the last mile. A few more calories in my system would have helped. Good to know for next time.
Whenever you start thinking of numbers, it’s easy to start comparing them to other people’s numbers. Athletes race, and when they get good, they race each other. (I’m not quite good enough to race others, so that’s why I stick to racing myself.) Most of the time, we look at numbers like times and rank in order to congratulate people for their accomplishments. Winning may not always be a goal, but it can serve as an acknowledgement for effort and energy put toward an endeavor.
Once in a while, when you sign up for a race, when you are “racing,” it’s fun to think about other people. But mostly, I prefer to think about myself. (I’m really self-absorbed.) I often prefer riding and running on my own for long days like yesterday. I want to push myself without the interference of others. I want to push myself based on the terrain and conditions, without ego jostling for space on the road.
This can be true at events, too. At Wildflower, there were a couple women near me on the bike for about 20 miles. We went back and forth with the lead, and at one point even acknowledged each other with a “hi, back again.” I found myself getting a bit competitive with one particular woman, and was actually glad when she finally pulled ahead, further than I could catch.
I don’t mind her being faster than me (many people are, after all), but I do mind that my competitive feelings took me out of MY race and put me in HERS. Like I said, I don’t want to race her, I want to race me.
I like high-fiving with the team. I like yelling “Woot!” as I cross paths with teammates on the bike. I like having that connection out on our course during a training day. This is why it’s important to have a team to train with. It’s essential to know you are not alone out there, and that others have your back, and will be there to support you on those tough days, and lean on you when they need the help.
But in the end, all the measurements are mine, and I need to know that I have what it takes to get across the line at Ironman Lake Tahoe. It will be my body getting me up that hill, my body pushing through the pain, my will and determination leading me to places I never knew I could go. I can’t let other people get into my head and make me go faster or slower or harder or gentler than is right for me and my race against myself. Because even if I’m just racing me, I’m competitive enough to want to win.
Well, I’m not racing YOU. I’m constantly racing me, and I have a tendency to get annoyed when other people get mixed up in the race I’m having with myself.
Athletes seem to be a peculiarly mathematical breed. Even if an athlete is right-brained, athleticism seems to spark to life an analytical math and science gene. Though I'm a social worker and geared toward emotions, I’ve always had a facility with numbers and an inclination toward science. This may make my athlete gene more pronounced. Measurements are key.
Athletes love to measure. We talk numbers constantly, whether it’s calories or time or elevation gain or distance or heart rate or complex ratios of all of the above. And we love anatomy, analyzing in the minutest detail the workings of every body part and its interaction with every other body part. It’s just in our nature.
I like to track my performance. (You may have noted weekly mileage reports at the bottom of every blog post, for example.) I push myself hard, note the results, and then see if I can do better next time. This seems to be pretty standard athlete behavior.
For example, yesterday the team did a double brick (bike, run, repeat), which is a perfect opportunity to measure, since you get to repeat the same activity back to back. The bike went out 15 miles, climbing Mt. Diablo to the junction for the last 8, then descending back to the start for 30 miles round-trip. I was 5 minutes slower getting to the junction the second time, and I stopped at the water stop on the way back (95 degrees!), resulting in a total of 15 minutes gained in round 2 (2:00 vs. 2:15). Similarly, I completed the first 5-mile run in 44 minutes, and the second in 49. I don’t beat myself up about these numbers (mostly). Instead, I try to think about them objectively and consider areas of improvement. I used a 4:1 run/walk interval on the second run, which was fabulous given my exhaustion and the heat, and I kept my pace up, but I ran out of steam in the last mile. A few more calories in my system would have helped. Good to know for next time.
Whenever you start thinking of numbers, it’s easy to start comparing them to other people’s numbers. Athletes race, and when they get good, they race each other. (I’m not quite good enough to race others, so that’s why I stick to racing myself.) Most of the time, we look at numbers like times and rank in order to congratulate people for their accomplishments. Winning may not always be a goal, but it can serve as an acknowledgement for effort and energy put toward an endeavor.
Once in a while, when you sign up for a race, when you are “racing,” it’s fun to think about other people. But mostly, I prefer to think about myself. (I’m really self-absorbed.) I often prefer riding and running on my own for long days like yesterday. I want to push myself without the interference of others. I want to push myself based on the terrain and conditions, without ego jostling for space on the road.
This can be true at events, too. At Wildflower, there were a couple women near me on the bike for about 20 miles. We went back and forth with the lead, and at one point even acknowledged each other with a “hi, back again.” I found myself getting a bit competitive with one particular woman, and was actually glad when she finally pulled ahead, further than I could catch.
I don’t mind her being faster than me (many people are, after all), but I do mind that my competitive feelings took me out of MY race and put me in HERS. Like I said, I don’t want to race her, I want to race me.
I like high-fiving with the team. I like yelling “Woot!” as I cross paths with teammates on the bike. I like having that connection out on our course during a training day. This is why it’s important to have a team to train with. It’s essential to know you are not alone out there, and that others have your back, and will be there to support you on those tough days, and lean on you when they need the help.
But in the end, all the measurements are mine, and I need to know that I have what it takes to get across the line at Ironman Lake Tahoe. It will be my body getting me up that hill, my body pushing through the pain, my will and determination leading me to places I never knew I could go. I can’t let other people get into my head and make me go faster or slower or harder or gentler than is right for me and my race against myself. Because even if I’m just racing me, I’m competitive enough to want to win.
Week 26 Mileage
Monday, May 6 Swim – 45 minutes, 2200 yards Tuesday, May 7 Spin – 1 hour 20 minutes Wednesday, May 8 Core – 35 minutes Thursday, May 9 Run – 1 hour, 6.5 miles Friday, May 10 Cardio – 50 minutes (elliptical) Core – 10 minutes Saturday, May 11 Bike – 4 hours 15 minutes, 60 miles Run – 1 hour 33 minutes, 10 miles Sunday, May 12 Fundraiser – 6 hours of serving beer at Golden Gate Fields Dollar Days (exhausting!) | Totals: Swim – 45 minutes, 2200 yards Bike – 5 hours 35 minutes, 60 miles Run – 2 hours 30 minutes, 16.5 miles Cardio/Core – 1 hour 35 minutes Total – 10 hours 25 minutes |