Losing or Gaining Weight... One Choice At A Time.

The kids lining up for a ride!
"Pick me! Pick me!"

In the few weeks since my last post, I have done one thing in particular... ride my bike.  I have ridden a lot.  Not always a lot on one day, but often.  I have gotten back into the habit and tonight when I decided I would err on the side of caution and take a rest day, I felt like I had forgotten to brush my teeth.  Something was missing.  I wasn't freaking out or jonesin' to ride, just that I hadn't done something that is a part of my normal daily routine.

I've been thinking about this and how, after a while, things become a lifestyle.  It becomes part of your identity.  People who have known me for a long time remember when this wasn't a lifestyle.  Some remember the shift in focus, the often turbulent change that took place in my (very thick) skull.  But most?  Most can't even imagine me any other way.  They identify me as a small person, fit, feisty, and active.  For me, the transformation has not been nearly so complete... or has it.

This picture was taken in Michigan while braiding.
Here I was roughly 215 lbs, 20 less than my lifetime high weight.
I am not tall (see photo below for evidence of shortness).  That weight on my was crushing.
I was miserable, felt like hell, and avoided mirrors like the plague.
Nobody should ever choose to stay this unhappy.

I still see myself as the fat one.  I still look at every picture and expect to be unhappy with what is there.  I check every mirror, every window that throws off a reflection, even at my shadow, always expecting to discover that I am suddenly fat again.  But fat doesn't just happen.  It's isn't something that you wake up and find like a wart.  It is a state of mind and a state of life.  You don't put on a 100 lbs at once nor do you take it off that way.  You take it off one choice at a time.  Each good choice changes the way you see yourself a little bit each time. However, you put it back on the same way you take it off: one choice at a time.  You put it back on by failing to identify with yourself as a fit person living a healthy lifestyle.

Why is it so easy for some people to make the right choices and not for others?  Well, I don't really know... but I'll venture a guess.  People tend to make choices in accordance with how they see themselves.  Anyone can make the easy choices (I think I'll ride my bike on this beautiful day when I have nothing else to do), but you make the hard ones (riding in the weather, working on your weaknesses, or choosing not to indulge every last craving your body throws your way), based on your perception of yourself and how that person would choose.  Foodies will choose to spend more for organic or gourmet items.  Athletes will choose to follow a strict diet regimen and train through adverse conditions.  Animal lovers will choose to stop the car to rescue a turtle.  Hipsters will choose to challenge the laws of physics to wedge themselves into a pair of skinny jeans.  Do people who don't identify with an archetype make those choices as well?  Of course.  But making them a lifestyle without that perception is very, very difficult.  Someone is not a hipster may turn themselves into a denim sausage a couple of times, but sooner or later, that person will most likely choose circulation over fashion.

Over the last few months, I have been stuck in idle.  My training has been on pause.  I have ridden but not trained.  My perception of myself as an athlete who is willing to go the extra mile for fitness and performance has waned.  My connection to why I make certain choices, particularly the hard food choices that usually only come when I am locked on a race target, has weakened.  And all of this is evident in some of the tragic food choices I have been making, particularly in the last few weeks, and the most recent 5 lbs (above the acceptable off-season gain) that have taken up residence on me arse.  I haven't been drinking enough water either, and my performance has suffered... but then, if I am not an athlete, who cares?  If I am not an athlete, I can settle into a steady weight 10-20 lbs higher, still fall into acceptable ranges for good health, and still be attractive (because really no matter what your weight, you will be just perfect for someone).

In the last couple of weeks, Coach Brain and I have exchanged a series of email sporting content volume that would make "War and Peace" seem like a little light reading by comparison.  We have agreed it's time to push forward, though there is still some question on the best way.  One thing is certain, I have a very narrow margin for error.  I am going to support my body with proper nutrition and care if I am going to get even marginal performances out of it.  The choices that I struggle the most with, the ones that I usually leave until I am fully absorbed in training with impending competitive goals sharpening my focus... those will have to come first.  If I hope to train "for real" or ever find a starting line...much less the finish... or podium... again, I will need to make these choices and changes first.

Yep, I do like that spot!
I hope to return regardless of whether it is triathlon or cycling.
The sport is merely the tool used to create change.

At work last night, as I was walking by a trash can, I reached in my pocket where several Snicker's minis had taken up residence and evicted the little goal-wrecking bastards.  That was the line in the sand.  I am not who I once was.  I am the product of my better choices and who I will be a year... five years... ten years down the road will be the product of the choices I make from here.  I am actively choosing to reconnect with this identity and re-immerse myself in the mindset.

Here I am still roughly 15-20 lbs over my eventual goal weight for racing but I am healthy.
In the end, it's about taking control of your life, your health, your happiness.

I am an athlete and choose to remain an athlete and that will only happen if I train, eat, and live AS AN ATHLETE.  

Go West, Young Duck, GO WEST!!

Driving directions:  Follow the ocean for about a day, hang a left at the Gulf of Mexico, drive into the sunset for what feels like eternity, when you see the man that actually looks GOOD in wranglers, boots, and a stetson, stop.  You found Texas.

Yup, I did it. I arrived at the finish line.  I am heading west tomorrow.  Of course, that just means I get two hours from home and start a three week horse show, so it's more like T2 than the finish line, but...... LALALALALA.... not listening!!  Only thinking about being done here.

My final week in FL is less of a triumphant victory and more of a whimpering survival.  I don't think I have yet recovered from three weeks of insomnia.  I am sleeping again but overall feel fairly weak.  Each day gets a little better but I am still relying on massive doses of caffeine to get through a work night and my athletic performance has been tragic, to say the least.

The last couple of weeks have been debilitating mentally.  What I held together when everything was going crazy in my life, I have lost control of now that the crisis has passed.  I had night after night where I was feeling alarming symptoms, almost heart attack-like.  It finally dawned on me that I was having anxiety attacks over and over.   I haven't had one of those in years.  Unlike the last time I dealt with it, there was no obvious precipitating event, just a 15 months of extreme stress, a few weeks of crisis, and three weeks of insomnia.

Fatigue.  Fatigue is the real culprit here.  It undermines your ability to cope and the effect just snowballs.  It will turn you into a person you do not recognize.  I don't cry.  I have broken down in tears several times lately.  I don't scream at service people no matter how much they may deserve it.  I had a full exorcist moment at the Ford service department a few days ago.  It's not pretty.  I told DW that I hated running.  I don't hate running.  (I hate sucking at it.)  I realized I sounded like a petulant little child and that night I had a dream that he fired me as a client.  I have eaten potato chips instead of my balanced meals several nights at work because I needed to rebel against the discipline that was making me put one foot in front of the other every day.  Now I feel fat AND tired.  This is not helping, but they were pretty tasty.

Still, I guess if the goal was to integrate my work and athletics, I did that.  I also got a sobering dose of reality.  This is really hard and it is not going to get easier.  I am going to have to plan breaks into my year to recover and train.  There are already breaks in the calendar because that is the nature of the job but I need to focus on making those count.  I am also going to have to take a night off once in a while.  The one thing I know for sure is that I don't want to give up.  For all of the whining, having this training program has added a dimension of stability and purpose (remember I am not married or in any relationship, don't have kids or other family members to care for and support, don't at the moment even have ties to my community.  I have this.) to my working life.  My job is like a choking vine that cuts you off from the real world, takes over your sense of identity, and leaves you with a miserable, broken existence.  I see it everywhere I look, especially amongst braiders.  Right now, triathlon is what is standing between me and complete surrender to the horse show world.  (A top trainer once asked me "are you sure you are a braider?  You are just... so NORMAL.")

I tried to organize tonight night off so that I would be rested for tomorrows drive but that didn't work out.  I am disappointed, but that is mostly because I had my heart set on catching the LBS ride right before I had to leave.  Between my crazy schedule and DW focused training plan, I have not gotten to join that ride (the one where I learned most of what I know about riding hard and paceline work) since I came back down here.  That is a huge bummer, but one that I will survive.  It would have been a great way to end this trip on a good note.  (Note... there were about four more paragraphs here that were not saved when the internet went down and the resulted in the computer locking up.  They are critical to this post having a theme and a message and not just being a big WHINE FESTIVAL.  Unfortunately, I was really "in the zone" when I wrote them and now I can't recall exactly how I put this together.  So in lieu of intelligent thought, I am just going to offer up some cheese and crackers.)

I have a run on the books for this afternoon and I'll be honest I am kind of dreading it.  My last run was, ahem, tortoise-like.  My average pace was nearly two full minutes off what I had been doing and it felt terrible.  I ached all over and my legs felt like cold sides of beef.  My psychology requests a solid effort from my body but last I checked my body wasn't taking requests.  My plan is to just go through the motions, if that is what it takes, for the next three weeks and once I am home in Austin, hit the trails and leave the Garmin Overlord at home.  Remember what a good run feels like when it is done just for fun.  I also know that my attitude will improve tremendously once I am able to do the types of workouts that help you to track progress.  I don't like stagnation and right now, it is taking all my effort to just hold my ground.  It is amazing that I can be giving my all to something and still be impatient with the pace of the progress.

I talked to DW before he headed to Puerto Rico (Good luck DW, blazing fast wife KW,  and any other athletes you may have there!) and I was in a particularly black mood.  I was having trouble seeing past the inside of my own skull and hopefully I did not let him in on my dark little secret... I am actually BAT-SH*T CRAZY!  He is excellent a putting everything into perspective.  At some point, this storm will pass and I will be grateful for all of the bad runs, frustrating trainer sessions, achy swims that I did when I just wanted to say "screw it".  All of the effort I am channeling into putting one foot in front of the other right now will be recognized when I don't have to make up for a big backslide in my progress.  For the moment, going forward is like riding into a strong headwind.  I may not be getting very far but at least I am not losing ground.  When the time comes, I will be ready to push off this foundation and see some results.

I feel like I am standing at the top of a mountain looking across the miles to another mountain top with the valley below shrouded in clouds.  I know that is where I need to go, but I have no idea what I will face along the road through the valley along the way.

I have used this analogy before but it is so appropriate to my life right now that I am saying it again.  I know where I want to go, I know how I want my life to look in a few years.  I have a clear picture of the goal, even if I have shared the full scope of it with NO ONE!  If I look at the top of that mountain, I stay focused on the goal.  If I look at the dirt under my feet, I stay in the moment (and don't trip over as many rocks).  If I look at the actual distance between me and my intended destination, it seems so overwhelming.  Right now, I am trusting that I will have what it takes to arrive there, though I am aware that like so many things in life, I probably don't know what I have gotten myself into.

Hopefully by the time I post again, the Airstream and I will have arrived safely in Texas.  Happy trails!

Sleepless In The Duck Pond

This week has been an EPIC FAIL training-wise as the insomnia streak continues.  I was at work on Thursday night and was in such bad shape from lack of sleep, I was struggling to maintain my balance on the ladder.  I was grumpy with the horses and every moment felt like the worst moment of my life.  This is what sleep deprivation does to you.  It magnifies every little ant into giant, irradiated comic book monsters.  At 1:24 in the morning, I sent DW an email: "I've gone down the rabbit hole. I'm cooked.  Hopefully this won't last much longer but I am not sure that I'm going to get any more out of this body until I start sleeping again. "


Essentially, I threw in the towel.  I realized that I didn't really intend to get back to it until after the weekend.  Even if I got some sleep, I was so far behind and work was so busy that I was going to need to focus for a few days.  It is the right decision but I hate feeling like I gave up.  


I was reading through some of the blogs that I follow, trying to live vicariously, and I came across one that is written by an older competitor whose accomplishments include a multiple winning seasons and Kona finishes.  He religiously lists his mileage in detail as do several other bloggers of varying levels of experience.  I found myself wondering why I rarely mention hard data in this blog.  More specifically, why I avoid hard data in this blog.  


For me, the triumph is in the abstract.  I hear people say that a 10 min mile pace is not even running (you know who you are) and I immediately wonder if I will ever be good enough.  For me, it is hauling ASS!! I have never been a good runner.  Now if people who are every bit the athlete that I am or more but lack a strong swimming background were to look at my swim times, they might feel the same way.  If the most you have ever done on a bicycle is 30 miles, 25 feels like 1000.  For one person, losing 40 lbs is two dress sizes, for another two dress sizes is 10 lbs.  It's all totally relative but that can be hard to see when you are looking at someone else's data and inevitably comparing it to your own.  


What is universal is the struggle, the love, the obsession, the humor, everything intangible that makes an athlete an athlete, no matter how far down that road they may be.  When I did that half-marathon, there were people stretched out for miles along that course, each struggling in their own way, at their own pace and one persons struggle was not more or less just because it happened faster.  


The front runners know they belong, they are enjoying accolades and focused on their goals and PR's.  Their work is cut out for them but it is clear what they are there to do.  They have to dig deep, find the strength to put forth their best effort even when their body is telling them exactly where they can shove those goals.  There is pressure on them to perform from sponsors, coaches, family and friends, crowd expectations, and most of all themselves.  Those type A personalities will not accept anything less than their best without a huge dose of self-abuse.


The stragglers at the back who's triumph is to reach the finish line often have a great deal of moral support, which is good since they probably stopped feeling their legs an hour ago.  There is a mental challenge that comes with being on course for hours and hours.  Any Ironman can tell you about that.  The suffering of a slow runner is not determined by their pace relative to the field.  It is by their pace relative to their fitness.  Often times, the person slogging along at a 12 min pace is giving a greater percentage of their total capacity than a faster runner who understands pacing.  That 12 min miler is going to be out there, running their engine in the red for twice the amount of time.  That takes a degree of determination and mental fortitude that should neither be dismissed or patronized.  It should be respected.


And everyone in between is out their fighting their own battles, slaying their own demons, overcoming their own odds.  To compare numbers is to discredit the one thing they all have in common, they put themselves out there, literally and figuratively.  I know what it feels like to carry the weight of a ten year old child around on my back.  Every step can be torturous.  It's not so much the physical suffering that is bad, it's the lack of result from that magnitude of suffering.  If no one ever told me that a 10 min mile was slow, then I would be very happy that I have taken a couple of mins off my pace.  But as it is, I stare at that watch aghast at my total lack of ability in this arena.  


No one follows your race results or writes an article about you for finishing mid to rear pack.  No one, save maybe a supportive family member or spouse is going to notice when you cross that 5K finish line in 35 mins.  If you've ever gone to a track practice and run along with all of your team/club mates blowing by you over and over, mumbling encouragement that (is probably genuine) but feels hollow and patronizing (like I need encouragement to SUCK THIS MUCH.  Thanks.) and found a way to push that out of your head step after step.  There is a mental fortitude in this as well.  There is a victory here that can't be measured by data.  


Success comes with time, consistency, and daily baby steps.  It is not magically imbued at birth or at any other point.  Some people admittedly start running the day they can walk and therefore have bodies that are capable of greater speed the first time they measure it, but make no mistake, they had to take all the steps to get there that anyone else does and if you have given yourself a burden to carry (extra weight, smoking, etc) or life has imposed one on you (injury, handicap, illness, etc) then each of those steps will be exponentially more difficult and to keep from falling, they will have to be tiny, tiny steps.  One day, however, you will look back and realize that you have become strong enough and skilled enough at balancing your burdens that the steps you are taking are becoming first full sized, then leaps, then wings.

My former roommate who competes as an elite once said, "I don't think I am a better athlete than you.  I just think I have been doing it longer." That was the best thing that anyone has ever told me.  There was no condescension, no empty cheerleading, just a simple observation of fact that gave me infinite hope.  

I have made a few friends through blogging, some are much more talented than I am, some are comparable, some are fairly early in their training.  If I compare numbers there would be all kind of differences, a gulf of difference between us.  But instead, by focusing on the abstract, mental, emotional, and occasionally funny aspects of being a triathlete (or runner, swimmer, cyclist, whatever), I am able to see what we have in common.