Wednesday, April 9, 2008

Biggest Loser(s)


Guess what everyone? Ali and Kelly both made it to the Biggest Loser finals! Where are the Spice Girls when you need them . . . "GIRL POWER!!!" (Okay, honestly. I just threw up a little bit in my mouth). I can't believe I am SO EXCITED about the impending outcome of a reality tv show! But for serious now. Ali is my hero . . . that girl has made such a drastic change; she is a new person--both inside and out--and I think she's fantastic! She's just so confident and sure of herself these days. I love it. Go Ali! :)

Okay, so enough about my ridiculous addiction to reality television. Let's talk about running! Since, um, that's what this blog is apparently supposed to be about (could've fooled me). So yeah, I was the biggest loser myself yesterday . . . but unlike Ali and Kelly, not the good kind of biggest loser. I was a loser because I couldn't finish my run :( I set out to do 4 miles on the treadmill (I read the schedule wrong--thus 4, rather than the 3.5 I mentioned Sunday). My lungs were dying. DYING. It sucked. But at the same time, if felt SOOO good to be running again. My legs were totally stoked. But yeah . . . my chest and my lungs . . . not so much.

Enter the constant psychological battle I seem to have with myself. A little game I like to call, "Am I a complete and total masochist or what?" This is the same game I played throughout the L.A. Marathon, as my body was taken over with chills due to severe heat exhaustion.

Realist in me: "Um, I'm pretty sure I'm starting to have some heat exhaustion symptoms. And we're only at mile-4! Is it smart to continue running?"

Masochist in me: "Shutup. Quit being such a wimp. I mean, are you even kidding me? You trained for 4 months to do this. Not to mention, you've waited your entire life to be able to say you're a marathoner! JUST RUN, damn it!"

Realist: "Okay, but there will be other marathons. If you're already struggling this early on, think about how badly you'll be struggling come mile-12 . . . or mile-19 . . . or mile-25!! And it's only going to get hotter out here. You know, people do die from heat stroke!"

Masochist: "Yeah, right. You won't die. You're just hot and gross and out-of-shape. You seriously should have trained harder. You suck."

Realist: "Actually, you trained your butt off for this marathon. It's not your fault the weather is H-O-T, and you body is used to C-O-L-D. Those are circumstances beyond your control."

Masochist: "LOSER! I can't even believe you are thinking about quitting!! LOSER!!!"

Realist: "Um, try this one on for size. If you die . . . you won't be able to run anymore marathons, and you CERTAINLY won't ever complete an Ironman" (who said anything about triathlons? what?)

Masochist: "What would Lance say? 'Pain is temporary. It may last a minute, or an hour, or a day, or a year, but eventually it will subside and something else will take its place. If I quit, however, it lasts forever.'”

We obviously know which side won out during L.A. Last night, however. I let myself fall victim to the realist in me. Knowing I'm just coming back from being pretty darn sick (and in all honesty, I still AM pretty sick), I knew it was no time to push my limits. So I--gasp!--made a compromise. I told myself that if I could just make it to 3 miles, I could walk the last mile and call it a day. I'm telling you, the nano-second that treadmill read 3.0 miles, I slowed it down to a walking pace (and my lungs rejoiced!). And while I do feel a bit like a "loser" for not being able to finish a 4 mile run, I also feel pretty smart. Because for once, I actually listened to my body. I think I may actually be learning . . . miraculous as that may seem.

I've got me some speed training on the schedule for tonight. 7 x 400s to be exact. Here's hoping that my body feels like doing speed training tonight! Have a happy Hump Day everyone!


The Laminator said...

Hi Irish! I love those conversations we have with ourselves during the marathon. Even though I run a bit faster, believe it or not, I have EXACTLY the same kind of talk. I remember cursing at myself at mile 22.5 for liking running so much that some four letter-word slipped out and the guy next to me gave me a dirty look. So crazy.