So, my 20-week training plan for IMFL starts on Monday. As in, less than a week from now I will have no social life what so ever. Courtney and I were just talking about this, and quite frankly, the prospect of REALLY truly training for this thing scares the shit out of both of us. I have definitely been feeling more motivated in the last couple of weeks and getting back into the swing of things, but honestly, I’ve still been taking it pretty easy. Skipping workouts here and there, not following a set training plan. But no more. And not that I go out all that much now, but starting next week I just won’t be able to. No mid-week happy hour, since I’ll be getting up at 4 or 5 the next morning to train. No going out on Friday or Saturday nights, since I’ll have to get up the following morning for a long workout. It’s going to be up early to work out, go to work, straight home from work to hit it hard, eat dinner, spend a little time with Dan and the dogs, then go to bed so I can get up in the morning and do it again. I’m going to be exhausted 24/7.
The thing is, I know that I am capable of doing it. I know I can stick to my schedule. The part that’s going to suck the most is getting the “WTH is wrong with you” look from people when I say that I can’t go to happy hour, or that I don’t know if I can go on a float trip because I can’t afford a weekend away from training, or that we can’t spend a long weekend in California for Dan’s cousin’s wedding. A wedding which happens to fall on my peak training week. I already got that look from Dan’s mom when I told her that we’ll be flying in Friday night and having to leave Sunday morning. I’ll just have to take my running gear with me, and pray for an EARLY flight home so that I can still get in my long ride that Sunday. People just don’t understand. Easing up or skipping workouts to do something fun is not an option. Because I know what happens when I “ease up” and skip workouts. I get to my target race and want to kick myself in the head for being lazy and missing workouts. I can’t do that this time. I need to be able to stand on that beach at 7am, November 3, and know that I have done everything within my power to prepare myself. I can’t leave any doubt in my head. “Coulda, shoulda, woulda” will not be playing a part of my Ironman experience.
I don’t expect people to understand. I realize that to most folks, paying a $500 entry fee so that you can put your body through hell for up to 17 hours and end up with blisters the size of silver dollars on your feet, well, that just doesn’t sound like much fun. But I can’t think of anything I’d rather do. There is a reason they say “Swim 2.4 miles. Bike 112 miles. Run 26.2 miles. Brag for the rest of your life.” I intend to find out what it is.