This is a recovery week for me, and not a moment too soon. I was just getting to that can't-stay-awake-can't-fall-asleep-droopy-overtrained state. I am getting where I know my limits.
But the thing about recovery weeks is that being still sometimes causes me to think too much. Some of that thinking has my stomach tightening into a tight little knot. See, if my tri-season were a Broadway musical, this would be about the time that everyone breaks into song, and someone like Tony from West Side Story croons:
There's something due any day;
I will know right away,
Soon as it shows.
I don't know what it is,
But it is
Gonna be great!
(So, um, yeah. I kind of know some show tunes. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Don't make me post about the road trip where I learned all the lyrics to the patter songs from The Music Man. Don't make me.)
The air and waters have turned warm here in South Texas. Sweat is once again dropping to the asphalt as we bike. We live in 45 spf suncreen. Dreadmills are a thing of the past. And all the shavey-legged, spandex crowd with abnormally low body fat are all a-quiver. All this training isn't just for grins. RACES are just around the corner.
I know a lot of you think Wildflower is "just around the corner," and it is. I can't wait to see all those triblogger friends in one place. I'm truly California Dreamin' about that race. But, my first corner is just a lot closer than that.
This Sunday, April 1, I have the first race of my season. This time out, however, the first race is the Lone Star Triathlon Festival at the half-iron distance.
So this explains the little knot in my stomach. It's one thing to put a local event on your calendar with the intention of simply treating it as a long training day. It's another to get back on a race course with real athletes, and buckle down for 1.2 miles in the open water, 56 miles on the bike, and 13.1 miles on your feet. Still, it can't be the hardest thing I've ever done.
The swim is in a sheltered, salt water bayou, not in the open Gulf.
The bike course is pancake flat alone the coast. I have ridden it before and have a good feel for how to meter my effort.
The run course is . . . a run course.
With the exception of potentially brutal winds on the bike, the course should be less of a challenge than Buffalo Springs Lake last summer. Still, . . . .
There's always that doubt . . .
and that faith . . . .
Could be. Who knows?