"Your eyes are bigger than your stomach." So I was often told in the buffet line as a small child with a mound of food on my plate--food that I seldom finished.
"You've bitten off more than you can chew." So I have often been told since then in a variety of situations. Choking on those bites was not uncommon.
"Well, that's another fine mess you've gotten us into." So said the practical, Oliver Hardy side of my brain to the childlike Stan Laurel on the other side. Apparently only Stan was present when I joined the confederacy of dunces who all signed up for Ironman Wisconsin last summer. Oliver is horrified and predicts certain doom.
The Confederacy Of Dunces
Oliver's voice was in my ears as I was finishing a 4.5 hour ride yesterday with a heat index over 100 degrees. Nevertheless I ignored Oliver and road past my start point to tack on miles for the last 45 minutes of the ride.
Oliver almost shouted when I got off the bike and grabbed my running shoes and hobbled for my 30 minute runoff. Nevertheless I ignored Oliver and ran----well, run might be a bit of an exaggeration. It was very ugly and very very slow.
Oliver was less persistent this morning on my long run, but he poked me in the shoulder when I ran through the unrelenting humidity drenched in sweat. Running past a swank hotel, the outside speakers were playing . . . . "Sleigh Ride." 100 degree heat index and I hear Christmas music on my run.
I KID YOU NOT.
Oliver is barking more and more often now, because the countdown clock is in double digits. This is getting real, and I wonder if I'm going to make it. Two months ago, before the MS150 or Wildflower, 4.5 hours in zone 2 was no big deal. Now? Very big deal. I am slower, I feel weaker and I take longer to recover. It could well be the heat. There really is nothing like the suffocating heat and humidity that is "normal" Houston weather this time of year. The sucky conditions will be great training for the typical race day conditions.
But it still sucks.
It could be I'm overtrained from pushing back my recovery week for scheduling purposes. It could be I am chronically overtrained to the point that I need to take a month off--a month I do not have. 40 year old hobbits generally have only one peak per season in their furry feet. Have I peaked? Was the break after Wildflower simply not enough? Would any break be enough?
Thank goodness a recovery week starts tomorrow, and I intend to recover like crazy, but still. Are my eyes bigger than my stomach? Have I bitten off more than I can chew? Is Oliver right?
Stan, with his childlike faith, will continue to show up for every workout. Stan believes. Oliver . . . . not so much.