Ironman 2.0 started about two weeks ago, and there have been some times when I seriously thought, "who was that guy who finished Ironman Wisconsin last year? Couldn't have been me because I feel like a patient on the cardiac ward." I had forgotten that when I do Ironman training, I either feel like I'm 20 years older than I actually am, or 20 years younger. Thankfully, the ol' bones and muscles started to bounce back this week.
Tuesday mornings are usually some type of bike interval workout on the Greyhound Ironman Training Plan. Today, coach book said to do 10x20 second power intervals, which in our town must generally be done on a trainer because there simply are no hills. But the weather was sooooo loverly (sorry Minnesota and Boston) that I had to ride outdoors. The basic workout was warmup followed by eight, flatout, snot-slinging intervals followed by equal rest. It was the perfect Booyah experience including:
1. Reflective vest, blinky lights, and helmet torch, all sufficiently garish and bright that you can be seen from the International Space Station.
2. X-Wing, behind the seat bottle holder: Did you know that this awesome piece of equipment will actually hold that travel mug of home-brewed Caribou Coffee? Me neither. But it does. Nothing quite so perfect as sucking down some additional coffee goodness during the warmup or in a rest interval.
3. Face-melting playlist: Because the loop has no traffic, I can safely listen to the Ipod while I go round and round and round like a gerble. The basic workout is one song "on," and one song "off." But if you want to properly sling snot, Air Supply or Chicago is not going to get it done. You need music that will peel paint and melt faces, i.e., Pantera, Buckcherry, Nine Inch Nails, Metallica. (Note to self: alternative or heavy metal selections are longer than the average bubblegum pop tune, so if you go all out, you WILL be slinging snot by the end of the tune.)
4. 2 Cool down laps of Memorial Park where the pony tails and bare shoulders of the runner chicas were out in all their 70 degree glory. I know, 70 degrees in January is just wrong, but if this is wrong, I don't wanna be right. (And don't judge me! Those runner chicas were there oggling the bare chested he-men, because that is how people roll in Memorial Park.)
Then add to that, the evening workout. Nothing will make you feel 20 years younger than you are like running in 65 degree weather with someone who actually IS 20 years younger than you. This time it was Scuba Steve, Coach T's main squeeze, a former collegiate runner himself. I started slow and creaky like I usually do, but when the engine got warmed up, we started ticking off the miles at about 8 minutes per and quicker. Effortless fun.
And then the weight workout--**ahem**--where I leg pressed 110 more pounds than the 21 year old kid.
And then the swim workout this morning where 2:00 per hundred for a 1000 meters straight was LIKE BUTTAH!
I know, I know. There are all sorts of Ironhead "Legends" out there who could take me to the cleaners on my best of best days. But feeling 20 again--nay, feeling so good that you could kick your own 20 year old ass--that's good clean fun.
What kind of craziness is next? Base jumping? Mosh pits? Piercings? Remind me of this next Sunday night when I feel like I need a walker.