Right here, I promise. Just bleeding some speed. (And trying to give my readers something educational to digest in the interim.)
This spring was a right doozy, if I do say so myself. And I do, because I was there and have the t-shirt to prove I survived it. First, there was training and then there was (getting in the way of my mother who was) packing (my things...gotta give credit where credit is due...) while training. Fuerte followed, all six weeks of it, and after finding my way back into this hemisphere, Dad and I found our way to Texas. Don't worry, it's big and easy to find. I interrupted apartment hunting for training; I interrupted training for unpacking. I raced New Orleans; I raced Brazil.
In other words, laying the foundation for speed, searching for speed, finding speed, building speed, nurturing speed. And then using speed.
And now, bleeding speed.
We can't - shouldn't! - be in tip-top peak shape all the time. If we try, as the valleys of out-of-shape become shallower, the peaks of in-shape become lower. To work hard sometimes you have to rest hard, and not just at the end of the season. Of course, you lose fitness - or bleed speed - doing all this hard resting, but the subsequent fitness gains, especially after a big race (which is essentially just a well-timed threshold workout and will engender gains in fitness just like any other workout), are worth it. Just as the opportunity to live life without so much SBR-ing is worth it.
What does bleeding speed entail? Whatever you want.
What has bleeding speed entailed for me these past three weeks?
Ma Support Staff was waiting at my gate when I arrived in Austin from Brazil. The two of us quickly set about setting the town on fire and...finishing assembling my new place. We also decided the public health department would appreciate our help in confirming the cleanliness of Austin's food carts and ate not a single meal at home.
As my body wasted (relatively) away, my mind has flourished. I have a good start on burning a Kelzie-sized hole through the Austin city public library's book selection. Twelve books in my first seven days as a member, one volume of which was started - and completed - while sitting at the DMV, waiting to get my Texas drivers license. I even registered to vote here. [hangs head in shame]
I've tapped out the new release kiosk at my local branch so I moved on to the large print section, which was sagging under the weight of Keith Richards' memoir/quasi-autobiography, Life. And there is certainly a LOT of LIFE (and drugs) stuffed in those 853 magnified pages. A great tidbit is this:
"White rock and rollers apparently are not supposed to do this at our age. But I'm not here just to make records and money. I'm here to say something and to touch other people, sometimes in a cry of desperation: 'Do you know this feeling?'"
But I have not let my body and built-up speed waste away completely. In between at-first-gentle-but-increasingly-back-to-normal training sessions, I've battled the wild life. Like Florida has the ubiquitous palmetto bug, Texas has flying "tree roaches". How did I discover that Texas is home to such loveable creatures (which don't infest dirty places, but sneak out of their trees and into cool places looking for water)? By walking into my bathroom half-dressed for a bike ride and finding one in my sink.
Hello? Have we met? My name is Kelzie and I do NOT DO BUGS.
So I armed myself appropriately. With a broom and the pitcher of my blender, filled with water. And assumed the stance of a Roman gladiator armed with sword and shield. WHA?!? Ok. Next time I will allow my heart rate to return to a normal level before I consider my weaponry. But at the time I was operating with a heart rate in zone 4 and fairly certain this beast was going to devour me whole.
A Great Battle ensued, during which I held him down with the broom so I could get to the drain-stopper and close it, at which point I filled the sink with water and drowned him. Huzzah!
He was still there when I got back from my ride.
Hello? Have we met? My name is Kelzie and there is NO WAY I was going to TOUCH the DEAD BUG. I decided to use a two hour ride to come up with options.
It turns out the Roman gladiators did not have at their disposal vacuums. Which is what I eventually used to get the dead flying tree roach out of my sink and the live one I found a few days ago out of my bedroom.
It's a shame that modern technologies are facilitating easy bug extraction and thereby encouraging less physical activity. Otherwise perhaps I could continue to count run-ins with wild life as recovery training sessions.
Oh well. Enough bleeding speed; the valley is deep enough for a nice little mid-season break. Back to work!