I always have this moment as an IM approaches on the schedule where I think I'm supposed to do WHAT in X days. It doesn't matter that I have finished them before, done well in them before. In that moment I simply cannot wrap my mind around being 100 miles into a 112 mile bike ride, with a marathon after-party to attend. Can't do it. And of course for IM Canada I had to have that moment during the second day of having a head which feels like a balloon, the second day of doing nothing in order to pummel a cold into submission before it can travel further south than my uvula, so the mental projection of racing IM was about as ludicrous as tele-porting to Mars. As ludicrous as the possibility of every feeling healthy again.
There is nothing like an illness in the middle of a hard training block and after some of the most promising workouts in recent weeks to reinforce just how necessary an exacting balance of health, physical integrity, daily rhythm, and luck is to do what I do. And how rare it is to find and unnerving it is to lose. Not only because my entire day is structured what most people put on their to-do list as "go to the gym" so my schedule is thrown for whack, but because being an athlete is central to my identity, it has been at the very core of me since seventh grade. Take that away, diminish or redefine it, and sequester me to the couch and it's not just my sinuses which are out of order, but also the way that I understand myself and my choices which is dinged.
All of this two weeks before IM. Consider me thrown for a serious loop.
The other thing I unbelievably did was laugh during a movie at the Alamo Drafthouse.
When I simply could not sit on a couch and watch TV one second more, I decamped to sit on a movie theater seat and watch Harry Potter. Alamos are great: fully functional movie theaters with fully functional restaurants inside, plus first-run movies and low matinee prices. But there is no talking. Zip, zero, nada.
And if you're not clear on that, they kindly lay out the tenets of the no talking rule in two-story tall letters backed by Psycho shower scene-esque music. You can read the rules starting at 00:23.
One lady needs to have her prescription checked because she couldn't read the two-story tall letters, sent text messages during a movie, got thrown out, and left this **NSFW** voicemail ** NSFW**. Oh, yes. Yes, she did.
I have to respect an establishment that elicits this level of drunk and disorderly vitriol. If I can't be out swimming, biking, or running, I will happily be not talking in their theaters.