This weekend was my son’s third birthday. I knew it was bound to be full of excitement, and Momma needed a good workout before the festivities commenced. I set my alarm for the crack of dawn, ready for an early morning spin class with Ironman G on Friday.
I rolled over, looked at the clock and bolted awake. I realized I missed spinning. I had to leave the house by 4:50am to make it. And it was 6:00. Ugh ugh ugh. The Expert sensed my frustration (as I was huffing and puffing), and asked what was wrong. And next thing I know, I am sobbing. About spinning. And missing it.
What a tool. Me, I mean. Not him.
And the Expert is mad, and mutters something about being embarassed for me, crying over spinning. Well, I was devastated. I needed my therapy before the crazy weekend, and I missed out. And like any good spoiled brat, I didn’t have the heart to sit on the fat saddled stationary bike by myself in the gym, so I waddled into work instead. Sans workout. Boo me.
The weekend was fine. I got some sort of strange throat, head-cold thing. And I ate too much birthday cake and general bad-for-me things. That’s the way it goes.
It took everything in me to pack up my bag last night for spinning today and Irongirl Sarah’s class. I felt another rut slowly creeping in. For me, however, I think the rut creeps in when my scheduled life gets a little turned around.
So I showed up for spin at 5:55, and was turning into the parking lot when ahoy, I spotted Ironman G’s truck. Granted, the truck spotting usually would have instigated a series of cartwheels, especially after missing Friday’s class and crying like a stupid idiot. But being in my frazzled, rut-around-the-edges state with a headcold, I was just plain scared for an IG spin class.
True to form and an hour and ten minutes later, I am holding back the puke and feeling awesome. No room for a rut here.
Still up in the air about the duathlon on Sunday. With six miles total miles to run in the race, plus another 16 bike miles, I’m not sure what the right answer is: Du or Du not. My left hip is not functioning like a normal hip, or even a steel hip, for that matter. More like an alien hip, being controlled by some mean triathlon orbit station. So if I can run close to four miles tomorrow, then I am in. Du, here I come. If not, then maybe next time.
Why I am worried about a duathlon when I just finished a triathlon, you got me. Probably because it’s alot more of the “hard” work (e.g., longer bike and longer run), versus just a short third leg pool swim. Again, that’s probably my mental game getting messy again.