Okay maybe there is some crying in tri class

Today, I hate that I'm training for a Triathalon (a "tin man" as my Dad called it). I know in the long run I may surprise myself, but today I just want to quit and have an easy, pleasant summer. I feel like a pedestrian training for the Olympics. On the equator.

I saw a piece of the iron man Triathalon on TV yesterday. Those people are like beautiful cheetahs. Like the blue guys on Avatar. I feel like I have a tiny glimpse of how much work it takes to actually get to that point, and I just don't see how it's possible.

While I was biking alongside Tom yesterday, he said, "You're gonna get hooked. You'll see." Today's forecast: doubtful with a 30% chance of tears or vomit. Watch for signs of quitting.

This morning I woke up feeling heavy, tired, and resistant. It's week three. The way my body felt and the thought of pounding it out on the track or the resistance bike made me want to sit down and cry. Of course I went anyway, and I wasn't even late (I haven't been late once, which is really something for me). Mandy had car trouble, so her assistant Anna trained us today. We did a circuit that went a little something like this:

• 1 minute on bike with high resistance in a standing-up position to pedal. We're not supposed to put any weight on our hands.
• 1 minute jogging around the basketball court.
• 1 minute holding a low squat.
• 1 minute holding plank position (the hardest part).
• 1 minute alternating lunges
• 1 minute to scramble back to the bikes and take a sip of water.
  

We repeated four times. This wasn't so bad compared to swimming or running. Well, or biking. I really hate the whole triumvirate today.

Then we did something that I didn't think would be that grueling: 6 sprints of one lap around the track with 2-minute breaks in between. The laps are about a sixth of a mile. The breaks seemed merciful in theory.

I can sprint pretty hard and fast for a couple of seconds, but then I feel like I'm going to throw up my coffee. I tried to pace myself. At the very beginning, it was almost fun to tear ass around the track. But it suddenly gets very hard and then it feels like I'm in deep mud before the end of one lap. I paced in a little circle during the "rest." I had a really good third lap (or was it fourth?) when I stayed fast in the front of the pack. After every single one, I tried to breathe through the side cramps, nausea, and mucus (I've discovered that running hurts the pressure in your head and blocks up your ears and throat). I felt like quitting every time and it got harder rather than easier. I was the caboose for the sixth lap--I don't think I was physically capable of "sprinting" by that point, but I managed a jog.

I forgot to mention this: on Saturday when I visited my parents, my mom timed my swimming. I don't remember how long a "lap" is, but it's a there-and-back in their pool. A 350 m swim is about 10 "laps" in their pool (I think). I did a lap in about 1 min. 30 seconds every time no matter what stroke. I took lots of breaks, and the whole thing took about 15 minutes (same length as the swim part of the real race). We discovered that breaststroke is my fastest, backstroke is my slowest, and freestyle/front crawl makes me choke on water halfway back on the first "lap."

I briefly talked with Anna and G after class about maybe doing breaststroke for the race instead of front crawl, and G said it's just not possible with all of the crowding of the lanes and people passing you up and stuff. Anna said once you get front crawl down pat, it's the most efficient. I said I'd just think of breaststroke as back up, and G said to aim for not doing it and then only do it at the race if you get desperate. This information gave me a sinking feeling (pun intended). We're swimming and running (or biking) back to back on Wednesday. Frown.

If getting freestyle really is hopeless for me, I'm just going to let those bitches pass me up and froggie kick the whole thing.

I felt physically ill after class--lightheaded, nauseous, headachy, stuffed up. Maybe a little mentally ill, too, with all my negative thoughts of resignation. I went home and lay on the sheep skin rug under the living room fan, chatted with Leif about the World Cup, and read a food article in O magazine. The sick feeling almost completely passed. I managed to stomach a granola bar and some water. Then I went to ballet class (which was pretty chill again today, thank god) because I want to maintain my technique and because it is a rare treat to get a free Miss Susan class. My legs were shot, but I made it through, dancing at about 70% of my capacity. Maybe 60. It wasn't as big of a deal to go to ballet as I thought it would be.

I think I'm going to treat myself to the veggie lunch at Zealand. I just sweat through a lukewarm splash bath and ate some mixed nuts. I'm just starting to feel really hungry. Maybe I'll get to have black eyed peas and greens! And I tell you hwhat: I could tear up some cornbread right about now.