The best laid plans and good intentions

One of the most profound lessons that I am learning in the training process is to trust. Trust my intuition. Trust the training. Trust my gut. When something seems off (off like the smell of bad milk)....it probably is. When something feels wrong deep in my soul (wrong like showing up to ironman without having trained) ...it probably is. And yet, despite my gut, despite the intuition that we were NOT to venture deep into our training over the weekend, we persisted and ended up once in a taxi and once deeply indebted to a friend with a truck. Thank the gods that we have a friend with a truck (three cheers for Lois!). But let me begin at the beginning....where all long rides and runs in the dog days of summer start....the wee hours of the morning.

Saturday morning I woke with a deep sense of dread for our (seemingly short) 70 mile ride. We dressed, ate, and then I climbed back into bed whining in my best 4-year old voice all the reasons I couldn't ride. Alas, we mounted Pepper and Tula (sounds like 'toola') for our ride. A mere five miles in Trina realized that her brakes were wonky (for your non-cyclists this is the very technical term for f-ed up). So we called our 'experts' (Jen and Meg!!!) who suggested that we have the mechanic look it over before trecking out onto a long hilly ride. As the cool morning hours were ticking away we realized that we needed to kick it into high gear (another very specialized cycling term) if we were going to get a long workout in. We decided that our bad luck with cycling should not be pushed any further and we took off on an 18 mile run.

Fluids, gu, and iPod in hand we laced up and took off. My deep sense of dread began again and I started looking for signs....signs that I could go home and crawl back into bed. Looking back I realize that there were signs...like a good friend of ours with a blown out tire on the road as we ran by, and the nauseating cramping deep in my abdomen, but apparently such signs are wasted on me, b/c we kept running...I looking for the sign.

About 7 miles in my belly began to rumble. For those non runners out there this is NOT a good sign for me. Usually this sort of tummy rumble leads to serious (and humiliating) tummy trouble. And so it began...the regular (every 2 mile) emergency bathroom stop at any public restroom available. My ass was like a faucet....enough said. Then, as if this collection of signs weren't enough (sorry men reading this) we both began to cramp and well, menstruate (I thought by using the clinical term it might come off less personal, instead now I just feel like a demonstration in middle school health class). By 10 miles we were a mess. I think this was the sign, but we persevered. At mile 11 we stopped for water and food (anything to please stop the faucet!!!!). By 11.75 we were desperate. At 12 miles we found an ATM (thank you Trina for always being a good boy scout and having ID and debit cards handy!!!). Trina got cash and proclaimed (really she did) that we would be taking a cab home. I laughed and in my very sassy-snarkish way said, 'baby this is not the city, where are we going to find a cab'. She was quiet for about 2 seconds and then said 'right there', and pointed to the cab sitting in the parking lot 10 feet from my sprawling body. That sort of thing is the story of my life...smartass comments and then very practical obvious truths. It really steals the punchline.

And so, we took our cab home. Best $12 ever spent.

Sunday, we woke with a steadfast commitment to our 70 mile ride. It was the kind of commitment one might have to say enjoying a buffet in Las Vegas, or to happy hour on Fridays (this is serious commitment people). Just like deja vu we mounted Pepper and Tula at 10 a.m. fully stocked with fluids, gu and all other kinds of 'fake' foods. 10 miles later Trina got a flat. All smiles and jokes we laughed it off, spent 30 minutes changing her tire (it was our first!) and returned to the rode. Two miles and one porta potty later (I stop every time I see one....you never know when the chance to go will present itself!), Trina's tire blew, AGAIN. Out of tubes and patience we phoned a friend (we attempted to poll the audience but those cows are so darn tight lipped!) Thank god for Lois, our fabulous friend with the truck. While Trina suggested that we try getting the tube replaced, the shops around town were closed and frankly, I was out of 'commitment' to the weekend of long workouts. And so we ate. And we laughed and we ate. Sometimes we just can't do what the schedule tells us to. Sometimes we have to follow the signs. :)

While our training partners bust through miles and miles of training (we love them!), we are renewing our commitment to the process. This week is a new week. This week we will SUCCESSFULLY achieve all of our goals and miles. This week we will be ironwomen! Oh, and by the way, don't tell anyone about that 'ass was a faucet' thing....it's so embarrassing.

6.5 weeks to Madison. Oh dear god.