On to new endeavors, trials, and testing my mettle. I have blogged excessively in Deasal's Random Ramblings about the emotional, mental rollercoaster that is my life, and it does not seem to be the appropriate place to start writing of my pending physical feats. What feats, you may well ask. I have decided that I will be a successful, competitive Triathlete. Yes. A Triathlete.
Anyone who knows me, now or in my past, knows that I have always been a relatively active, strong female. I am not a girly-girl. I am a Tomboy to the bone (well, okay, I do have my girly moments, but please don't tell anyone since it may very well ruin my biker chick/warrior reputation). I wanted so very badly to train for the obstacle runs that have been dominating the world of amateur sports the last few years. From the moment I first read a description of The Warrior Dash I was smitten. The idea of glorious victory over trial by fire, mud, water was a concept that appealed to the warrior in me. And I looked at it as a great motivation to cross train and change up my workouts, as well as to add some zest to my fighting training. But all along I knew my knee was a handicap, too unstable to handle the rugged and/or slippery footing challenges. I had hoped my recent knee surgery would give me the stability I would need to start challenging myself with these difficult obstacle courses. But it was not to be. I have been told by my doctor, my physical therapist, and a trusted friend who is a running coach and very familiar with the Spartan Races, that these types of races would likely be "catastrophic" for my knee. I fucked my knee up doing something difficult, challenging, and stupid. And I knew it was stupid at the time. So, I need to not repeat my past mistakes and screw it up to the point of being truly crippled.
I admit, this was a depressing realization for me. Actually, it went beyond depressing and struck me at my core. For years I was certain that knee surgery would be a miracle cure for the pain, instability, and random dislocating that has been the bane of my agility for more than 10 years. Instead, I was told that the doctor went the minimalist route because once he got in there he realized the only way I would get anything resembling normal stability was with a full knee replacement. Neither of us was ready for that procedure yet. And so, as I heal up and wait to see what exactly, if any, changes there will be in my knee's functionality, I have had to alter my dreams. I am not one to dwell on what might have been, what should have been, and wishes denied. Instead I have a quick, violent breakdown, weeping, cursing, shaking my fist at the Powers That Be, ranting against the unfairness of it all, and then I get over it as best I can. Quick breakdown, quick recovery. I do still have twinges of sadness at the loss of potential challenges, but it has made me hit the reset button on my personal expectations.
I have been enthralled with the Ironman series of races. In awe of those stalwart individuals capable of pushing themselves through such a grueling task. But for my entire life I have told myself, "I am not a runner." I have repeated this to myself hundreds of times over the years. I am not sure what started me down this thought process. I think it started very young, as a chubby kid, when we had to do The Presidential Physical Fitness Test. I loathed that test. The pull-ups were embarrassing, but it was the mile run that was sheer humiliation for me. To take a chubby kid with no running experience, and expect them to be able to run a mile truly is a recipe for damaged self-esteem. Now, if they had prepped us for a month or so? Then maybe more of us would have risen to the challenge, not felt like gasping beached whales. Yes, it was like that.
Now, with a recent, and much overdue, weight loss, I am back to what I used to call "My Fighting Weight." And this was long before I had ever even heard of medieval armored combat. Now, after 16 years of actually fighting, and convincing myself I need to keep my body mass up to be able to take and give a good hit, I have stepped out of that mentality. Instead of gearing the bulk of my workouts towards fighting, I switched gears. Completely. I am not fighting this year. I changed nearly every aspect of how I workout, and I lost 55 pounds in the process. No, my workouts did not do that, I did that. I became obsessive with what went into my mouth. It bordered on a stress induced eating disorder. Hell, who am I kidding. It was a stress induced eating disorder. Let's call a Spade a Spade. There was a month this last winter when I could barely eat. Every food was nauseating, except for milk, whey protein and oranges. I do not recommend the Nervous Breakdown Weight Loss Plan. But it did help me kick my sugar and carb addiction, so I can't diss it too much. And after the first 15 pound loss caused by the stress, I regained control over my appetite, but was very careful what I was willing to reintroduce to my body. I eat basic, simple, natural foods. I avoid sugar, but still indulge a bit. I do not eat processed foods, avoiding chemical laden quick fixes. So the weight kept peeling off. Now, I will do whatever it takes to keep it from ever regaining a foothold.
Yes, I am rambling. To get to the point, getting back to my Fighting Weight, seeing lean muscle, knowing that my rigorous workout ethic and careful nutrition had me in the absolute best shape of my entire life, suddenly made the thought gel, "I am an athlete, I can be a runner." I want to be a runner. It is something that has been a desire of mine for many years, but I have tried, failed, and quit, time and again. But now, this time, I know it is different. I am different. I am stronger, more intelligent, better educated, and know that I can do this. And so, shedding the disappointment of knee related limitations, I am switching my dreams and goals: Triathalon. And So It Begins.
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