Poor Spastic Brain

    Pre-race anxiety has been my steady, irritating companion of late. I know that there is absolutely nothing I can do, that I haven't already done, or am currently doing, that will make much difference come race day. Yes, I am wishing I would have trained harder, been able to be even more prepared than I already am. But the plain and simple fact is that I do have a life outside of triathlon. Granted, not much of a life besides work, shenanigans at the fire station, and training, but I am working on changing that up a bit, too. I have to remind myself how far I have come in a year. A year ago I could barely swim half a mile, just barely. Cycling 20 miles was tiring. Running 5K seemed so incredibly far. Now, I swim a mile and a half several times a week, and it just makes me hungry. I cycled 50 miles on sunday, and felt great getting off the bike. I have ran two half-marathons, and yes, they were a bit hard on my knees, and I definitely had my "what the hell was I thinking," moments, they were not impossible distances. And still Brain has days like today, days of absolutely spaztastic, manic, free for all, catch me if you can, brains leaking out of my ears freakouts. I knew I was in trouble when, before leaving the house for work, I realized my shirt was on backwards, and my underwear were on inside out. I shit you not. And it just went downhill from there. Nothing overtly stupid or dangerous, just a series of forgetful, early onset dementia, can't get a grip, I should have stayed in bed moments.

    My saving grace? A backpack with my Selkie suit. A swim was awaiting me, to salvage Brain, soothe Spirit, and satiate Body. With the end of summer in sight, I know my visits to The Cove are nearly at an end. But for now, I can swim. As soon as quitting time rolled around, I was out the door, backpack over my shoulder, helmet in hand, headed for the water. Grey days, like today, assure me that I will have the whole lake enarly to myself. Today I shared it with a total of three solitary fishermen. The water was dark and murky, not the glorious emerald of earlier in the season, but I don't care. Slipping into the cool depths, I quickly fall into the near trance state of my swim. The cadence of my stroke, the accompanying rocking of my body, the only sound is my own breathing. In mere moments Brain settles down, steps away from the scrambled signals of a manic mind being short circuited by anxiety and excitement. The jumble of thoughts ricocheting around inside my skull manage to smooth out, become coherent, cohesive, and calm. Now I can think. Now the doubts and panic slip away, confidence returns. I imagine how I will feel in the race, how I will swim exactly as if I were doing my regular laps around my familiar Cove. I will let the others be swept away with excitement and adrenaline, while I will find my I-can-do-this-all-day pace. I will swim the 1.2 miles and come out of the water with a grin pasted to my face, and feet flying for Joshua in T2. Swimming helped me regain my balance, return to center, reconnect. I will miss The Cove once the weather turns cold.

    Home, starving, mentally exhausted, I make a huge meal of vegetarian tacos. Not my normal vegan spinach tacos, not quite. I added a couple eggs and a bit of cheese to ramp up the protein. I am upping my protein and lowering my carbs as I head down the final stretch. My workouts are becoming shorter, but are intense. I know I need protein to repair and rebuild, in order to really hit my peak. Now, belly full, muscles relaxed, Brain is shutting down. It has been a long day and suddenly I am barely able to string together a comprehensive sentence, so I will leave it at this: I have trained to the best of my abilities, I have fueled the machine with almost neurotic care, I have come an amazing distance to be where I am today, I am ready.