To race or not to race...

This time of year is usually characterized by long rides, equally long runs, hours in the pool, and endless agonizing over tri-tops, fuel belts, caffeinated v non-caffeinated gels, and stress-inducing countdowns until the first race of the season. 

Although you may not have noticed, this year is different. I don't think I've written a single post about triathlons since the new year, and even more unlike me: I have yet to sign up for a race. For someone who completed nine triathlons, three adventure races, and two half marathons in three years, this appears abnormal. And it is. But I'm OK with it. 

I think. 

It started in January, when I was planning on running a local half marathon I ran two years prior. I was just about to sign up for it, when I realized it fell right in my only three-day weekend in the semester. The three-day weekend husband-dear and I were going to spend visiting his family in Florida. And without any prodding from husband-dear or the in-laws I decided that I'd rather visit family than stay home for a race I had already done before. And one that was run on base too (I realize that for some this would have been a selling point, but once you've seen one flight line you've seen them all. Really). So instead of paying $50 to run with hundreds of other people, I set my GPS watch, filled up my camelback, packed some gels, and ran 13.1 miles on my own. In 1:50:03, a personal record. 

I think that's when I first realized that I didn't need to do an oficial race to feel like I accomplished something. And that just the thought of doing a tri, with all the registration-transportation-spotting buoys-transition mess was enough to make me feel tired. Very tired. And so although I kept training as though I was getting ready for another half ironman (after all, the first one could have been a fluke), I wasn't signing up, or even planning, for any races. I just felt race-tired. 

But you know me, and I know me, and as the months wore on, and my mileage increased, I started to increasingly feel as though not doing a race was just wrong. Not me. So, even though the thought of packing my transition bag made me want to take a nap and rest, I started to think about a local half iron. A half iron that is accompanied by a sprint, one that I have done for the past three years. How cool would it be if I finally did the same half iron that seemed lightyears out of reach four years ago? Well, my brain responded, sure, but it also just sounds exhausting. Wouldn't you rather take a nap and then bake some cookies? But brain, I said, the weather has been exceptionally cool, and for a race where the run takes place on a sunny road in temperatures that easily soar into the low 100s, doesn't an 90 degree run sound great? Sure, my brain said. And then might have mumbled something incomprensible about stubborn women and mules. 

Of course, karma is a snarky little turd, and so three weeks ago, five weeks before the race I had not yet signed up for, in the middle of the so-called pre-race peak, (and so at the worst possible time) I strained a muscle. Well, the insertion of a muscle in fact. In my groin, since you asked. I wasn't doing anything special, just swimming, and naturally I didn't stop. And so when I came home, I was not happy. Any sensible person would have taken a break. And I did. For about three days, at which point I had a 70-mile ride scheduled. Which I, naturally, completed. 

I won't need to tell you what a four hour bike ride does to an inflamed insertion. Yes, it makes it worse! What a surprise. And it has not gotten better since. At all. A trip to the doctor revealed a sprain and the knowledge that when someone pushes on an inflamed insertion, it hurts even more. For days. 

I also don't need to tell you what this does to my racing plans.. I can't speak for the entire season yet, but this half ironman I did and did not want to so at the same time is obviously not happening. My brain is relieved, the rest of me not so much... If nothing else, how can I keep eating like a pig without putting on a single pound? 

So if you're looking for me, I will be over there in the corner, trying to resist the urge to eat an entire container of ice cream.