Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Open Letter to My Coach

Dear Coach,

Oh yeah... I see how it is. You finally got tired of listening to me whine about how I want to become more efficient in the swim, more powerful on the bike and faster on the run. So now you are going to make me work for it.

This new block of training started off with a killer bike. I thought getting up at 4:15am to get on the trainer would be the most painful part, but I was wrong. It only took about 20 minutes for my quads to start screaming. At several points the legs tried to quit on me; I had to consciously remember to keep pedaling. I was SO happy when the intervals were done, until I noticed the "extra credit" at the end of it all.

You ordered me back to the pool on Tuesday. I bailed on Masters and did a version of the sets you wanted me to. I was feeling pretty good on the first set and was even getting some rest. Unfortunately holding that pace over the next 1800 yards was more than challenging. When I thought I couldn't take one more stroke, I had to finished off with sprints. This left me with burning lungs and tingling, noodle like extremities. I could barely get myself out of the pool at the end and was staggering like a drunk person as I walked to the locker room.

Next up you had a little run for me. This was similar to a run you had given me earlier in the season, which had proved very challenging. I was stoked to redeem myself. An hour and a half later, I was over-heated, dripping with sweat, nauseous yet starving and left wondering if I would be able to walk the next day. The good news is I only threw-up once this time!

Back in the pool again. This time I stuck to Masters. The work-out didn't look too bad on the board, but I was wrong. It must have been the combination of swimming in a lane with one swimmer who moved down from lane 1 to "take it easy," two ladies with fins on and the 82degree water that left me dizzy and sweating in the pool. If that wasn't enough, I finished the morning off with your killer core session. At the end of it all, I was so hypoglycemic, I couldn't drive home. Had to go across the street to Starbucks and eat until I could once again think straight.

So here I sit contemplating my workout schedule for the rest of the week and exactly what I did to make you torture me so. As far as I can figure there are only a few explainations...

1. I am getting too big of a head these days and you have decided to show me how a real triathlete (like yourself) trains.

2. You are trying to help me cure my insomnia issues through pure exhaustion.

3. You have bought stock in Costco and are trying to give me a Costco sized appetite (it's working!).

4. You have heard that I never cry, and you have made it your mission to get me to cry like a little girl.

5. You are in collaboration with my friends and family to try to get rid of the endless amounts of energy I seem to have.

6. You are actually a top-secret Scottish agent working on new forms of torture.

All I can say at this point is THANKS! I look forward to the pain you will be inflicting over the next several weeks.