Or rather, me dragging ass. Been fatigued for three days now, unable to catch a restful night’s sleep or regular bowel movement and my training speed and strength are suffering for it.
It’s taken three days to digestively recover from the weekend trip. As I get older it seems that 12 hours of car travel locks up my insides like concrete. Yesterday I was 182 lbs and ate tons of raw vegetables all day in a desperate attempt to clear the works. I was one step away from eating a Brillo pad. This morning at 5:30am I was *still* 182. Ate a light breakfast and coffee and finally had a monster evacuation – but was still feeling locked up. Went to the weekly ocean swim and standing in the parking lot, wetsuit already pulled to my waist, waiting for the parking meter, I had to go again. This was a mixed blessing. It takes forever to get through the stupid parking meter line and skipping it cost me $38 last week. It’s also a bit of a ritual to get into the wetsuit in the first place. I danced in line until I could get my ticket, grabbed my gear at the car (and a handful of tissues just in case) and ran to the restrooms. I’m a bit of a Howard Hughes when it comes to public restrooms. I don’t want to touch anything with any part of my body. And few things are as potentially horrible as the Santa Monica restrooms at daybreak. I was in tremendous luck: 1) no sleepers in the toilets, 2) the toilet paper was fully stocked, and 3) the toilet lids were intact and pee free! Nevermind that there are no doors on the stalls, the industrial cleanser used smells like dead grandma, and my fellow triathletes were getting changed – it was TIME. A dramatic five minutes later and I was heading to the beach to get in the water. Ran into Iron Monica at the lifeguard tower and finally met face to face before charging the waves.
My stroke is a mess. I keep saying it and I haven’t joined a Master’s Class yet. Week after week I am reminded that my stroke is all over the place and somehow I haven’t found the time to go and get help. Given today’s subject matter I will shit or get off the pot. Master’s Class, here I come. No, rilly.
I was able to eke out 2 laps before fatigue set in and I went to shore. Forced myself to brick it, changed into my run shorts and shoes and headed out for a 4 mile run through Venice Beach (“where the debris meets the sea”) listening to The Skeptic’s Guide to the Universe podcast. Finished up, went home, cleaned up the wetsuit and stepped on the scale. 177lbs!
I guess the trade is dehydration and stomach problems makes me thinner and weaker. I ought to try and get some sleep some day soon. One day I’ll be lighter and faster.
Lastly, here’s another picture my aunt Barbara took of me and the bottle of wine. I didn’t post it yesterday because it seemed like a cheesy pose, but the wife said I should put it up and be proud of it. I guess it’s good because it shows what ~180lbs looks like on me, and my target is to take off another 10 lbs over the summer through diet and training. I have another nutritionist appointment on Monday where we ought to be able to make more changes.