Tuesday Wrap Up: Confessional

I've been hesitating to put into writing something I've known to be true for awhile now.  If you've been playing along at home, you won't be surprised to hear it: Kids, I'm in a training rut.

I was in a rut leading up to Rehoboth, of course.  But that I could write off as being an issue of prioritization. Hitting the ground running (unfortunate analogy aside) at my new job, moving into a new apartment, and being a bridesmaid extraordinaire for my sister were more important to me than nailing my work outs.  But ultimately, I didn't have a bad day in Rehoboth despite the lackluster training, and figured the adrenaline coming off another marathon finish could motivate me to recommit to training for Connemara.  Training that began two weeks after Rehoboth.

Spoiler alert: this has not been the case.  Instead of looking forward to logging back-to-back long runs, I've been dreading them.  And not doing them.  And then feeling guilty as shit about not doing them.  Because unlike during Rehoboth, I don't have anything of particular importance I'm prioritizing instead.  I can't even use the Giants as an excuse anymore.  I'm not doing my long runs because I resent having to do my long runs.  

If you're still reading because you're anticipating that this is the paragraph in which I'll tell you the secret to solving this problem, lo siento hombres.  I don't have the solution.  After unintentionally-but-by-necessity taking last week largely off from running (more on that below, and it ain't pretty), I returned to Central Park last night for a run without even looking at my training plan.  I ran 7.6 lovely miles (well, lovely except for the stretch across the 102nd Street Transverse, during which I was nearly positive a rapist was chasing me, but don't worry, Mom, that wasn't the case, and instead I just got some speedwork out of it).  I have no idea what I was supposed to do (for training; not in the instance of a rapist chasing me).  And while that should make me feel bad, because I'd be willing to bet it wasn't "run a random number of miles at a harder-than-easy-but-not-quite-tempo pace," it actually makes me feel good.  It's not that I don't want to be running;  I don't want to be accountable for awhile.  Not awhile as in "until I'm toeing the starting line at a 39.3 mile uphill race in April," but I think I can probably get through January running whenever I want and not holding myself to a plan before I need to buckle down.  So that's what I'm doing.  

And also, I'm not going to tell you about it.  I've been forcing myself to engage in the chore of hate-training because I've felt obligated to tell you people about it.  You're like the gold star on the chore chart (we didn't have that growing up, actually.  Cleaning lady, holla!). Only I'm not motivated by a gold star reward.  Only filled with self-loathing when I don't get one.  I was a screwed up child, apparently.  So here for the last time until I shake this funk and feel ready to buckle down is the wrap up:

Number of Miles Run Last Week: 10.  Told ya.  The shame I feel for having typed that is why we're taking a break from wrapping up.

Number of Beers Consumed Last Week:  Yesterday, January 7th, was the first day in 2013 I did not have a beer.  Do with that information what you will.

Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: I went to Philadelphia for New Year's Eve, which meant I drank Yuengling like it was going out of style.  Then I went to the Rodeo on Saturday night, and drank $9 Bud Lights at Madison Square Garden.  A lot of them.  Other members of  the weekly roster Left Hand's 400 Pound Monkey, 21st Amendment's Brew Free! or Die IPA, Smithwick's, Smuttynose Robust Porter, Dogfish Head 60 Minute, Ithaca Flower Power, Miller Light, Magic Hat Heart of Darkness, and Sapporo.  


Anyway, I'll still be running, and also blogging, just not about specific workouts for the next couple weeks.  If that's a problem, just focus on the drunk stuff.  We'll get through this.  

Thanks for your patience.