Now don't fall out of your chair. I know this seems like it is coming out of thin air. But don't you remember when I SAID I'm doing different stuff this year?
Coach Liz and I have been training for it. Well, SHE's been setting up a duathlon plan.
I've been sort of picking and choosing what I want to do.
Yeah. So. This has been on the plan. I've been wanting to do one for a couple of years, but I couldn't get it to work with my schedule and plans and goals.
Goals change, and I decided that 2018 would be the year.
When I started with Liz, she had me start writing race plans. Well, I do A LOT of sprints. Last year, I did 9 of them. I don't really write race plans much anymore.
Since this is my FIRST duathlon, I decided to write a plan and get her feedback.
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Here's the plan that I sent her:
Drive to race: Think about how fucking awesome I am and how I'm going to dominate the race.
(Siri, Play Eminem).
Arrive at race: Start analyzing all the women and think about how fast they are.
I'm totally getting my ass kicked today.
(Possibly talk loudly about what a great swimmer I am).
Warm up: 20 minute run, wondering if it's too late to volunteer for the race instead.
I'm totally getting my ass kicked today.
(Possibly talk loudly about what a great swimmer I am).
Warm up: 20 minute run, wondering if it's too late to volunteer for the race instead.
Start Line: Pray to sweet baby Jesus that 1.) I'm not last in my age group. 2.) If I AM last, hope that I beat the only 80 year old who is registered. (YOU ARE GOING DOWN OLD MAN).
Run 1: Go out like a bat out of hell, at a pace that is completely unsustainable for more than about :20 seconds.
Count the women who are already running back to T1.
T1: Start to regret how fast I ran.
Bike: Go into full fledge panic mode thinking about all the women ahead of me. Ride at 130% FTP or until my legs start bleeding lactic acid as I try to catch up.
T2: Being unable to bend over to put on my running shoes, contemplate my poor decision making so far in the race.
Run 2: FUCK FUCK FUCK. I hate this. Why did I sign up for this? Where's the old guy? Please tell me I'm ahead of him. MY LEGS WON'T MOVE. I'm running like I have a stick up my ass. Start to write my own obituary.
At the halfway point, think about how I *only* have 1.55 miles left. I fucking hate when people say that. MY LEGS ARE BLEEDING LACTIC ACID. I wonder if they have a medic on the course.
This course is supposed to be flat. It doesn't feel flat. I'm complaining to the RD.
Think about how much I hate Jason for talking me into this shit.
Cross the finish line:
Cross the finish line:
SELFIE! Send text to Liz, "OMG OMG OMG LIZ. THAT WAS SO AMAZING. I did so GREAT
Post to IG.
#Nailedit
That was just my race plan.
That was just my race plan.
Or so I thought.
Liz had other thoughts.
STAY TUNED to find out how the race goes.
Liz had other thoughts.
STAY TUNED to find out how the race goes.
