Not Today

I am running in the park. My left side, as usual, is the last to loosen from this morning's high intensity spin session. It is a Monday afternoon at 4:30 and raining. It is July 25, 2011. I run on a mission.

I have got to find out what the hell is going on with my poor body. After shower this morning I was at 152 pounds, down 18 from a year ago. My energy remains good, power evident. My mood is stable, cravings under control. Could it be the chia seeds? The Yoga with weights? The low GI diet? Or simply the consistent schedule I have been able to maintain for the last, what, ten months?

I dunno. I am not a scientist. I know what works for me and I know what my body responds to. And it is responding to this. Work. Effort. Intensity. Movement. Usually at about this point, something breaks down, a compensational injury flares, my body demonstrates the weak link theory. Or we run outta fumes.

I know about the wall. I have hit it with velocity that could split an atom. I am familiar with the bonk. Its good side is that the bonk is WAY cheaper than the bong and oddly provides a somewhat similar effect. Lights G-O-I-N-G out. I am experienced in the ways of the fail. The epic fail. The agony without a shred of ecstasy. The fall down flat on your face and hope no one is watching fail. Today there is no wall, no bonk and no fail. This is all good. If endurance, stamina and longevity is the goal, I seem to be winning.

But this is different. It stays here, not fleeting, no flash-in-pan. I am piling success upon success like building a giant pastrami sandwich (on rye with Grey Poupon and a dill on the side.) Those of you who have visited the Carnegie Deli in New York (Midtown at 7th & 55th), know of what I speak.

No hamstring pulls, no tweaked ankles, no piriformis flareups, no URIs and nary a outward sign of, gasp, overtraining syndrome. It is not a curve, bell shaped or otherwise, but a continuous line heading towards what I can only hope is some kind of promised land. I will NOT sabotage it with stinking-thinking suggesting I don't deserve it, either. I just can't get a handle on specifically WHAT is behind all this positivity. And I am kinda worried. More concerned and curious actually.

This is not a complaint. I am very, VERY happy. I feel great. I wish there was another race this weekend so I could again cut it loose and run with the big dogs. This mutt has always liked running with the best-of show.

There is some seriously cool stuff happing in my life right now and I am immensely enjoying the flow. I look forward to getting out of bed at 0430 every day to begin it with high energy group exercise. And then ramping it up from there in a gleeful attack on normality. I balance and barter as best I can. There are trade-outs for this, sacrifice is necessary. I live alone. My castle, my rules. And they're aren't many. Happiness, non-conformance and freedom are important to me. As is talking care of mind, body and spirit. There is no TV, no meat and little hypocrisy. There is no white picket fence. I choose to build a pizza oven than fix my leaky roof. My bike is worth more than my car. I play my music loud and wash dishes by hand. All this by design.

I am running in the park. I pass someone who years ago used to jog. He is walking now, wearing faded jeans that show the loss of muscle mass in his glutes and core. He looks like he is just out of the hospital for prostate surgery and taking a first few steps back down the road to recovery. A deep wave of empathy washes over me as a thought pops to life:

One day you will be walking like this too, no longer able to run as you so proudly proclaim to do right now. And then, almost immediately in debate, I hear a voice, eerily like that of William Wallace, cry,

BUT TODAY IS NOT THAT DAY.

Pic: The final Ironman leg down Alii Dr. in Kona. Training is Today.