Not Promising.

Not sure just what else I should expect, with the scattering of purposeful workouts, the reckless face-stuffing of my mother-in-laws tasty complex carbohydrate creations, the less-than-ideal amount of sleep, but I really suck.

I've had, all things considered, a pretty quality fall (I'm speaking of training now, not my real life, which is infinitely glorious beyond measure). I haven't fallen off of the wagon entirely, I've not gained any significant weight (despite my gorging - how this is possible, I have no idea), and I've really only had one 10-day stretch where I did no training at all, and that was just after the baby was born and is fully allowed in all the rule books. So if my self-prescribed purpose for the fall is just to keep active, maintain some fitness for "real" training, not get fat and lazy, then I guess mission accomplished or whatever. And, as Amy reminded me tonight, I really should just be thankful that I'm running at all - baby's arrival has not, as far too many fear-mongers promised - ended the days of Becoming Ironman. I'm not really a "it's enough just to" kind of person, though. Which also flies in the face of some of the new philosophies I'm trying to adopt, where I'm not quite so OCD about every damn thing about this game. Alas.

My nutrition is, really, for crap. I'm not eating when I'm used to or what I'm used to. Most meals have been prepared for us since Dakota came. We've taken advantage of the neighborhood Culvers a few too many times (by the way, have you ever had the Jumbo Deluxe burger there? You're kidding me with the half-a-cow-on-a-bun. Good Lord). And, as I've mentioned, way way way too much snacking. It is what it is. I can't bitch about it now if I'm going to go up and grab a cookie on my way to bed.

Which, probably, therein lies the crux: I'm not behaving in ways becoming of myself. Amy's mother leaves after Thanksgiving, and all the special treatment will come screeching to a halt (which is not to insinuate she is to blame for any of my nutritional nightmares; nobody's holding the spoon to my head, as it were). So in my mind, I've conveniently made all of this "temporary", and so allow myself the splurge. Blah blah blah, etceteras, and here we are: I suck.

And by that I mean, I've had a goal since way back for a 5k race I'm doing Thursday morning to go sub 7:00/miles. True that the training hasn't fully been there, and I've just discussed how the nutrition really ain't been there. But I do think I've done "enough", where I should be able to at least take a shot. Maybe get close? Ha - not if my workouts lately are any indication. I am, it seems, unable to "unhitch the plow", as my old football coach used to say. I just have no speed. I get tired too soon. I'm solid for the first mile, then it becomes folly. Every run I've had this last week has ended with me generally kicking stones as I approach my house, hands on hips, breathing hard and pissed off. Bah.

So it is. I don't doubt that when "real" training starts, and the schedule becomes more organized and the nutrition comes back on point and the mindset isn't one of "this doesn't really count until after Christmas at least", my ducks will position themselves nicely in a row. Fine. Sounds like excuses, though. It doesn't take the bad taste out of this. Feeling like I'm capable of more.

I don't wish to feel capable of more. Ever. In anything. I wish to just do more. Do, or do not. As Yoda advises. Which, I was just going to make a joke that maybe at least I could outrun him, but then I remembered he's a Jedi. And a freakshow with the lightsaber, which probably wouldn't bode well for me. Probably, once, Jabba the Hutt was a runner, and it was precisely these kinds of realizations that made him say, "Ah what the hell", and just go get fat.