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The Picture Says It All

The first whole week of training is on the books. Totals ended up being:

Swim: 3:45 hrs. (11,700 yds)

Bike: 3:20 hrs.

Run: 2:20 hrs.

Weights: 1:30 hrs.

Yardwork: 2 hrs. (Okay, that doesn’t count. Just so proud I finally did it, wanted it recorded somewhere.)

I’m tired. My calves are sore. My back is sunburned. A new callous is forming on my foot. Basically, I’m a pig in shit.

While these numbers aren’t anything exceptional, the difference between training with purpose and exercising is wider than I remember. Case and point – a speed workout at the track yesterday. The word “lumber” comes to mind. Trying to sprint 200s left me holding my knees and gasping, trying not to puke in front of the young football players. Transitioning from endurance to speed will be harder than originally thought.

I’m also eating everything but my shoes. Stale crackers? No problem. Ice cream with a protective ice cap? Just dig underneath. It’s edible. I’m trying to make healthy choices, but 30 percent of the time it’s whatever’s closest to the front of the fridge.

And finally, I will admit what I’ve been avoiding. I bought a pair of feet shoes. They are the ugliest things ever put on my feet. A decade of bad knees drove me to this choice. It’s part of the barefoot running craze. I made it .9 miles (you read that right, not even a mile) before screaming calves forced me to halt. But my legs and knees felt remarkably good. So it will be a slow conversion, partially due to pain, mostly due to vanity.

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