For those of you wondering, I did that swim. 750 yards of open water swim in a town lake that was murker than not. My clothes came home so brown I had to soak and wash them. Twice. But I finished. And on the spur of the moment, idiocy overtook common sense and I signed up for a sprint triathlon for last weekend. I finished that this past Sunday (with no training, so I only have myself to blame for the searing soreness of all my limbs). But I think now I can start thinking ahead. I may just do Ironman in 2020. I may just finish my WIP in 2020. AND publish it. I just may…have a more open mind. How about you?
Well, that’s it. I’ve spent several months in complacency, whining about various body ailments, messing up on my diet (since I said that out loud, I really hope my trainer doesn’t follow my blog!), and generally letting myself go. I haven’t run since April. No open water swims for over a year. My last race was in February…and it kinda killed my spirit.
And I’m kinda done with myself.
It’s time to stop.
I was forcing myself through a few pool laps today, complete with my embarassing little tube of mini M&M’s wrapped in a freezer pack laying on a towel on deck (because it fricken still hit 110 degrees today and I NEED incentive to go back …and forth…and back…and forth in the pool), when my brain kept going down the list of WHY I should give up. EVERY single injury, from my bike accident in late 2017 just…
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