Day 157: Road to Ironman Florida
Today is a random day. Nothing particularly remarkable relating to my, epic-sounding, Road to Ironman Florida. Of some significance is that I am recovering from another back lockup/seizure episode. Last Sunday was my first triathlon of the season, Spring Fling Sprint at West Point Lake.
After the race that afternoon, I helped my buddy fix his hot water heater, and helped my son with his AP Statistics homework (well, as I could, its been a long time since college statistics). I then promptly passed out on the couch.
The next morning, I was feeling great. Went to work, and hit the gym late morning. Finished my day. Ran practice with my girls’ team. Hit the pool that evening. Went to bed tired, but feeling good.
Perhaps that was a bit too much, because Tuesday morning, when I tried to roll out of bed, I could not stand up straight. My back was in full-scale revolt.
This happened to me in the final weeks of training going into Augusta 70.3 last year. Last year I tried to push through, and ended up on the sidelines for two weeks. A costly two weeks. What I did discover, was that my back would loosen up in the pool.
So this time I did two things. 1) I ceased all attempts to push through, or do any work thatmight cause my back to lockup. 2) I went to the pool that evening.
I actually swam more and better this week than I have ever. I have had several breakthrough moments this week in the pool. As of today, my back is still tight, but I can walk, get in and out of my truck, sit at my desk–things I could not do at this point in last year’s episode.
Perhaps, this was a forced recovery period. I have not been cycling my sessions as I know I should (an unload week every third week). In fact, I’ve been pushing for bigger strength gains in the gym, in advance of my reduced gym time in the weeks going into Ironman Florida.
In reality, this is the ghost of years past–too many hard training days without good recovery when I was younger, too many holes and ditches dug in concrete-hard, drought-dried, August-baked Georgia clay. A consequence of living a certain number of days, and doing a certain number of real things in those days. I’ll much rather take it now, rather than in the weeks going into Florida.