First triathlon of the season is tomorrow and as the excitement of the Expo and Transition Check-in are winding down, descending upon me is but one thought, and I couldn’t help but share it:
After success in April with the 20,000-meter month, I felt as fit as I have in a year. Aaaand then, I proceeded to do not one flipping thing for the next three weeks. I’d set alternative goals for the month of may: (1) Sit for a pretty rigorous test at work; OR (2) complete one event each weekend for the month. I’d resolved at the start of the year to have monthly goals be fitness-related only since last year got way too diversified with fitness, professional, and personal goals each month. And I didn’t want to throw the whole month away if I wasn’t able to sit for the exam for some professional reasons outside my control (since, here on the bottom rung, all professional decisions are outside my control).
I learned toward the end of April after some weeks of upper and outside management hem-hawing that the test was a sure thing. After nabbing the swim goal, I devoted the first two weeks of May strictly to preparation for that test, and the third week I devoted to slothery unmatched. (Slothery:recovery::toMAYto:toMAHto, right?) Having survived a rather grueling study schedule and at least taken the darn test, I’m going to call that a win for the monthly goal. Though I squeezed in a 5K helping a non-blob friend take down one of her big goals, I couldn’t bring myself to spare the half-day the next study weekend on a fitness event. (I did manage, however, to procure at least some photo evidence of me off my butt in the month of May, shown above.) And last weekend, I couldn’t pry myself from the cathartic clutch of french fries and a juicy novel for longer than to pick up the bike ride T-shirt. (You better believe I’ll still wear it, though. I mean, I RODE my bike last weekend. Just not ON that ride. It’s close enough. It’s not? Too bad.)
And so, here I am, my truest, most procrastinating, trans-fat-loving self, the night before the season’s first race, left to my only remaining recourse.
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