What I did last week (besides eat a lot).

Okay, I swear I’ve been a semi-good little triathlete. Considering that I did do a metric century last Sunday and that I somehow aggrevated my groin muscle (ouch-ouch-ouch), I decided to have a plethora of “active rest days.” So, yeah, I kept working out.

Actually, my husband was visiting me this week, too. Talk about throwing my otherwise orderly world into total disarray! (It was a disarray that I enjoyed, however disruptive it may have been to training and what-not.) I have to say, he’s such a trooper. I had decided last Monday to take this week rather easily and to not try to coerce Josh into doing all the training I still had planned. I was going to be good to him and kind on my body at the same time.

It more or less worked, too! I did spend a lot of mornings sleeping in. (Those were some fantasticly lazy, warm mornings with pillow talk!) Then it was day after day of visiting friends and family leaving our “together time” to be spent doing in physical activitiesgoing walking, hiking, biking, going to Pilates … you know, normal date-like stuff. Sheesh.

The only really noteworthy experience is how my “light” week was “sado-masochistic” to my husband (his words, not mine). He arrived on Tuesday and joined me for my Wednesday routine: swimming followed by Pilates (~2 hours total). Aside from his face being purple during most of the latter class, he did really well. I think he summed up his thoughts a little differently, “Is it normal that I can’t straighten my legs out? And how do you balance on your side and stuff and not fall over? [long pause] I’m sore in a lot of little, weird places.” Yup, that’s Pilates for you, I thought.

Thursday was “the super easy, flat bike ride.” I suited him up in my biggest guy’s jersey (Yea, Sierra Nevada!) and man-chamois.* Anyway, I lent him my cool LG helmet and some Ironman shades and cycling gloves. (I wore the dorky white mushroom head crate.) I even gave him “the lube” for down there and explained why it was a good idea. The only thing he didn’t have was clipless shoes, cleats, and pedals, but that’s a very good thing really. He so looked the part, though! He was my little (poser) cyclist for the day. It was like I was cycling Barbie and he was my Malibu cycling Ken. Of course, that was before we hit the pavement.

So, I’m thinking we’ll do an easy ride of 35 miles or so. You know, just a little something to keep the legs loose and warm. Once on the road, well, things were a little less than our make-believe-Ken-and-Barbie perfect. He was riding this giagantic monster of a mountain bike that must’ve weighed 50 lbs. or something. Not only that, but he rides with his knees so far outwards that I thought he might knock over a telephone pole or two. Or a fence post or something. Seriously. I’m not laughing at him, I’m just … well … you had to see it to understand. It just didn’t look comfortable or efficient.

I decide to take the lead to make sure he doesn’t burn himself out too quick. Six miles into the ride at sub-13 mph and we’re out into the countryside passing by orchards and fields of rippling green grass. I’m just starting to get into my cadence and evaluating my groin muscle when I hear him enthusiastically shout, “Wow! We’re out here! How far have we gone?” I almost consider lying to him, he sounds so excited. Instead I reply, “Near seven miles. We’re almost … um … there?”

“Oh. Only seven? How much farther?” he asks. He sounds a little disappointed to me.

“Um … we can go to Durham and then it’s only like 9 more miles back to home, if that’s all right?” I have already realized that I’m not going to get the 35 mile ride in, but that’s okay. I don’t want to break him either. I then sense he’s not telling me something, “How are you holding up? Everything okay?”

“No. My butt hurts,” he blurts out, “I mean, that spot between … well … you know. Man, this is really uncomfortable.”

Something in the back of my head yells, “Stay close to home!” An hour later I’m thinking, He’s such a trooper.

I swear this is why I love him so much. He never complained about how heavy the bike was. He never complained about how badly he was bruised (I did help him … uh … inspect the area once we got back home. I have to say, he suffered the worst chaffing and bruising I’d ever seen from a sub-20 mile ride. I’ve been meaning to ask him where he actually put the lube I gave him, but I’m almost afraid to know.) What I do know is that for three days he couldn’t sit down without grimacing. Yet, despite all this, he dared to suggest further bike rides. (I insisted that we walk or take the bus instead. I was able to cite my groin muscle as the reason, which wasn’t too far from the truth anyway.)

The best thing is, he’s still really enthusiastic about taking up cycling. This incident didn’t scar him too badly. He did pull the sympathy card out a few times with me, but he never bad-mouthed my love of cycling so I think this bodes well. I’m just glad he always tries and keeps trying.

As for me, well … I finished out the week all right. He did pay me back with a bruising run that left me a little sore and trembly the next day! So, I’m not Wonder Woman, after all. Overall, it was actually a great week of legitimate cross-training. It’s a shame that I seemed to exercise my stomach just as much! Ha, ha! “Vacations” tend to do that, don’t they?

So, he’s returned home to Virginia as of this morning. I have about 30 pages of writing, typing, and editing to do this week (for my MS Project); it’s going to be another light week of training, I fear. Oh well. You do what you can and count what you do. I’m hoping to have some good news to share with everyone tomorrow … until then, I hope everyone has a wonderful week!

* Segway: I want to mention that men’s chamois really do fit men best. I have a whole slew of them as a gift from a friend and while they serve the function, they really look horrendous on me. I suppose it’s the strange pinchy-bulge that happens somewhere mid-hip. None too sexy. Especially on a lady as curvy as me, I’d say. Those shorts look so much better on my boy’s bum than on my bootylicious bod.