As you can see from the little reminder at the top right, I’m about seven days away from REALLY starting my race season. It’s exciting stuff, as any olympic spectator can attest.
I was thinking the other day about everything I’ve done as I’ve prepared for this season. I broke 20 minutes in a 5k for the first time ever. I snowshoed and ran my way through the snow in winter and spring. I rode my mountain bike up a snow-covered trail in December and January. I weaved in swimming and running and raced a triathlon in May. I ran through the streets of Salt Lake City at 6 a.m. when I went there on business.
I rented a bicycle in Homer, Alaska, for the one day we stayed there and rode from “the spit” all the way to the end of town and back. I swam in 45-degree water from the beach. I rode a Huffy mountain bike up a 3-mile, 1,200-foot climb in Alaska … even after grizzly bears knocked over a bunch of garbage cans along the route … and even when a cross-country ski team accompanied me for the ride.
I rode 3,300 feet of elevation gain on the day I turned 33, despite having my chain break after only 700 feet of climbing. I’ve been doing regular climbing repeats on a doubletrack trail that climbs 930 feet in 1.2 miles on the mountain bike. I’ve ridden in 95-degree heat and in below-freezing temperatures.
I’ve kept up a steady regimen of four to five hours of riding, running, swimming, snowshoeing, hiking, weightlifting, etc. for the last eight months at least.
So you’d think I’d be feeling pretty confident going back to the races.
But the truth is, I have no idea how it’s all going to shake out.
And for some reason, that’s really exciting to me.