aka the one where I realize I'm probably the worst triathlete ever...

I *kinda* suck at the whole training for a triathlon ~thing~.

True story.

Oh, I'm doing it.  I knocked out over 130 miles last week, and if this week goes down as I'd like, it might just be epic.

But, I still suck.

Every week since July-ish I've done the same things.
I ride a bike, I run some miles, and splash about in the pool and don't drown.
the not drowning is really the key to that bit there.

"What's your training schedule this week?"
What's my... what, what?

Nah, no schedule.  I'm just out there logging miles, not drowning.  I'm not actually following a plan any more.  At some point I realized the plan was making me neurotic, and if there's one thing I'm not it's... okay if there's ... regarding training...

Okay let's just move ahead here before we're severely off topic...

I had a bad moment in July where I was NOT having fun.  At All.  And I wanted to quit.  Usually I'm TONS OF FUN.  Like, wicked fun.  And also, I'm not really a fan of quitting.  So the whole no fun and quitting thing was way out of character.

And that's when I kicked my training plan to the curb.

You know what happened as soon as I made the decision to cut it loose?

I stopped sucking and I started having fun.  But not the wicked kind... okay wait, maybe a little bit.

Because, unless you're getting paid to race, what's the point of any of this IF YOU AREN'T HAVING FUN? or at least getting high, but we can revisit my heroin addiction later.

I caught myself giggling uncontrollably on the ride on Saturday.  It wasn't my fault, Lady Lamb made me.  Oh sure, sure, it's not all laughing and snot rockets on on the roads with the Ladies of the Lanes.  I had a low moment out there too.  But the low moment wasn't when I was being invited to share a coffee or beer (seriously, I love these guys) at mile 50something of my ride.  And the low moment wasn't when The Gentleman Leader evoked a smile from me as he gently apologized when we made the turn onto the (effing hilliest effing road you will ever effing find anywhere outside the San Francisco City limits. SERIOUSLY, I hate these guys) road that he knew might test my Ladylike resolve to stop cussing like a sailor.  The truth is that I fell apart at mile 61 and had to be pulled home and it was still fun because the people with me made it fun.

Sunday I had pretty much THE WORST PACED RUN OF 2012... only if you asked me to qualify it, I would rank it as one of my BEST 14 miles EVER.  The fun did not elude us, and neither did Illusive Dave, and the giggling, and the hot soup references.. what?  the weather was soupy, ask anyone in the posse running 4 across down the middle of the street respecting the MTT rules of 2 across at most.  Gummy Bear DOWN!  

I suppose I could be really upset about my slow run.  Or that I'm not much of a cyclist.  Or that my swimming is only just fine... except... I'm not really upset by any of those things because I'm really high off all the endorphins floating around in my veins.

So I guess I should apologize.

This is supposed to be some kind of inspirational journal of a blog that's here to impart wisdom and stuff and help you train smarter and be faster and improve, and sadly all I have to offer you all is something that reads a bit like:

How to suck at Triathlon training in a few easy steps.
Step 1 - ditch your plan.

But also, I think there's another lesson there, and it has something to do with souped up running and giggling and cycling on hills and not taking one's self too seriously.  And giggling.

Unless of course you're getting paid to do this stuff, in which case you might want to find a more serious blog to read.