We made it through to week twelve. Today, I am currently enjoying a day of complete REST. Not ‘active recovery’, no. Total rest. Total joy. But ironically, after finally getting into the swing of consistent training, at the first opportunity to rest, one seemingly becomes restless. Pre-empting this morning’s lie-in, we indulged in a few glasses of red, and (sorry Dad) a nice whiskey to accompany the opening stage of The Tour last night.
But by 8am this morning, I was wide awake. My body was confused.
“Why aren’t I running up a hill, or something equally pointless and ridiculous?” my body asked my brain, dumbfounded at the lack of movement.
“It’s a rest day” the brain replied, in its usual demeaning manner.
Undeterred, the body arose, and promptly found some washing up in the kitchen that needed to be done.
For anyone reading this that knows me well, you will by now be familiar with the fact that I don’t ‘do’ clean. I shun the action of cleaning, tidying, organising, or anything that poses as it (I’m thinking of those ridiculous articles in women’s magazines that proclaim you ‘don’t need to go to the gym, just vacuum for 45 minutes and it’s like running for half an hour’. It’s just cleaning in disguise. And if you have seen my vacuuming, it’s about as energetic as a single star jump, mustered up after eating five donuts in a row).
But I digress. Cleaning happened, and it came from my hands. I don’t predict a repeat performance of this event any time soon (sorry Jarrod, sorry Romayne), but who would have thought that restlessness could be born from rest. Peculiar.
So week 12 has been our recovery week. And it couldn’t have come soon enough. I was starting to feel as though I were walking around in chain mail and full body armour, my limbs felt so heavy. This week has consisted of a couple of easy cycle sessions (two were done on the turbo trainer due to some crazy weather), a couple of good swims (much stronger than I usually am, so that’s a good sign of improvement), and two really great Running Club sessions at work during lunch. Yesterday we did our long bike ride, and were supposed to do three ascents of the 1 in 20, but I was struggling after just 45 minutes of riding, so I only managed two ascents (sorry Coach). At the end of our final descent, we stopped for a quick coffee to warm up after the freezing freewheel down the mountain, and bumped into Julia Gillard, who, according to her tweet was “In the Basin, talking about why we’re putting a #carbonprice on our biggest polluters”:
You don’t usually bump into the Prime Minister when you’re out riding, especially in such a remote spot on a Saturday morning. Although one time I did physically bump into John Howard as he was walking out of some fat-cat club, and I was enjoying a training run down Collins Street. I almost knocked him off his feet, like a jogging assassin. Surely that could be considered a high ratio of Prime Minister sightings whilst training? I wonder if there’s anyone out there that could compete with that frequency? Is it possible that I am the Most-Accidental-Encounters-With-A-World-Leader-Whilst-Undertaking-Athletic-Training Champion?
Certainly one for the record books, I’m sure.
Alas, the joy of Recovery Week is met by its one true opponent: physical torture. And in a fittingly draconian manner, our coach has crafted week 13 (unlucky for us) as an homage to the start of the Tour De France. That’s right bike geek friends: it’s ‘King of the Mountains’ week. Every ride and run is to consist of hill repeats. We must clock our altitude gains on either our Garmins or MapMyRide/Run apps. The person who gains the most vertical distance will of course be crowned ‘King of the Mountains’. My hope is that whoever wins will be allowed to ride in the polka dot jersey, as is traditional for the leaders of the climbs in The Tour, like Cadel last year:
With Matt off enjoying a week of additional recovery in Thailand, and Joe in the UK for a friend’s wedding, the challenge is left to myself and Jarrod. “It’s a Bosanko-off” apparently. I have a feeling I don’t stand a chance against my lithe, greyhound of husband. But hey, this booty got some climb in it yet.
And now for some statistics:
Cycling – 7 hours
Running – 1hr 30 mins
Swimming – 2hrs 30mins
Total – 11 hours