We are a little more than 17 weeks away from our second go-round with Ironman Lake Placid. And, I know we have entered a new phase in the training.
…Not because the volume is increasing.
…Not because speed and hill work are weekly regulars in the training schedule.
…Not because I need more sleep to make up for the longer training hours.
…Not because the pantry is bare just days after we stock it.
Nope. None of these.
I know it’s a new phase in the training because I’m weepy.
I am not a did not used to be weepy person. Ultra distance training has changed all that.
You’d think this weeping would be a sign of sadness, but it’s really just the opposite. I weep because the intense training allows me to feel the closeness of this amazing machine that is the human body, this creative inventor that is the human mind, and this fulfilling experience that is the human condition.
Each day offers a new adventure of what is possible.
It also brings about new bouts of weeping for all sorts of worthy reasons.
- I weep in the middle of a fluid run, when my legs take my body for a ride.
- I weep because it’s a beautiful sunny day, and the sun fills me with joy as it warms my face.
- I weep when my friends text me about a great run they had so I can share in their successes.
- I weep as I visualize the moment from last summer when I entered Lake Placid’s Olympic Oval to finish my first Ironman.
- I weep when I envision what it will feel like to finish my first Boston Marathon in 3 weeks.
- I weep when I manage to push through a tough workout, despite moments of doubt, when I wasn’t sure it was possible.
- And, naturally, I’m weeping as I write this post.
Like I said, I’m weepy, which is different from crying. I’m not blubbering, bawling or bursting. It’s more like this: I’m almost overwhelmed by a feeling of intense connection to the present. My skin tingles. My stomach flutters. My eyes well up. Maybe, just maybe, a tear or two escapes. And, then the moment–maybe 30 seconds–passes, and I move on.
Last year, the weepiness bothered me. It took me by surprise, and I thought it meant I was weak. This year, however, when it started–last week during a CompuTrainer tempo ride on the Lake Placid course –I was better prepared for it. I welcomed it for what it was: being in my body in the present moment and feeling the awesomeness that is life.
I enjoyed the tingling it brought at first to my face, and then the tingling at the edges of my entire epidermis. I let the feeling envelope me. I let a tear escape down my cheek, as I smiled. I felt the energy of the moment fill me. As the moment passed, I embraced a calmness, and I continued on my ride. Despite working hard, I was at peace.
Since then, the weepies have come to me almost daily. Yesterday, I had a brick run, and there is no better way to describe it than what Csíkszentmihályi has described as “flow,” or a feeling of complete and total involvement in the present moment.
These moments are fleeting, and rather than shrink from them and be embarassed by them–as I was last year–I embrace them, and I am grateful for the wonderful present that is NOW.
