Sunday, August 10, 2014

Let's Be Realistic

Seriously.  I'm a middle-aged woman, come late to skiing as a sport, with a stressful, demanding, very full-time job and an aversion to heat (and by heat, I mean 75 degrees).  I have to stop beating myself up because I'm not training like a 30-year-old Olympian, or a very active retired 60-year-old, or even someone whose job has more wiggle room than mine.  I can only do what I can do, and when I'm at work until 8:00 all week and the planned interval workout doesn't happen, so be it.  My body is here to be happy and have fun, and training hard is fun when it's a choice and not a chore.  My intention is to be strong and healthy so that, in my waning years, I will still be spending my winters chasing my age group in cross country ski races (or whatever else I want to do by then) instead of staring at the television.

So.  This week, there were two days where the temperature topped out below 80 degrees and I jumped at the chance to bike to work.  I even made it to the gym late one evening for a good hard max strength workout.  Today dawned already bright and hot, but it was an extreme low tide day and I can't miss that!  I'm not in good enough running shape right now to justify a steamy, traffic-filled drive to Tiger Mountain anyway, so I'm lucky to have the urban forest of Discovery Park in my back yard.  Besides, Tiger Mountain, with all of its charms, does not have extreme low tide!

So I tucked my running shoes into my pack and biked to Discovery Park, changed shoes, locked up my bike, and headed out on the trail.

I took the stairs down to the beach -- did I already mention extreme low tide?  What is more beautiful than the full moon tugging on the ocean and giving us this ...

... and this ...

... and this.

Still, a girl needs a goal that surpasses her reach, so as to avoid the dark gray blanket of boredom and inertia and complacency, so I offer these three minutes of inspo ...

... and then I signed up for the American Birkebeiner.  My time two years ago was good enough to pull me out of the dreaded ninth wave, with its timid Kortie skiers, and into the seventh wave -- yippee!  Alas, I dilly-dallied too long and wave seven filled up, and wave eight filled up, and now I'm back in the ninth wave.  Sheesh.  At least this time I know what to expect!

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