Wrapping my mind around it ...

Admittedly, I have been absolutely horrible at training this summer. So much so that the wonderful schedule I had printed up sits ignored somewhere on a shelf in my office. In fact, I don't even remember where I stashed it, but probably somewhere that "out of sight, out of mind" could easily come into play.

My dear blog followers, you may have already realised too that I been skimpy with my daily training session updates. I figure it's better to write as little as possible and allow your mind to imagine that I have been training as I should, 15-20 hours a week, rather than for you to know the truth.

I am an undisciplined, imperfect, lazy athlete that barely scrapes through races.

Sorry to burst your imaginary bubble that I may actually be a dedicated athlete, but somehow this summer, the rest of my life got in the way and distracted me.

So recently, I decided I needed to wrap my mind around some distance.

I haven't been running too much, perhaps twice a week, most often only a very short 5k and then some version of a "longer" run, anywhere from 10 - 15k, and once proudly so, an 18k.

Maybe those distances might be fine and dandy for someone training for a sprint or Olympic distance, but I know I ain't cutting it for that gruesome 42.2k waiting for me at the end of the Ironman.

So, just like that, out of the blue, I decided that it was time to run a 30k.

All was light and springy and actually pleasant and relaxing until I hit 19k. Then the fatigue and pain set in quickly and I cringed inside knowing I still had 11k to go.

10k uphill also meant 10k downhill but I welcomed the descent regardless, as it allowed a bit of active recuperation. Besides, with all the lactic acid building up in my quads, I couldn't have run faster if I wanted.

When I turned down my street, I knew right away what I had to do.

In my mind, my street suddenly became the finishing stretch of the Ironman. I envisioned the metal barriers that aligned the final chute and saw and heard the crowd cheering at the top of their lungs. Last time I did Ironman, I was so tired and in so much pain that I needed all my energy and attention focused on finishing, but this time, I lifted my hand to the enthusiastic spectators ... HIGH-5's all 'round! Woohoo!!

I looked into the distance in front of my house and then I saw it, the FINISH LINE. I felt overwelmed with emotion and started to cry. I was finally at the End and had made it through another tumultuous physical and mental journey. I ran through the Finish Line, grabbed the finishing tape held by the kind volunteers, and lifted it high up in the air in victory!

Bonnie Mak, you are an Ironman!!

I imagined someone putting a medal around my neck and my starting to "walk it off" ... but then the barrage of questions started ...

Where would my car be parked?
Would I even have my car close-by?
How would I be able to get my bike and stuff back to the hotel?
How would I even get back to the hotel?
Would I pass out before I could even get myself and my belongings back to the hotel?
What would I eat?
Would I be able to stomach the pizza in the post-race tent?
Would I even have the strength to go out and get some real food after I cleaned myself up or would I end up crashing, my body totally depleted and still feasting on the protein from my muscles?

Hmmm ... the reality of finishing an Ironman.