The Grand Old Headache
The weekend in Nashville reinforced my innate dislike for country music. Even though the first record I ever listened to (Johnny Cash, Ring of Fire) qualifies as country music, and I am still a Cash fan, I have never liked country music, country western, country swing, country fried chicken line dancing, or country folk. My brother and I went to downtown Nashville and visited the equivalent of Red River in Austin, where 10 bars each had a live band. The only thing remotely pleasing to my ears was a “Separate Ways” cover. But time with my brother was well worth it – despite being in age a full generation apart, and having almost no overlap in terms of our upbringing, he always looked out for me, and has made me feel welcome wherever his home is.
The Hills Are Alive with Pain
Monday was my first “Specialty Run” day with T3. Ouch. All hills. We were either grinding up a hill or bouncing down one. Then Wednesday was 1000 meter repeats on a local middle school track. My legs haven’t had a free moment from soreness, and this weekends workouts (63 miles on the bike followed by a 45 minute brick run on Saturday, 13 miles of running on Sunday) don’t look like it’s going to make it any easier. These are supposed to be my high intensity weeks, and I get to decrease the intensity and recover in another week, so that’s good.
Women in My Lane
I’ve only swam on co-ed swim teams, and since I was never a state champion swimmer, there’s always been at least one woman in my swim lane at practice since I first jumped in a pool with a Speedo on. T3 is no different, and I got royally worked by the two women in my lane on Wednesday. Lapped, destroyed, crushed, housed, drowned, etc. I remember my first race in high school, where I didn’t have enough practices to swim varsity, so I had to swim junior varsity, and they didn’t have enough JV swimmers, so I had to swim against girls. I’ve never put so much effort into an event in my life, and coming out of my first flip turn, I couldn’t see any other swimmers, so I freaked out thinking I was behind. I “won” the heat by about 20 seconds (a lot for just 100 yards) but have rarely been as panicked. My nephew actually experienced the exact same thing in regionals last year, though as a result of him failing to show up for his original heat.