Back on the training train

So I'm a douchebag and have been slacking like it's my job or something. Funny thing is, it IS my job that's getting in the way.

Two posts ago, I went on a short rant about not sacrificing my personal wellbeing for my job, and that includes my training as well. So tomorrow's a new day, the start of a new week and hopefully the return of much-lacking resolve in terms of getting my butt out on the pavement, treadmill, pooldeck, bike, whatever.

I'll decide between a brick and a 14km run outside before I fall asleep. On another note, feeling a little ill all day, and I think I've had my fair share of alcohol for the next little while. When I'm drunk, I want to be sober; during my short and non-commital relationship with sobriety, I would've killed for a drink. Go figure.

Here Comes the Sun, Doo-doo-doo-du(athlon)

Tomorrow's the Hammer Dash, 2km-5km-2km. Apparently it's more of an obstacle course than a run, and navigating a swampy mire than a bike ride...should be fun (I hope). I've been slacking with training lately, being a wuss and running inside because it's so freakin cold out (not that it's going to be any wamer tomorrow).

So, happy endings. I think there's consensus across the board that it's more than a little unrealistic to go into expecting things to turn out sunshines and rainbows at the end of the day. But when it does, it does and it's good...so what's the lesson learned here? Don't go into anything with any expectation, positive or otherwise. It's like going to watch a movie--if you have no idea what it's about, and are not expecting anything in particular, you won't be disappointed, because disappointment implies a disparity between expectations and reality. That said, there's no reason to be pessimistic as is often the case; instead of a clear, black and white dichotomy, optimism and pessimism are two extreme endpoints on a spectrum, of which at the centre lies complete indifference/apathy. Lean in one direction or the other, but to situate yourself at one end, firmly anchored by your expectations is asking for either a) disappointment or b) depression. So perhaps I should take my own advice?

That said, I wonder if the only reason why we tend to remain hopeful that things will work out for the better is because we've been convinced that it truly is within the realm of possibility. Forget religion, Meg Ryan movies are the opiate for the masses. We've been so enamoured by Sleeping Beauty's airyfairy ending that we start to believe, even if it's only at a subconcious level, that we're entitled to the same fairytale-type resolution to all our problems. So perhaps in the end, we're only setting ourselves up for disappointment.

We've got our sights on a point completely outside our budget set.

Time for bed.

Jaw Muscle-itis

I chewed abut 4 packs of gum yesterday.

Econ 425 midterm in 2 hours and 48 mins: I am blogging.

Realized two days ago, after an evening of doing groceries, getting a prescription refilled, buying new mascara and eating dinner while sitting down with my housemates (both being very signficiant), I have no responsibility to sacrifice my own well-being for an organization that does nothing but ask for more without even pretending to appreciate it. Do you actually think this shit-assed pay cheque is worth my sanity? You've got to be kidding me.

I read for fun the other day. It was great. The whole universe felt a little off-kilter though, because something was definitely wrong with that--well, maybe not wrong, just really really...ODD.

Race on Saturday; talked to someone who did it last year: "It's longer than it looks." Apparently it's like a freakin obstacle course...I wonder if this is what cyclocross is like? I bet that'd be pretty freakin cool...something else to ask Google about. Oh man, I love the interwebs.

Voyeurism

Reading others' blogs is a little like consensual voyeurism, which, I suppose, is somewhat of an oxymoron. Nevertheless, it's pretty much reading someone else's diary. I've always wondered what drives people to be nosy, and why that kind of curiosity is so common; without exception, if you go digging around in someone else's personal life, you're apt to find something you don't like. It's like rummaging through someone's underwear drawer and finding fur-lined leather briefs or something. Sorta.

In any case, I suppose a good question to go along with that is why people allow themselves to be picked apart, and their personal lives examined like that. Perhaps some modern iteration of vanity? We grow up in a culture where celebrities are idolized, and where more kids know who Ronald McDonald is than Mother Teresa. Celebrities enjoy an existence that is so far removed from the every day lifestyle of the average person and somehow we grow up thinking that being rich and famous is the epitomizes the ideal. So maybe by making your blog publicly available, you're setting up the framework for your own kind of celebrity, the celebrity that comes with being scruitinzed and looked at.

That said, I'm writing in my blog right now. But if the point of a blog/diary is to write as if no one is reading, but you write it knowing that you're going to publish it, doesn't that mean that everything you're writing is insincere and contrived anyways? If honestly I didn't care about who read this, I wouldn't even take the few seconds I do now to look over it for really stupid spelling mistakes or egregious grammatical errors. Stupid. I'm going to bed, I had the opportunity to go to bed early and instead I'm blogging.

Comment Spam

Check out the comment on the previous post, it's freakin spam on blogger, how ridiculous is that?

My favourite junk e-mail so far: "Does your cum ever dribble out and you wish it had spurted?"

"Every piece of spam I recieve is questioning my virility." --Danny Saposnik

Blogging Redux

It's been so long since I posted anything--amazing how I could go so quickly from posting once or twice a day to not at all for the past two months. However, given my past history of commitment (or lack thereof) to blogging, I shouldn't even pretend to surprised.

So, a brief update on what has happened so far (insert dissolve, flashback):

After a harrowing first two weeks of September, the Guide to Queen's made it to the printer, and I made it to Montreal. A close call the day before when Frank showed up very late, to pick up a very very stressed-out and on-the-verge-of-tears Renee. Stupidly, I had forgotten to print out maps or directions or instructions of any sort on how to get to the race site to pick up the race kit on Friday night. After about an hour of driving around in circles, getting lost in Montreal and deciphering road signs with my broken French, we finally made it to Parc Jean Drapeau. It was the most horrible feeling, hugging Frank, hearing him say good luck, and then watching him drive off in the rain. Well, horrible and at the same time, more than a little exhilarating--stuck in the middle of Montreal with my bike, the clothes I was wearing and everything I was going to use the next day..yeah, I've learned to pack light, esp if I have no idea where I'm going. Laziness? A sense of adventure? I'd say more the former than the latter. Wandered around old Montreal for about an hour and a half after being directed by a fellow racer (he was 55 and doing the Olympic distance, I felt like such a wuss for doing the sprint) to the right metro station. Made it to the hostel, and after checking in and dropping off my stuff, walked around looking for a place to eat. How random: I ended up at a sushi bar, and had a piece of grilled chicken and green tea. I went to bed at around 10:30, and set my alarm for 7:00 so that I would have enough time to shower, panic, calm down, panic some more and get breakfast. I'm actually kind of glad getting to the hostel was such an ordeal, or else I probably wouldn't have been able to sleep as soundly as I did.

Next day: wake up and grab breakfast at a cafe up the street--petit pain aux abricots, and a bowl of granola with fruit (I saved the bread which was good because I ate bits of it while waiting for the race to start). I got to the race site at around 10:00, so I had about 3 hours to kill...wandered back and forth between the transition area and main building, pissing off the volunteers and being cold. It was pretty chilly, so I tried to keep moving. Oh yeah, it was pretty cool getting my timing chip and body markings--it's too bad I was such a tool that I forgot to get a disposable camera. 923--I still have my race number on my bulletin board! Anyways, warmed up twice, and before the second time, ran into J Pickar's housemate, Dave, the crazy triathlete.

At around 12:50, I took off my jacket and shoes and jumped in the water--which was, amazingly enough, wamer than the pool...maybe it was the adrenaline, but I really didn't think it was that cold. Somehow, waiting those 5, 10 mins was excruciating, just thinking OH MY GOD LET'S JUST FUCKING GO ALREADY...everyone else was wearing a wetsuit and there I was, in the ugliest shorts in the world (Tom Lardner: "yeah, no joke renee, they make you look like you have saddlebags") and my sports bra. Haha, oh well, I'm the triathlete on a tight budget. The swim was rather miserable, got kicked twice and did quite a bit of kicking myself...by the time I got halfway to the buoy, I was pretty much freaking out because it looked so far, but the second half wasn't as bad. The only thing was trying to keep moving while getting progressively colder and colder and colder--so the water probably wasn't all that warm.

The switch from swim to bike wasn't nearly as painful as I had expected it to be; this probably killed my time, but I spent most of the first part of the bike ride slowing down my breathing because my head was definitely spinning when I ran out of the water...the spectators were ridiculously encouraging, even though I knew they weren't cheering for me, but it was such a switch from biking at 6:30am when the roads are deserted and no one's around. By the time I got to the last bit, my ass was definitely hating me, and my straps must have been a little too tight because my left foot was numb (not the best feeling in the world when you know that you have to start running pretty freakin soon).

I thought I had practiced the transition from bike to run often enough that it wouldn't be a shock, but maybe the added stress of swimming beforehand just made it that much more difficult. Legs were this weird cross between lead pipes and jello that's been made with too much water. I really don't remember much of the run, except that I kept watching for other people with white numbers; it sounds horrible, but it was such a rush passing people on the run. I remember thinking on the way back (the second half of the loop around the pool) that it was still so far, the finish line...I'm rpetty sure the thought running through my head (haha, get it? running?) was "fuck, fuck, where the fuck is the finish line? gahhhhhhh" Pushed it really hard at the end, which doesn't say much because I think the marginal product of any more effort was pretty much nothing, but one thing I remember very clearly was being very worried that my ass muscles were going to rip right off the bone. You know, like running your ass off.

After the race, I called my dad, and pretty much started bawling. I still don't know how I finished it, but I was so relieved that it was over (and sad at the same time) that I couldn't help it...quite honestly, I didn't think I'd finish.

I had forgotten how exhilarating competition is, and what it feels like to have really killed myself to do something really well. When was the last time, provincial debates in high school? Sometimes it seems so trivial, but all this physical activity and working out and training actually makes me feel like I'm doing something worthwhile...maybe because for the first time in my life, I'm being completely selfish and doing something for me. No one else is going to benefit from this, just me.

Since then, a few big things:
1) Joined the triathlon team
2) Danny quit and now I'm the Comm Officer
3) Finished the Annual Report in record time
4) Discovered Bittorrent and am now wasting copious amounts of time watching TV and movies
5) Fallen in love with film and thinking about boxes
6) Michelle got a boyfriend and wastes copious amounts of time sucking face

It's crazy how much can happen in a few months; back in June, I never would've imagined that my life would be like this...even though I'm more stressed out than I ever have been before, it's still ridiculously fun. A lot of that comes with being at my base level of happiness I think...working out twice a day ate up all the time I had to spend feeling bummed, and for the first time in about two years, I think I'm ok with myself. Mostly. There are still those days where I feel utterly pointless, that I've spent 21 years fucking around and that there's no point in trying for anything more because I'm just going to keep fucking around, but at least for now, I have a few things to focus on:

1) Passing my courses and getting my honours
2) Doing a fucking good job of being Comm
3) Becoming a film genius and art critic guru
4) Being able to do an Olympic distance triathlon by next summer.

I'm still listening to Zen; maybe not as often as I used to, but I still enjoy it and revisit it, especially the episode about making banana shakes. I'm listening to a lot of Dashboard, but not because I'm angsty, but because I'm not. Along with being ok with myself, I think I'm also beginning to feel ok about silence...I enjoy sitting on my windowsill and listening to nothing late at night...I haven't seen my housemates in a while, simply because I leave before they get up and get home after they're in bed, but when I do see them, I'm so grateful to be living with such a fantastic bunch.

I learned to count in binary the other night, and today I made a widget. Next week is Hammerdash, so this week will be full of bricks I think; gotta stop wussing out and start working out outside again! All right, time for bed, so that I can lay seige to Econ 425 assignment tomorrow..and art history paper...and SAP poster...and CIA poster...and Guide to Queen's campaign...and last touches to the Annual Report.