A Little Dirt Won't Hurt

This is me after our team workout this week.



The workout was called X-Training Madness. And it was pretty crazy. We went to Central Park and started in one of the baseball fields where we did high knee running across and back and other such ridiculous looking and exhausting movements. We ran, we sprinted, we lunged, we squatted, we did pushups, situps, toe raises, more running... until we were all ready to drop. Well, I was ready to drop. At the end of all the situps in the grass and running in the dirt, we all went to a bar together. Looking like this.



There was nowhere to change or wash, so that's how we showed up. It was our first "team social" and it was a lot of fun. I was a little worried at first when the social planner announced in an unbelievably loud voice that we were going to play a game that would help us get to know each other. She was very gung ho and for a moment I felt like I was as close as I'd ever come to a sorority party. The game was some form of bingo that involved finding people who knew song lyrics or could touch their tongue to their nose, or had lived on both coasts.

I was still sweating, of course, and had found myself a comfortable seat in a booth, so I was not thinking of getting up anytime soon. I let people come to me. And soon enough there was a winner, the game was over, and we were free to socialize in a more natural manner. And to eat and drink.

There is nothing like working out as hard as you ever have and then sitting down (without so much as a hamstring stretch) to a pitcher of beer, hot wings and fries. You can imagine how I felt when I finally peeled my butt off the vinyl seat.

The next day the schedule said to run 3-4 miles. I didn't want to do it. I could barely move when I got up in the morning. But I forced myself, mainly because of the upcoming four mile race on Saturday, which I was really nervous about. With the way I was feeling -- the jet lag and the sore muscles from the day before, I thought I'd better do a dry run, so to speak.

I survived the run. At first my legs were screaming, but as I got further into the run, my muscles loosened up and I guess I hit a stride -- and 50 minutes later, I'd finished four miles. And I felt ready for Saturday's race.

Got home, stretched, ate a bowl of cereal, and fell asleep. First night all week I got to bed at a decent hour.

Couldn't move in the morning. Thought I would have to call in sick. Made it into work around 10:15 and, of course, had a crazy busy day of running around. Came home ready to go straight to bed and get a good night's rest for the race.

That was about five hours ago. It's now 12:40 a.m. The race is in about 8 hours. And I'm wide awake. (Stupid jet lag!)

The jet lag has kept me from writing all week. It's also kept me from washing the dishes (or even putting them in the sink sometimes!), doing the laundry, opening my mail and other basic tasks. I have showered daily, but only because of the workouts.

Having jet lag is very much like being depressed. Nothing seems to matter much, and you can fall asleep at any moment. On the subway, in a meeting, on the couch in front of the TV, at lunch with a friend, at the grocery store. Falling asleep is the easiest thing in the world. Until bed time. And then it's like the eyelids are glued open and my brain won't turn off. I heard today that it takes one day for every hour of time difference to recover from jet lag. That means I'll feel like myself again next Saturday.

So I'm nervous for the race tomorrow. Hope to at least finish. I'm sure getting to sleep soon would help. We shall see...