Years ago, I indulged in a stupid activity in the same light that the Grand Daddy of all Triathlons was conceived. The Hawaiian Ironman was the drunken brainchild of three Navy Admirals and a handful of equally drunk SEALs.
So I too, on an inebriated bet, turned from Fast Twitch Glycolytic Balls to the WALL speed athlete into a fat burning, oxidative metabolic inferno.
At one point I had dropped down to a hard to sit on the toilet bowl because my boney ass had no padding 155 pounder, but boy could I swim, bike and run.
At the point where I actually participated in the Championships du Monde (World Championship) in Nice, France, I was swimming 7-10 miles, cycling slightly over 300 miles and running 60 miles EVERY WEEK!!!! I had to go to work to break up my training. But even there, I was consuming copious amounts of food so I could get ready for the next bout of exercise.
I also lifted weights because there was NO WAY I was giving THAT up. Although, try as I did, the maxes were now my warm up weight and the thought of my current maxes would have broken my spine.
I digress...
Yesterday, upon April's urging to "lets just do a mile and a lil' bit to wake up and shake the Thanksgiving outta those legs" I ran a VERY slow 1.23 mile route after the weight workout.
Normally speaking, I have accumulated a SHIT TON of Prowler and Sprint distances, so my O2 uptake was fine. BUT, that rhythm, that breath and step rhythm that I was at one point in my life so use to, became a FREAK'N NIGHTMARE.
WHAT the heck? As I continue to run at a slow pace I could detect a "whistle" noise from the back of my throat, down the esophagus a bit. A FREAK'N WHEEZE? AN ASTHMATIC F'n FOG HORN!!! NO!!!!!!!!!
So this morning (and when I say morning, it's pretty darn early) I rose, threw on my shorts (yes, Its cold here in California...not northeast cold, but cold) a t shirt and my skully. Leashed my dog, Cooper, and walked out into the chill of the morning watching my exhale breath send out streams of fog reminiscent of the the Minnesota Vikings playing at Metropolitan Stadium under Bud Grant's watchful eye and began to ascend my next goal of "NUTTING UP".
I'm going to run this 1.23 miles until the WHEEZING STOPS.
I didn't time it, but I know today was faster than yesterday, because I was LISTENING for the wheeze.
The WHEEZE is going to become my indicator, like a floor press is for the bench and the Good Morning is for the Dead lift/ Squat, THE WHEEZE is going to tell me how my wind bags (lungs) are doing.
I won't give up on the anaerobic conditioning stuff, because THAT sucks so bad and hurts so good. But I will add a bit more mileage as the weeks progress, keep an eye on my weight so as not to lose too much muscle, AND I will cover the distances consistently faster as I go.
Embrace the SUCK! Because it going to get AWFUL and I'm going to LOVE it.