I've played enough sports in my life to know that when you take a long layoff, it takes time to get your endurance back. But when I took a "long layoff" in the past, it usually meant a couple months. And I was in my 20s. With that said, something really weird happened when I hit my mid-30s. For starters, I had a kid. While he is the sun of my universe (haha ... punny!), being a parent pretty much takes up all my free time. And what little free time I do get, I'm not exactly out there running 5-minute miles.
So when I started training for this triathlon, I fooled myself into thinking I'd get back into shape in a couple of weeks. Ya know, like I did when I was 18 and basketball season was starting up. I was very, very wrong. Liz -- who is my wife, and also pretty smart it turns out -- was quick to notice my shock and disappointment when, after two whole weeks, I wasn't logging 8 miles in 30 minutes. I think she first noticed it when I came home after a ride, lay down on the living room floor, and asked her to kill me in between desperate wheezes.
"Don't worry, honey," she said in a very Mrs. Cunningham sorta way. "You'll find your groove really soon and then it'll be fun!" I nodded in agreement, but deep down I just wanted her to rip my lungs out through my mouth.
Of course, it turns out she was right (as she is 99% of the time. Yeah, that's right, I'm staking my claim to that 1%). And it was on Day 6 that I hit my stride. I went farther than I had up to this point, and I did it faster than any of my previous rides. And on top of that, I was my normal shade of pasty when I walked into the house afterward.
In truth, I only went .13 miles farther than I had gone on Day 5, which is only about 2 football fields and a few first downs. But I shaved 36 seconds per mile off the pace, which made me feel like I was actually making progress. At this rate, I'd be logging 4-minute miles in a matter of days and would be on target to meet my tentatively set goals. Which is a story for another day.
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