Deloading and Handling Competition

Last week was a scheduled deload, and because I have both a 2,000 meter and a 500 meter erg race Saturday, I'm not lifting shit this week.

The problem with the race is that I have completely fucked up my training. I think I did too much too soon, but whatever the problem is, I can barely stand to look at an erg. I haven't rowed in almost two weeks.

This is clearly not a good situation, but I'll do the best I can with it. I have been remembering that the only real goal of competition is to present yourself prepared to the best of your ability; that's the only part you control. Now physically, I concede, I've already blown that. I simply didn't know how to peak for a race, but I've learned to avoid that mistake next year. It's important to remember that we expect to be competing for years, and it's quite possible that this year will be my best in terms of learning. In an important sense then I've already won, but I'm not done preparing yet.

I made a genius move by suckering Mike D to compete with me. Mike has always been the perfect training partner for me. I know that whatever I'm capable of doing Saturday, Mike will have me doing it.

I'm not sure yet what I will eat Friday and Saturday, but I know that I will know by Thursday night, and it will be exclusively stuff that makes sense. In short Paleo, but I might up the fruit intake Saturday morning.

I am ecstatic to be training jiu-jitsu again, but I won't get on the mat before Sunday. Nonetheless I'll quite likely make it a point to stop by Dark Horse BJJ to soak up the atmosphere. Watching the team train will make me fully commit to doing the best I can.

Likewise I'll be around TFCF at least Thursday for the same reason.

Friday is trickier. I like being alone in the last hours, and I'll just wait and see what I feel like when the time comes.

I usually use the last night to read some really good shit. I've used Beowulf frequently, and I'll probably go back to it again. Reading about the kind of shit Beowulf did always makes me feel ready to take on anything. It helps to steadfastly refuse to believe it's a fictional work, and I am really good at doing that.

I will get on the rower once more to practice the ten-stroke start, to make sure my stroke isn't broken, and to convince myself that I love rowing.

Really I only worry about one thing. Through three or so months of dedicated training I've become a mediocre 2,000 meter rower, and legitimately good by anybody's definition sprinter at 500 meters. The 2,000 comes first Saturday, and I worry that when it really starts to hurt, I'll be tempted to back off and save myself for the 500. My best idea is to try to trick myself into believing I'm only doing the 2,000, but I'll take the precaution of ordering Mike to push my 2,000.

Saturday is a good day to die. Let's do this motherfucker.