my workouts go to hell in a handbasket. Now that Joe is home more, I am enjoying the guilt-free "gotta go work out now, honey" evenings. This past week and two weeks ago were great--not a single workout missed! Whoo hoo! Last week, not so much. Joe took a much needed break to hike the mountains of Peru, and as a result I got about 70% of my training in. Maybe it's just the increase in volume (Saturdays are now 70+ miles on the bike with at least 6 miles pounding the pavement) that totally wears me out by midweek. But combine that with the pleasures of single parenting and its associated little league practices and games, play dates, dance carpools, and having to figure out dinner every night and all I want to do is fall asleep at 4pm. Luckily, I am not alone. My friends Kellye and Jennifer also blog about the challenges of motherhood and training--it's nice to read another perspective and know I have company in my angst. Giving myself over to others that need me (mainly Joe and the kids), is important but also helps me appreciate my workout time as my own.
While the time away from training weighs heavily on me (to the point that I am sometimes afraid to confess my missed workouts), I need to be able to step away from a workout or two and let the rest of my life reclaim me. It gives me a chance to rest, recover, and heal. It seems to me that many of the people I care about are in the process of healing--from injury and surgery, lost jobs and loves. Those are things that ice baths, compression socks, and chocolate milk can't easily fix. Time will work its magic, I'm sure.