Ironman Blues

What I would like to know is...

How does someone go from training their a** off, every single day, multiple hours daily, living, breathing, sleeping, eating - all things Ironman... to couch-bound and in pain for a week, nothing to train for, no big goal, and quite frankly, no real reason to live???

What I can tell you...

The result is one big case of post-partum depression (so-to-speak)!

I'm having a hard time with this one. I think I just enjoyed myself far to much during the training, perhaps I just didn't want it to end. In 2007 I had a small case of post-Ironman (aka post-partum) depression, but just a few weeks earlier Craig and I got engaged, so it was after Ironman that I got to start wedding planning - which, of course, is every girls dream, and every girls chance to turn into a controlling-bossy-picky-princessy-freak-of-nature Bridezilla. I think I bought my wedding dress the week after Ironman. This was a very good cure for any type of "blues" that I was experiencing, and perhaps the start of a long year of "blues" for my dad (thanks to a very large outstanding bill from The Bank of Dad).

I understand this year was a bit different, I really was quite sick for a few days after. I think I could describe the pain I had as almost as bad as my whole "Malaria out in the middle of no-man's Land somewhere in Sub-Sahara Africa" experience. But the most horrible thing of all is going from 25 + hours/week of training to pain on inhalation at rest! Who would have thought that Shingles could cause so much internal pain??? I thought only Grandma's and chemo patients got shingles (apparently... so do vegetarian, healthy, 26 year old, marathon running, girls).

The guilt started to settle in on Thursday, which was also probably one of the worst days for pain. All I could hear was the voice in my head telling me how badly I needed to get my butt in gear and get back to my training. What exactly I'm training for, is unknown, but the voices in my head were telling me my finely defined bulging quads and hamstrings (perhaps that's a bit of an exaggeration...) were shrinking down into mere single strands of DNA. If I didn't get back at it, I would be THAT GIRL who by-passes the leg press machine only to stroll on the treadmill with my totally coordinated lululemon uniform and matching pink ipod while my poney tail is flapping in the breeze of my 25 min/mile stroll (side note - I do LOVE lululemon anything, and I do have a pink ipod). Dear God - please just kill me now!!! Every moment I was on the couch (gasping for air) I could see my Ironman tatoo fading more and more into a blob of black ink on my ankle and eventually spelling out the words "Lazy Ass".

I swear I'm not extreme at all - totally reasonable and realistic!

As a result, I probably pushed it a bit more than I should of (as in - running whilst holding my insides together in extreme pain). I found swimming was actually a bit of a relief to the pain (so there was a lot of swimming), particularly when I just took breaths on my left side. I also used the eliptical machine, which I normally would classify in the "sissy" category at the gym, but it was something my mom and I could do together, while we analyzed and solved all of the world's problems. Plus, I got to spend a lot of time enjoying our beautiful extended summer, I spent a lot of time outside walking. It wasn't anything like my Ironman training, but it at least quieted those screaming "lazy ass demons" for the time being.

Now that I'm feeling much better, and fully (and OVERLY) rested, I've finally been able to get back into my normal activity level, and I and thoroughly looking forward to going back to work (after my banishment from the hospital being a walking virus to immune compromised persons).

This has got me thinking though. Those Ironman administration people are geniuses! They have garunteed themselves an eternal paycheque! The reason that people go back year after year (after year...) is because it would be better to just suck it up, pay the money, and start the training again, then go through the awful, dreaded, post-partum depression! It's such a lonely, horrible, suicidal (again, not extreme at all!) time. Dark days! I feel like I am a heroin addict trying to break a habit. Ironman-ing is a cult... they suck you in, and unless you can break the addiction, you will never, EVER, be able to stop (just look at Sister Madonna!). So now that I've missed my oppertunity to sign up for IMC 2010, I find myself secretly getting up in the middle of the night researching ultra-marathons and other sick and twisted goals that I can start training for. It's like my fix - I have to sneak out of bed without waking up Craig, then clear the Web History so that I can't be traced. I was reading about the Kananaskis 100 km ultra marathon and I found a single tear rolling down my cheek as it pulled on my heart strings.

So what do I do next?

I was thinking of putting an ad in the newspaper that reads:

"Young female seeking new hobby. Must be extreme, time consuming, inflict pain, burn a minimum 5000 calories/day, inhibit a social life, but yet be oh-so very very satisfying to ultra-extreme-OCD type personality. Can take up to and including 30 hours per week of Requestor's spare time and must result in some kind of material merchandise (aka finisher's tshirt and medal). Bragging-Rights-Tatoo a plus, but not a requirement. Must be able to bring an entire cheering squad clad in pink (from head to toe) who make an obnoxious amount of noise. Please send applications ASAP!"

If that doesn't work... I suppose I can just stick it out and enjoy having an exceptionally understanding husband who puts up with my many many, MANY withdrawl symptoms (including but not limited to: crying, whining, pouting, raging, silent-treatment, random house-reorganizing, glaring, and bathroom hogging for exceptionally long baths).

It's been a week and a half, I'm sure the worst of it is over and I'm well on my way back to normal-ness. Before we know it, this will be just a distant memory, and I'll be far more interested in America's Next Top Model than into my Heart Rate Zones. Perhaps I'll join my local IA (Ironman's Anonymous) support group for recovering addicts - the accountability would be good for me! But, as long as Craig is offering foot massage's and letting me talk about having kids in the far nearer future than he is interested in... perhaps, I'll just milk it a wee bit longer...

This is the dress that saved me from my first case of post-partum depression - I guess I can't just go buy another one, but I'm thinking of hauling it out of retirement and wearing it around the house tomorrow. Maybe that's all I need. I can't wait to see Craig's reaction when he gets home from work and if for some reason, tomorrow is the day that he decides to invite ALL the boys over for beer after work - so be it! I'm very delicate these days!