The Paula Higgens Memorial Record Challenge Time Trial: 40K on a National Record Setting Course

This is what we forgot today:
*Rain jackets
*A portable waterproof canopy
*Plastic bags for wet, muddy clothes and wet muddy tarp
*Newspapers or cardboard for the floor of the truck
*Two sets of warm, dry clothes--one to wear before for walking around in the rain and warming up, and one for after, to take the place of the first set of clothes that got wet during the warm up, and
*Two sets of shoes--for the same reason listed above.

A portable heating device would have been nice.

Especially while waiting in our "dry" clothes for the results after the race.
The organizers provided good eats during the wait, plus beer and fizzy fruit juice. And good, cycling-devotee company. But that wind still had a bite to it.

What we did remember is just how good the conditions had been the previous year: Perfect temps, dry weather, NO wind. A lot of people showed up last year.

This year, we saw people leaving without unloading their bikes.
Maybe 40 people did the 40K distance. Maybe.
The race still drew people from around the U.S.
The winner came from Colorado.
49:27.79
30.14 m.p.h.
Two minutes behind the record holder, John Frey.
Martha Hansen, the 85 year old who set a National Record last year, didn't show up.
But a man in the 70-74 AG set a National Record in the 20K at 29:08.21
That's 25.6 m.p.h.
So, T and I really have no excuse.

We had a nice day and put in some good effort--it's just remarkably disappointing to put in all that effort for a slo-o-o-w-er time than the previous year.
Even with Bones' disc AND a different gear ratio.
Which, incidentally, I had fun maxing out in the tailwind.
It just wasn't enough to make up for the beating I took going into the headwind.

This is how I feel right now:
*2:36 slower than last year REALLY STINKS,
*I know I'm being a whiner,
and,
*I am glad it's over

Part of me feels that I didn't push hard enough. And that's probably because I didn't. I started with a poor, not long enough warm-up and possibly too much caffeine--even though I only had one cup of coffee. T adjusted my bike the day before, and since I hadn't been able to check it out, I was NERVOUS. Hyperventilatory-from-the-cold-and-unknown nervous. I couldn't get my breathing right. There was mud everywhere, and the roads were puddling wet. Rain, cold, poor warm-up, hyperventilation, am I going to slip on the road? my wheel feels too narrow, what's that funny noise?, stop-adjust-ride-stop-adjust-ride, DID I MISS MY START TIME?!?

Not a good way to start a Time Trial effort.

So the initial part of my ride was slow, while I hyperventilated and went into O2 debt. I finally got myself under control, settled in, and battled a headwind for out to the turn-around speeds of something like 19 mph--I just couldn't get myself go any faster. I passed my 30-second and minute-man (woman), but didn't make up anymore ground. Laurie Mauderly passed me like I was standing still--and from her perspective, I probably was. She won the women's division in a time of 57:50.78, which comes out to 25.77 mph. At the turn-around, I was able to bring up my speed to 24.5 mph with occasional forays up to 25 and down to 23 mph. I didn't see another female because unknown to me, they were all in front and rapidly riding away from me. I think 8 men passed me.

So it goes.

There were only two women in my Age Group. A Cat 1-2 racer and myself. Once again, I came in 7 minutes behind for second place.
21.095 miles per hour.
I should be grateful, I know.
But.
Ick.

Things I learned from today:
*Number one and most importantly: IT WOULD BE HELPFUL IF I WOULD TAKE THIS RACE SERIOUSLY AND ACTUALLY TRAIN FOR IT. I only rode 187 bike miles this month, none of which were race specific.
*I need a longer warm-up time
*My computer calibration is in error--the read-out showed that I had averaged well over 22 mph.
*I can ride without slipping on wet road in slick rain and wind conditions.
*For some reason, that darn clock means an awful lot to me--I need to re-balance my perspective,
*I definitely have improved in my focus and concentration, and
*Despite my slo-o-o-w-er time and all my complaints, I really do like the feeling of tapping into that deep internal force of will that makes for a good Time Trial effort.

After it's all done and I get warm, of course.

T says I need to remember that it's usually the hard-core that stick around for a race in these conditions--which is why I placed 9th out of 11 women.

I can't say I'm hard-core--but I do look forward to riding more TT's.
Just, hopefully, not in the rain.

What's This About An Internet Push-Up Challenge?

I did 55 push-ups yesterday.

I started by thinking I would do 3 sets of 10.

On a Bosu ball.

Then, I figured, why not add a few. So, I brought it up to 3 sets of 15.

Good push-ups, with plank like form, and deep elbows to bring my rib cage all the way down to the ball. NO bend at the hips. Head, neck and back all in good alignment. Breathing deep.

That's because the guys at work are always checking out my form.
They can't help themselves.
It's their job.

And it keeps me on my toes.

My co-worker, S. (of course, checking out what I was doing) came bounding over with two bolsters in this hands. "Have you tried this?"
He said I looked bored.
So, he set me up with one palm on each bolster, laying lengthwise, parallel to me, and had me simultaneously push each bolster laterally away from me as I lowered, then pull them in until they were under me as I pushed up.
Boredom hadn't really crossed my mind, when I was doing the initial push-ups.
In fact, I thought I looked like I was concentrating on my form and breathing--and making it to the last push-up of the last set.
But these new push-ups were fun.
And challenging.
So, I did 10, then ran out of time.

Good thing I was saved by the bell.
My pecs and delts (anterior) are remarkably sore today!

A (wandering) Race Report: Socorro and the F1 '08

Usually T and I do a lot more SW Challenge Series racing, but this year we've both taken a several month hiatus.

T--because he was in another state.

Myself--because, well, just because. I felt a need to get away from the numbers and competitiveness that sometimes can take on a life of it's own. In my last race (April), I found myself wishing everyone in the event would just go away--so I could focus on bettering myself against my own personal times and records, without thinking about if someone was in my age group--and if they were faster than me. It made me realize why, sometimes, I like the anonymity of racing in another state. Here, even though I'm not a stellar or star racer, I sometimes feel like I have a target on my back. More than once, women in different age groups have aggressively taken me on as a project to beat--physically communicating their intentions by brushing against me at high speed on the run, attempting to pass and re-pass me on the bike (I dislike leap frogging--if you're going to pass, make sure you have the strength and endurance to maintain the pass. I had to pass "Texas" 3 times today, before he gave up the ghost and I finished decisively in front of him), and in general, focusing a beam of competition in my direction. I expect it from my AG competition, but still, one of these moments occurred earlier this year while finishing the final swim leg of a race--dripping, out of breath, refocusing from the pool environment to land, climbing the ladder to get out of the pool and having Mary (my AG) standing over the ladder as I'm climbing out and saying, "Dale (my AG) wants to know how old you are." No small talk like, "Great race, " "You flew by me on the bike," "Whew, glad that's over," etc. Just pure, high-beam, competitive focus. Since I'm not good at screening out the external competitive pressure, and it was interfering with my own internal focus, I took some time out.

Earlier this month, I returned to the local racing scene, by attending the Socorro Chile Harvest Sprint Triathlon. I had a great race--for someone who hadn't been training or racing sprint for the past 3 months. There were some quirks, of course, and some of those "I wish..." thoughts, but overall, I took two minutes off my previous PR, came in 5th of 16 in my age group, and was 32nd out of 148 total women.

The quirks and "I wishes...."

The swim was a Time Trial start--every 15 seconds according to the flyer, but it seemed like a 5 second interval to me. As soon as I jumped into the water to get ready for the start--someone said "Go!" Taking off so suddenly, and as per my usual, I went into a respiratory panic and hyperventilated the first 50 meters. It took a lot of self-talk to continue swimming, when every survival fiber in my body wanted to stop and stand up. The next 100 meters were a cautious progression to prevent another episode of panic, and then I eased into my rhythm, and completed the swim feeling good. The man who started right behind me, passed me at 50 meters (I smunched into his legs as he attempted to pass me on the left and cross in front of me to the right to make the turn into the next lane), but didn't gain any ground after that first 50. Several months earlier, I had predicted my swim time at 9:35. My true time was 9:59.

The bike was just a heck of a lot of fun. I felt good, but could feel the weakness in my legs from not sprint racing, especially on hills, for several months. Since I'm a slow swimmer, there are always a lot of people to pick off on the bike, which is entertaining, and gives me an external measure of progress along the course. My wish, of course, was to not feel the weakness in my legs, and to be able to ride faster. I averaged 20 mph on a moderately hilly course and was 17th out of 148 women on the bike.

My transition was quirky in that I racked my bike on the wrong rack, and didn't realize it until I looked down, and didn't recognize my clothes. Since I have a small bike, and the racks were high, I actually grabbed my bike, dipped under the rack with it, and ran forward to my rack. Definitely a bit of time loss there.

The run was what it always is--an effort to pick up the pace and not give in to fatigue and the heat of the day. I started too slow while my legs un-wound themselves from the bike, and ended at a good pace, for an average of 9:10 miles.

T didn't attend this race. He was camping in the mountains near Washington DC, with members of the DC Tri-Club. The trip was actually a two day training fest with 88 and 37 mile hilly bike rides, followed by runs. He said by the end of the second day, everyone was cooked.

As for today, "Texas" and I were dueling it out at the Formula-1 (F1) draft legal triathlon in Roswell, the story I started to write about, but obviously went in a different direction.

Another time.

Suffice it to say, it was a fun race, I finished as "female champion" in first place--out of 3 female entrants, had more fun catching up with the Outlaws, met some new people, was very grateful for the endless support and encouragement, and as always, enjoyed a beautiful venue and the cool, clear waters of the lake. And, even though my overall win was due to the small field, as T reminded me, "everyone is invited to the dance..."

Late, Late Entry: Why My Training Went South in May, or A Tri-Excuse at the National Level

Mark and I eat a lost of salsa, and we go through it pretty fast, so I like to stock up.

In late May, I bought 4 jars.

Due to the ongoing salmonella mystery, these jars went uneaten, and in June, realizing I wanted to avoid anything associated with tomatoes, I decided to return them to the place of purchase.

This didn't go over too well with the clerk at the return counter.

I had my receipt, the jars had obviously been untouched, and I told her that, what with the ongoing tomato associated cases of salmonella, plus a recent history of weeks of unexplained lower GI distress in my household, we would not be using the salsa.

This didn't make her very happy. After fussing with the jars, she informed me that food could only be returned within 24 hours (pause), "because we just have to throw it all away, anyway."

Since I really wanted her to take the salsa back, I didn't return with the obvious--that if she didn't take the jars back, I was just going to have to throw them away myself. And, since I had purchased these jars from this particular vendor, plus the fact that nobody in their right mind was eating tomatoes, especially since New Mexico was at the top of the list for the highest number of salmonella cases, AND that salsa contains uncooked tomatoes, that these jars really should be thrown out, and that I shouldn't have to pay for them....

After fussing a bit more with the jars (while I tried to be polite and understanding but persistent), she agreed to refund my money "just this once!"

Well, time has passed, and recently the mystery of the salmonella tainted tomatoes has now spread to include jalapenos and a briefly mentioned possibility of cilantro.

Hmmmm.....tomatoes, jalapenos, and cilantro--sounds like a jar of salsa to me.

Smiley Post...This Time, My Face Didn't Stay Pink for 8 Hours

I did it again.

Managed to take a good chunk of time off my long distance run.

Of course, the clouds rolled in and provided respite from the sun, so my "cooler temp" reasoning must be true

It's been an awfully busy month. A 3-day weekend in DC, a 4-day weekend in CA, two days in Austin, then the Socorro Sprint Triathlon. So, the training has suffered (what training?), and I haven't done my long training run route since July 13. That was the day I took a solid 30 minutes off of my usual 3 hour time.

Bones said,"Maybe you've broken through to a new level!"

I said, "I think it's because I actually got out earlier and the temps were cooler..."

Maybe it was a combination of both.

Sunday, I decided to get up early and go for a medium (6-7 mile) run, since I hadn't been training consistently and wanted to healthily ease back into it.

I didn't do either.

Instead, I got up a little later than I should have, got caught up in puttering around the house, hoped for more of the recent cloud cover we'd been having, but really didn't stick to my plan and left after 8 am when the sun was high and the UV was on it's way to contributing to a 10 plus day.

I was rested (from not training) and I felt pretty good.

So, I started at a good pace on my neighborhood run.

Then, I just kept on going.

Clouds rolled in briefly, and the dip in temperature gave me the extra impetus to continue the pace.

I kept rationalizing, "I'll turn around here. Nope, I'll turn around here."

Finally, I just kept on heading out. Already resigned to the massively sore legs I was going to have the next day. My long run course is the only one in which I have a set of past times for comparison, and I was feeling pretty good.

I hit the turn around (it's an out and back route) in 1:09.37

On the same course that I usually do in 3 hours.

Since I haven't been training endurance, I pretty much fell apart on the way back.

The sun came out even stronger than before.

I pretty much cooked.

So, my total run time was 2:41

Still faster than the usual 3 hours.

Or, maybe, I shouldn't consider 3 hours "the usual" any more.

Late Entry: A Visit to the ER

For various reasons, I've been off line for several weeks.
It didn't stop me from writing, though.
So the next few posts are "late," "late, late," and "late, late, late" entries.
It's a good excuse for catching up--as some of these entries are far later than just "a few weeks."
Hope you enjoy.
________________________________
July 30th

Went to the ER last night.
In fact, just came home from the ER and it's 6:15 in the morning.

It's not something I wanted to do.

Going to a Level 1 Trauma Center late at night, gumming up the works, when what the Trauma Center really needed from me was to stay away, so they could do their real job.

I went because somehow, while eating / slurping a brothy noodle bowl, I swallowed something that lodged in my throat.

It's a strange feeling, to be thinking, "Uh-oh. Something hard and not noodly is in my throat, And I can't cough it up and I can't move it down."

I tried.

At first it just felt funny, but there was no pain. But when I swallowed, it went deeper, and my throat started to hurt.

Since it was 10:00 at night, and I was home alone, I started to worry.

What if this worsened, and I got into real trouble or incapacitated. Then, what would I do?

I didn't think the object in my throat merited an ER visit, but where else was I supposed to go?

Meanwhile, the pain was getting worse.

I stopped swallowing because each swallow HURT.

I figured if nothing else, I could sit in the waiting room (since I knew it would be an extended wait), try to swallow, and hope the object would work it's way down--with emergency services nearby, in case of a bad outcome.

By this point, I'd become fairly paralyzed from the neck up, afraid to swallow—almost afraid to move in any way. So, I mobilized my legs, got myself dressed, and drove myself to the ER. Which, despite the continued increase in pain, and my rising hypochondriacal concerns about what the heck I had swallowed and what kind of damage it could cause (read "perforation"), made me feel better.

You know something is not right when sitting in an overcrowded ER waiting room, with the clock approaching midnight, makes you feel better.

The ER was a slice of city life in the middle of the night. Fluorescent lights eliminated the dark. It was crowded, but surprisingly quiet, except for the loud blare of the TV and miscellaneous coughs, sneezes, and muted conversations. Those in most need were already laying in an ER bed. Those of us in the waiting room were low on the triage list—with a long wait in front of us.

It turned out that, on this particular night, the hospital was under a "code purple." All hospital beds were full, and new admissions were being lodged in the ER, reducing the number of ER beds available, and increasing the wait time in the waiting room.

My x-rays were done before midnight.

My complaint was listed as "minor soft tissue trauma".
Minor soft tissue trauma? I was definitely pretty low on the triage list.

The wait continued AND my pain increased.
A lot.
Swallowing was excruciating, and sent my throat into spasm. The pain would increase in waves after each swallow. When I turned my head to the right, it hurt more. I clutched numerous wadded-up damp-with-spit tissues and tried to avoid swallowing.

The worst was a minor post nasal drainage that I couldn't control, leading to several involuntary, painful swallows.

Sometime after 2 am, I swallowed involuntarily, and something moved, painfully, lower into my throat. And then stuck. Or, so it seemed.

I considered going home, but since they had already taken x-rays, I figured I should see if anything showed up and, besides, I was still having excruciating pain with each swallow. I was getting tired..

At 3 am I got a bed. My resting BP was 150/90. Heart rate 55. My normal BP is something like 117/70.
I propped up the bed, so I could sit up and close my eyes without saliva running down my throat.
I still had an extended wait, so they turned out the lights, and I actually dozed a little.
I think this allowed me to finally relax, because when the doctor came in, the pain, although still strong, had eased a bit.

Dr. C. had a great bedside manner, especially after a night treating life and death and now being tasked with treating a "minor soft tissue trauma." He said my x-rays were clear, but he still wanted to take a look.

By inserting a scope.

Up my nose.

This is what I learned: When you're in a whole lot of pain, you will do anything on just the promise of making it stop.

He said he would insert a numbing gel into my nose, then a numbing spray into my throat.
I tried to sound like this was OK with me.
But what I was really thinking was of the story of a friend, who had been in a terrible hang gliding accident (now recovered), and who had told me that having an "NG (naso-gastric) tube" dropped down her nose while she was conscious, was one of the most awful experiences she could remember.

Dr. C began squirting all kinds of things up my nose and into my throat. Gel and Liquid things. He was extra solicitous—making sure I felt no pain: nose-throat-nose--uh oh—better have you gargle. Those of you who know me, know I panic in water. Having all this liquid inserted into my breathing pathway was getting in the way of oxygen acquisition. The amount of gel and liquid going into the back of my throat made me swallow, which hurt. I started to tear up, which, of course, further clogged up my nose with mucus, so that when Dr. C sprayed liquid into my throat, I felt like I couldn't breathe.

It was not a happy time.

Then, Dr. C showed me a narrow black instrument, with a lo-o-ng tube, and said he would put it up my nose.

I immediately closed my eyes.

Even with all of the numbing gel, getting that tube up my nose still hurt. I didn't feel the part where it dropped into the back of my throat. Dr. C could only insert it so far and then directed me to make certain noises to open my larynx and improve the view.

The view was obscured by "a lot" of mucus.

Dr. C said I must have an irritation in the area with all the mucus.
My take on it was that 7 hours of swallow avoidance coupled with allergies and post nasal drip had allowed a pile of mucus to build up—(hypochondriacally) maybe even on top of whatever it was that was in my throat.

When the smoke cleared, Dr. C said he couldn't see anything, but thought that whatever had been in my throat was gone—and gave me a prescription for narcotic pain killers, lidocaine numbing gel, and anti-reflux medication The pain was so severe I really didn't believe that whatever was in there was gone, but once the doctor said there was nothing as far as he could see, I felt I could go ahead and REALLY swallow.

I left the hospital at about 5:30 am, picked up a large cup of coffee, headed for home, made cheesey toast for breakfast, swallowed through the pain, and fueled by the pseudo-adrenaline of an unusual experience, went to work. All the cheesey bread swallowing must have done the trick, because by this time my throat wasn't hurting so bad, and in fact, less than an hour later the pain was essentially gone.

Initially, I didn't talk about my night, but wondering how I might appear, asked a co-worker what I looked like. She said "Great! You're wearing makeup today."
When I looked in the mirror, I realized that the rosy red lipstick she saw was really the raw bloody skin of lips that had been roughed up by spitting into hospital paper towels all night long.

I made it until 2 pm then, tired of looking good at work, caved into an impossible fatigue, went home and slept.

I didn't fill my prescriptions. I've had too many close encounters with people addicted to narcotic pain medication to ever think of these as anything but a last resort. The doctor assured me that everyone has reflux, and that I would feel pain from it--but I didn't. The lidocaine numbing get? Well, I immediately thought, "Would this be good for sore muscle recovery?" and stashed the syringes in my fridge.

Over the next few days my lips progressively scabbed over and peeled.

I chalked up my NG tube experience to learning something new: one last thing I would worry about if it ever came up in the future--and a whole lot of empathy for those who have one.

You know what they say—I'll try anything once.

Chiaroscuro

It's 11:00 Saturday night, and I'm standing in the dimly lit, cavernous, cement underground tunnel of the DC metro.
I'm by myself.
A few moments before, Mark had been next to me. Now he's just a shadowy figure back lit against the solidly shut doors of a train, receding smoothly into the distance at an ever increasing rate of speed.

I imagine an expression of whoops!-amazement on his face, which now I can no longer see.

There's a blank pause as the world slows down and I take it all in--then an uh-oh, now-what-do-I-do moment, as I realize my guide is disappearing down the tracks, I don't know where I'm going, and I'm alone, late at night, left behind in the DC Metro.

I think about calling him on the phone, but at almost the same time, realize I don't have service in the semi-bowel's of the city ("semi" because I'm sure there's another shadowy layer beneath me, peopled by who knows what).

I wander over to the direction sign, and realize it was a good thing I had pestered Mark so much on the way out about where we were going. I recognize Metro Center, the name of the station where we transferred earlier and reason that Mark will either 1) get off at the next stop, and come right back for me, or 2) wait for me at Metro Center.

Well...maybe.

What if he comes back, and I've already gone?

His phone doesn't get reception in the tunnels, either.

A few people start to trickle in to catch the next train, and that isolated feeling of being in the underworld starts to abate.

I just have to have faith that he'll do the right thing.

And so I sit and wait for the next train, and almost begin to laugh.

The movie scene pathos and poignancy of it all.

We had run down the steps trying to catch a train before it pulled out. The train was sitting there with the doors open, and as Mark leaped through, one step ahead of me, I thought "uh-oh, how long have these doors been open?" What flashed through my mind was Mark's story of his first day on the Metro, shoving a large bike box ahead of him through the open door of the train--and having the doors close and clamp halfway down on the box. He said the feeling was one of "horror and embarrassment," as he envisioned the train leaving and taking his bike, so he frantically pulled, and hauled, and tugged to get the box back (it was commute hour and people on the train were watching--hence the embarrassment). What he marveled at was how quick and hard those doors closed--and wondered if anyone ever got caught in them.

And so, as Mark leapt onto the train--thinking about what he had said about the doors, I may have hesitated for a moment--and the doors closed.
Just like that.
Mark turned, saw me, and reached for the door. I reached from my side. And for a long moment, we were a tableaux, he in light, me in shadow, reaching, yearning, on either side of this immovable barrier--then the train began to move.

Later, at Metro Center, disembarking into a sea of people, Mark found me, relief in his voice, and we continued home, together.

You never know when you'll have a movie moment,
and,
it might not be the movie moment you want.

Finally,
what do you do when the cell phones don't work?

post script
The thought of Mark running around looking for me on the railroad tracks reminded me of an early sci-fi short story from my father's bookshelf, "A Streetcar Named Desire," about a ghost car that ran the tracks and would disappear, than reappear. I believe it was the D line. And it ran on a mobius. I tried to locate the story online to share with Mark, but couldn't find it. Not sure if I have the correct title. Anyone familiar with it?

post, post script
The post title is dedicated to Mark.

What The Doctor Would LIke For Christmas

I hate going to the doctor.
I always feel that I'm whining about what's wrong with me.
Someday, it would be nice to go in and give the doctor a break.

"L! I'm feeling great, and I just wanted to stop by and tell you the good things!"

I'm sure the doctor would appreciate it.

Instead, we took care of my unexpected belly button puka, then went over all the numbers:

Cholesterol is looking good in the 130's:

• HDL running happily high in the 60's
• LDL happily low in the 60's

Triglycerides are a trace in the 40's.

As L. puts it, I don't have a trace of carbs left over in me.

If that's the case, then why do I keep packing on a pound a year?

Green It Is

Put "driving green" to the test these past few weeks.

Fill-up today told the story.

10.28 gallons

411.9 miles

40.07 m.p.g. !

Since I already get something over 35 m.p.g., the jump up isn't nearly as significant as it sounds.

Still, the last time I got 40 (actually 44) m.p.g. was last year, when I incidentally drafted a large truck to get out to the Gallup Triathlon. It was night, and I was using the tail lights as a driving guide.

Today was a surprise.

But that driving green, sometimes, just takes the fun out of things...
I never thought I'd feel guilt for driving 70 m.p.h.

What, again?

Killer swim.

Still would be considered slower than a floating iceberg by some of my triathlete compatriots.

But it felt good to me.

I didn't feel draggy and didn't waste energy side to side while wrastling an alligator.

I didn't have that dead in the water moment with each stroke.

I felt aggressive and strong.

I was able to dig in, raise my torso, follow through with acceleration.

All week I had felt tired.
Last weekend's unexpected killer bike and run left me with oh so sore leg muscles. I didn't realize how hard I had worked and didn't eat enough to recover and felt tired all week.

Took rest days on days I normally don't take a rest.

My legs felt heavy.

My brain felt heavy.

My sore muscles hung in for most of the week.

Wednesday, I stopped by the store and bought meat. This is what I do when I'm feeling run down. The meat is a psychological magic pill to help me get back on my feet.

I took way too many rest days, so of course, along with feeling heavy, slow, sore, and unmotivated, I started to feel that universal (at least in my household) I'm-used-to-being-active feeling of "I'm getting fat" and "I'm not doing enough", but I still stuck to my rest, because it does no good to train when I'm not feeling well---it just exacerbates and extends my malaise.

On Friday, I toodled around at work. Wasn't motivated. Didn't have any plans. Stayed late and was the last to leave.

On the way out the door, I figured, even though I didn't feel like it, I should try going up to the pool and do a few short, easy laps. I bargained with myself: 10 lengths would be OK, maybe 20, well that would be 500, so look at doing 400. Pause. Or maybe 800. 800 is a metric half mile, so why not round it up to 1000 like you used to do. No, the way I feel that might be too much, and I don't want to do a swim just to tick off the distance when I'm not feeling good, so maybe 800.
Or 400, to make sure I don't over extend myself and feel draggy.

Etc.

In the back of my mind, I gave myself permission to do nothing. To lazily, languorously move slowly and just enjoy the water. Because what was really getting me up to the pool, when I didn't feel like swimming at all, was the thought of how good and cool and refreshing the water would feel for those first few laps.

So that's how I got myself to the pool.

But, then, what a swim.