rough go. or something.

I've been sitting here for the past five minutes, trying to figure out how to use the phrase "rough go" to describe the last week or so of training, but not being quite sure whether the correct use is "rough go of" or "rough go at." Also, the whole thing kind of sounds pornographic, so maybe I should really just scrap the phrase altogether.

Welcome to my brain.

Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that the last week or so of training has been challenging. Today I had a seven-hour ride on my schedule, and even though it was drizzly and wet outside, I couldn't bear the thought of spending seven hours on the trainer. So I drove up to Snohomish to ride the Centennial Trail (which is awesome and you should ride it). 

And all was going well until I slipped on wet railroad tracks and ended up on the ground. You know that moment when you look down and you're bleeding and you're shocked because holy shit there is blood and it's yours and then suddenly you feel light-headed and like you might pass out? Yes. That moment.

Just road rash and bruises.

Thankfully, a very kind woman (who unfortunately was wearing a Seahawks jersey so now I can't hate the Seahawks anymore, goddammit) named Melissa and her daughter Lexi stopped to help me. God bless them. They called 911, and the paramedics came, made sure nothing was broken and bandaged me up. And when I told the medics my age, wonderful Lexi exclaimed: "Wow! You look really young!" And when I took my helmet off, she said, "You're so cute!"

Pro tip: If you ever feel bad about yourself, I strongly recommend crashing your bike in Arlington and letting the affirmations flow.

Melissa and Lexi then drove me 20 miles back to my car. And we talked about horror movies and the mean girls in high school (Lexi starts her freshman year Tuesday) and how Taylor Swift is the best ever. I hope they win the lottery.

And that's just the most recent bad training story. Yesterday I got out of bed and put all my running gear on and started eating breakfast and then felt sick to my stomach, so I went back to bed (still wearing all my running gear -- Garmin and heart rate monitor included) and slept all day. When I finally got up and went for my run, I got caught in a thunderstorm and torrential downpour that was so bad I almost crawled under a semi trailer for shelter at one point.

At least I wore a black sports bra.

And I had another running fail earlier this week -- double workout last Tuesday, with a 3,300-yard swim in the morning and track in the evening. I didn't eat enough during the day and almost passed out at track. Coach T made me lie on the ground and then sent me home for dinner.

And then last weekend, there was a huge windstorm so I spent a total of 10 hours on the trainer -- four one day and six the next. Pretty sure my downstairs neighbors hate me. (And can you really blame me for wanting to ride outside today after 10 hours on the trainer last weekend?)

Yes, that is a hot dog.

And on top of all of this, I'm just downright exhausted. 

Ironman Louisville: Five weeks and counting.