This is not the post I wrote yesterday

I've been feeling uninspired lately.

I've been unmotivated, lacking in energy, and generally unexcited about life.  I've turned down social outings with friends every night so far this week, preferring to hermit in on my couch, trying to snuggle with my dog and disappear into a book or my Hulu queue (someone else's world, as long as it wasn't my own).

And up until yesterday, I simply couldn't figure out what was wrong.  I got home from a 10 hour day at work day, and after deciding that I didn't have the energy for a laid-backed wine and pumpkin carving night with a few of my lady friends, I thought about the fact that I was overdue for a blog post.

So, I sat down to write and instead wasted over an hour playing on Bitstrips for the first time...with this as my final product:

Caption:  "Tessa wonders if the world is upsidedown or if it's just her."

Then, when I couldn't procrastinate anymore, I finally started writing.  And what I ended up with was probably one of the shortest, saddest, most uninspiring posts I've ever written.  When I was a half hour into listing all of the possible contributing reasons for why I've been in the slump I've been in, I stopped writing.  And I reread my depressing list.  And suddenly this blog-writing thing proved it's therapeutic value once again.

And I realized how stupid I've been these past few weeks.

Because the one thing that stood blatantly out in my list of depressing complaints was the fact that me and running in are in a minor separation right now.  DUH.  I wanted to slap myself in the face.

Caption: "SERIOUSLY?!"
(it only took me 10 minutes to find that one)

Of course I've felt lethargic, uninspired, and unmotivated.  I haven't been running. My knee randomly started hurting a couple weeks ago, and after giving it a 4 day rest followed by a painful 3 mile run, I decided to give myself a break from running until November 9 (TNT Spring Team first practice!).

I wanted the break.  Me and running haven't been the best of friends lately.  We've been a little sick of each other.  And frankly, we needed a break.  And I'm still not dying to get out there and run again.  I'm enjoying my break.

But here's the thing I forgot (and the reason I'm so happy that I added "rediscover why I love to run" as number 29 on my 30 things list).  I forgot that while I may be physically and mentally burnt out on the act of running, it is running that keeps me sane.  Running is the place where for an hour a day, I can focus on me.  Just me.  The way I feel.  The way my body feels (whether good or bad).  I focus on my thoughts and my desires and my sense of being.  Being out there running allows me to forget everything else for that moment and just be out there running.  Because running is all I need to do at that moment.  That's it.  No working, no cleaning, no cooking, no Facebooking, no emailing, no Instagramming--just running.

Running is what I do to remind myself that me and this body I'm carrying around are just fine.  We're healthy.  We're active.  We're alive.  And when I'm out there running, it helps me to remember that everything else that's going on in my fairly stable, happy life is going to work itself out.  Running helps me to remember that everything is going to be ok.

In the past few months, I forgot the whole "running is therapy" thing.  I wasn't focusing on how running calms my brain, gives me a sense of accomplishment, and helps me feel motivated to continue through my days.  Instead, I became obsessed with the numbers (remember when I wrote this back in April? I even knew it way back then).  Running became about hitting the paces, pushing the numbers, getting upset if I saw a 9 creep into my mileage paces.  No matter how much my body fought back to tell me it didn't want to beat those numbers, I still pushed it.

But when I started running...when I fell in love with running...I could have cared less about the numbers.  When I finished my first half marathon, the numbers meant nothing to me.  When I finished my first marathon with painful tears of joy, the numbers were the furthest thing from my mind.

I didn't fall in love with running because the numbers kept getting smaller.  I fell in love with running because it made me feel amazing.

Crossing the finish line of marathon #2.  So happy to
just be there.  So proud to just be me that day.

Running is the underlying factor that keeps my life sailing smoothly.  And in the last little while, I'd simply been asking too much of it.

So now, I am still confident in my decision to take a small separation from running for a couple weeks.  For the sake of our relationship and the sake of my knee.

But that doesn't mean I have to take a break from everything.  That feeling that I get from running may not be matched by any other physical activity I've found so far, but sitting around doing absolutely nothing certainly isn't getting me any closer to a faux runner's high.

Therefore, after deciding not to hit the publish button on a post that had zero positivity in it, I instead bought some more spin classes.  And registered for a month's worth of hot yoga.  And kicked myself for thinking that it was ok for me to sit around and do nothing just because my knee was hurting a little and I didn't really want to be on speaking terms with running.

Then tonight, I went to the first hot yoga class I've been to in about 4 years.  In fact, the last time I did hot yoga, I hadn't run a single race.  Not one.  And man, it was tough.  I could never forget that ridiculous camel pose that makes me want to pass out every time.  I had to lay down on the mat a few times, because the heat was getting to me and the light-headedness was becoming overwhelming.  But I kept at it and made it through the whole hour.

And afterwards, while I didn't walk away with a runner's high, I was content with the knowledge that today I did something to keep myself healthy, happy, sane, and energetic.  My muscles are hurting.  And that makes me happy.

5 minutes.  I'm getting faster. Tessa is not worrying about numbers.

I also made a decision.  I decided that when running and I start our relationship again, we're going to start the way we did way back when.  No watch.  No expectations.  No numbers.  Just me (and maybe even Lucy if her glucosamine kicks her love of running back into gear).  One month of paceless, watchless, who-cares-how-many-miles running.

But in the meantime, I'm going to do other things to keep myself mildly sane.  Because obviously sitting on the couch is no good for me or the stability of my mind.

It's time to get back out there.

An ode to fall

Autumn seems to have crept unassumingly into Seattle.  I find this odd, because fall usually hits Seattle like a punch in the gut.  In past years, summer has ended abruptly the minute the sun disappears from the sky.  The clouds roll in, sprinkling for days on September's brown grass, and then we are faced with endless 10 day forecasts of 50 degrees and rainy.

But this year, autumn has tiptoed its way in, peeking its head around the corner more than a few times before finally deciding to slowly settle in.  I think I noticed the first few color changes about 3 weeks ago.  But the temperatures and sunshine pushed thoughts of fall towards the back of my mind.  A few rainy days came and went, but sun didn't disappear permanently.

Then last weekend, as I pretended to be a tourist with my mom in Seattle, the chill of fall was clearly in the air.  It was quite cold out on a Ride the Duck in the middle of Lake Union.  And at the top of the Space Needle, dots of red could be seen.

See the 2 ginormous spiders on top of that building?  That's what I was actually
trying to take a picture of.

But even while looking down at the red trees, the sky looked like this:

Blue sky in October in Seattle is not the norm.

The signs were mixed, and while my internal time clock was beginning to scream "fall!", the rest of me was having a hard time catching up.  Then the fog rolled in.  And as I waded through the fog on 6am morning walks with Lucy, coming back home with hair that wasn't just damp, but actually wet from the foggy moisture, I began to accept that it is, in fact, autumn.

And this past weekend, as I relished in the not-often-available chance to sit lazily on my couch for almost 2 days straight, I found myself slightly happy that it was gloomy and chilly outside.  Because, in reality, there are a whole lot of things I love about fall...

I love waking up on a dreary Sunday morning in the fall, making a hot cup of coffee, and curling up on the couch with a good book and my favorite pup.

Yep, that's Game of Thrones #4 I'm reading.  It's slow going, but I'm getting
back into it.

Lucy cuddles a whole lot more as the temperatures begin to drop.  I lose my snoring snuggle buddy in the warmth of summer, but as soon as cooler temperatures hit, she's right back on the couch, sharing my warmth and my blanket.

That's her corner of the couch unoccupied down there, and her
brown towel that has been unceremoniously kicked off
the couch.  I've now been restricted to one squished
square of couch space while she happily takes two.

I love running in the fall.  As much as it feels good to be able to put on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt to head out for a run, I actually like running much better in the fall.  I am happy to don a pair of running tights, a rain jacket, and a hat to hit the streets.  I much prefer running in 50 degree weather than 80 degree weather.  I like coming in from a post-work de-stressing run with a cold red chill lingering on my cheeks.

I must admittedly say though, that I haven't embraced much fall running yet.  My body seems to unfortunately hate me right now.  Last week, I had an unexplained sore foot for about 4 days, and then when I tried heading out for a run on Thursday afternoon after it was feeling better, my knee pretty much gave out on me at mile 4 (1.5 miles from home).  I ran/walked the rest of the way home in a pain that truly scared me.  I was extremely close to calling up a friend to come save me and drive me home.  Now, on Monday, I haven't run since and have been icing up a storm (a somewhat cruel yet successful method of getting Lucy back to her side of the couch).  Tomorrow I'll attempt a slow, easy run to see how things are feeling.

But, in another truthful admission, I haven't been dying to get out and run these past 4 days as I force a break upon myself.  Which tells me that perhaps I'm not over my burnt-out phase yet, and this little break could be good for me mentally, as well as physically.

I love the way music feels in the fall.  I love music.  When I'm at home, there is not a quiet moment without Pandora, Spotify, iTunes, or my new favorite, Hoopla (free with a public library card, woot woot!), playing.  I love music that grips me and consumes me and and makes me feel things I wouldn't otherwise feel.

I saw the Avett Brothers at Key Arena on Friday.  These
guys are the definition of all-consuming, gripping music
for me.  Especially live.

Now, while I love music at all times, it seems to speak to me differently in the gloominess of fall.  The lyrics reach deeper and the rhythms beat more intensely.  It all seems richer and more passionate when the world outside is slowly shutting down for winter.

I love first grade in the fall.  On a school schedule, fall is a new beginning.  When everything else seems to be coming to an end (summer, sunshine, plant growth, the yearly cycle), the school year is just beginning.  As difficult as it is to face the onset of a new school year, once first grade hits its rhythm and really gets going, the new beginning, growth, and surprising amount of excitement is infectious.  A month or two into school, as we've fallen into our routine, I begin to see all the growth we have ahead of us and my excited motivation to push that growth along increases exponentially.

One of my little ones drew a picture of the classroom at home and put it in the
front of her take-home binder.  That intricately colored and outlined square that
takes up the vast majority of the picture is the carpet that my friends and family
so generously donated to my kiddos through DonorsChoose.org.  It warmed
my soul so much that I had to take a picture.

I love the colors of fall...as much as I love the colors of spring, and yet in an entirely different way.  I love the reds and oranges and yellows and even the browns.  I love the way everything transforms from its bright greens to the brilliant autumn shades.  I love the crunch of those colors as I walk or run down the sidewalk.

I love cooking in the fall.  Especially now that I have my crockpot.  I've made myself chili and corn chowder so far, and I can't wait to experiment with more recipes.  Vegetarian (or chicken/turkey) slow cooker recipe recommendations would be highly appreciated!  Cooking (and eating) in the fall warms me to the soul and makes me feel like all my worries could be swallowed carelessly in the next warm bite.

I love fall wardrobes.  Dresses with leggings.  Boots.  Warm cozy sweaters.  Fuzzy socks and hoodies.  Scarves snuggled around my neck all day long.  Greens, blues, grays, browns.  Muted and understated darks.  Pure coziness to protect against a not-quite-bone-chilling cold.

Fall may have crept its slow way into Seattle this year.  It may have sneakily slithered into the air and into the leaves, but I am ready for it.  Goodbye sunshine.

See you next spring.

Snuggle up and enjoy it.

Portland Half Marathon: The mom rocked it

I haven't always been a competitive person.  I'm more of a "enjoy the game" kind of person.  I do enjoy competing.  I certainly enjoy winning.  And losing isn't exactly the best experience in the world.  But if I lose, I'm not going to go pout in the corner for an hour.    I'll say good job to the winners, and then I'll get over it.

I may also ask for a rematch.

I watch my first graders sometimes and am amazed by the lengths they will go to in order to be the winner.  The cheating.  The inconspicuous "rolling" of the die so that "oh my goodness it lands on 6 every time!!"  And then the tears, the anger, and the frustration that results from being the loser.  You'd quite literally think the world was about to end.  I wasn't that kind of kid.

In my early days, I'd say that my lack of competitive spirit is what held me back from reaching my full potential as a swimmer.  I was good enough to win the races, so I did.  But that's all I did.  I didn't push myself to go faster or try harder.  

I have a very distinct memory from when I was a late elementary school/early middle school swimmer that I think I've shared here before.  I remember swimming a race.  I remember winning a race.  Then I remember getting out of the water to the somewhat perturbed faces of my swim coach and mother.  My mother looks at me and says, "you're supposed to be out of breath when you finish a race."  Message received: when you try your hardest, it makes you tired.  You shouldn't finish a race breathing easy and looking like you just took an easy stroll through the park.

As a kid, I didn't get it.  I won the race.  What more did they want from me?  I didn't have that intrinsic desire to push harder and be better (at least not physically, academically was a completely different story).

Then I grew up.  And I found running.  And running isn't about winning or losing (I am willing to admit that I will never ever in my life come anywhere close to winning a marathon or half marathon, or any race distance for that matter).  Running is about pushing harder and being better every day.  Running is about giving all you have to give at any given moment simply because you can.  Running is entirely about that intrinsic desire to make yourself a better athlete and a stronger person.

Running is about everything that I didn't understand at those pre-adolescent swim meets.

And now, I understand it.  I understand that competitive internal drive.  In fact, I think I understand it much better than a lot of other things in my life.  I understand how to keep pushing myself even when I'm tired, even when it hurts.  I've learned how to battle that internal mental battle and come out on top (most days).

So when I toed the start line at the Portland Half Marathon this past Sunday, I'd be lying if I said it wasn't hard to start the race knowing that it would be the slowest half marathon I'd ever run.  It was hard to be there, knowing that many of my closest running friends were looking down the neck of a full 26.2 or of a 13.1 that they were going to push themselves as hard as they could through.

But Sunday's race wasn't about me or my time goals or my constantly nagging internal need to push, push, push.  It was about this lady:

Mom!  And Voodoo Doughnuts!

Mom and dad come down to Orlando back in January to see me compete for the first time in a race, and they got a double one.  They watched me complete both days of the Goofy Challenge and were out on the course for hours, cheering and feeling inspired.  At the end of the fun-filled weekend, they both expressed interest in walking a half marathon.  And I told them that I'd be more than willing to walk it with them.

As soon as they mentioned it, I looked up some races and settled on the idea that the Portland Half would be a great starter race at a great time of year.  Unfortunately, dad had some previous plans that couldn't be avoided, so he had to sit this one out.

But mom signed us both up, and I got her a training plan as soon as I could.  She started training, aiming for a crazy fast walking pace (a 3 hour half).  She sent me her workout averages in the peak weeks of the season, and I was impressed with how fast she was walking her miles.

Then before I knew it, mom was here in Seattle, and after a drive down to Portland, it was race day.

Not my race day, her race day.

And I was ready to speed walk with her.  We meet a few other TNT teammates in the corral (I wasn't officially on Team for this event, but there were a large number of Teammates from Seattle who fundraised for this event and were racing on race day).  I had talked with another teammate of mine, Ceci, who was partially injured and looking to do the race in about the same time as us.  We found Ceci at the start and slowly but surely waited through the start waves of the other corrals until it was our turn.

Me and mom in the corral, pre-race.  Yes, I am that much
taller than her.

As soon as the race started, I realized that I would not be walking this race.  Mom took off at such and speedy walk that I had to jog to keep up with her.  The couple times I tried to stop and walk, there was just no way.  I'd be jogging alongside my speedster of a mother.

The Portland Marathon is a fantastically run event.  The start was really organized, and in the first several miles of the race there was plenty of entertainment.  As soon as you were out of ear shot of one band or musician, you began hearing the next.  There were DJs, bands, cheerleaders, a bell choir, a harpist, and even pirates (with a booming cannon...not the exactly the smartest choice for a race that was in memory of the Boston Marathon, but the pirates were quite funny).  I think some of the entertainers later in the course may have been random Portland residents (think Portlandia) who took it upon themselves to entertain the runners.  All in all though, I found the course entertainment to be way better than any Rock N Roll race I've ever done.

As for the course, I heard that the marathon was beautiful, but I wasn't super impressed with the half.  The longest out and back was along an industrial street next to some train tracks.  I'd have to say that's my only complaint about the race though.  The rest was great.  I'm quite tempted to go back for the full next year.

Happy, blurry, speedy mom out on the course.  My phone
may have had a coating of sweat on it that caused
the fuzziness.

While mom speed walked through the course, Ceci and I matched our pace to hers as best we could and kept on moving.  Because of a few loops and out and backs, we were able to see almost everyone we knew out on the race course that day.  We got to cheer for them from the other side of the road (many of them even twice).  For me, I truly enjoyed being in a position where I could focus the majority of my energy on looking for people and cheering on the crowds.  I wasn't focused on myself or my own internal battle.  I was focused on being there for mom for whatever she needed, and using the rest of my energy as best as I could to cheer others.

As people saw us, we got many cheers for "Tessa, Ceci, and Tessa's Mom!"  Mom decided that the next time we do a race together (yep, she said next time) she's going to put "Tessa's Mom" as the name on her race bib.  I like the idea.

In the final miles of the race, mom would run for a block or two just to mix things up a bit (which she also did during her training).  She never went more than a minute or so though.  But apparently as she picked up a running pace, Ceci and I inadvertently picked up our pace and then had a little trouble slowing back down again once mom was ready to walk.  I didn't realize this at the time, but we were helping to push her along just a little faster than she felt comfortable doing.

I did put out the reminder that this was race day, so it was ok to push a little harder than normal.  I wanted to be a good, supportive daughter, but the new-found coach in me and the runner in me that draws strength from pushing hard also wanted mom to push a little harder than her comfort zone.

Just before the final two tenths of a mile of the race, mom started jogging.  Ceci and I told her that we had to finish out the race with a run through the finish chute.  So we kept going, even when mom was ready to stop.  We pushed through with a run and crossed the finish line in an official time of 2:50:50.  Ten minutes faster than mom's intended race time.

Just look at that average pace.  There are people out there who
don't even run that fast.

And after the race, as mom "complained" about how hard I pushed her at the end of the race, I had one of those epiphany moments of life coming full circle.  I asked mom if she remembered those swim meet days, when she yelled at me for not being tired at the end of my races.  And I gently reminded her that you are supposed to be tired at the end of a race.  You are supposed to push yourself just a little bit harder.

How selfishly sweet that felt.  Almost like an "I told you so," but just the opposite.  A "you told me so."  A comment a mom once said to her young child that she thought was probably long forgotten.  No, no, no mom, the cards have changed hands.  I am happy to push you now.  You spent a lifetime pushing me to do better and be stronger.  I'm happy to do the same for you now.

Big smiles, despite the push at the end.

After the race, we hung around to cheer some of my marathon friends in.  Then it was back to the hotel to tap into the bottle of champagne that had been chilling in the sink all day (the Hilton in downtown Portland is NOT recommended--no fridge, tiny bathroom, unsatisfying view, all around not-so-great experience).

Notice that the champagne bottle has a regular cork in it.

After the corkscrew broke off in the bottle, mom then challenged herself one more time by spending 30 minutes whittling away the cork and prying it out of the bottle from the broken corkscrew end with just the small knife on the corkscrew.

If you think doing a half marathon is hard, try getting the
cork out of a bottle of champagne with a broken corkscrew
stuck in it.

All in all, I'd say this was a pretty amazing race.  Not because I pushed myself or PR'd or struggled in the mental battle.  Because I did a half marathon with my mom.  Because my mom got to experience something that is a big, important part of my life.  She got to be a part of the joy of race day, not just from the sidelines, but from the race course itself.  She got to feel the pride of not just finishing a race, but of finishing a race stronger and faster than she thought she ever would.  She got to experience the feeling of pushing yourself just a little more when your body says no.  It's something you can't really understand until you do it yourself.

So thanks, mom.  I know you didn't choose to do this race for yourself.  I know you did this, at least partially, for me.  I know that the training wasn't easy (or always fun), and I know that it probably pushed you out of your comfort zone a little further than you intended it to.  But if I've learned anything from marathoning, it's that the place that exists outside your comfort zone is where you find out just exactly how strong you can be.

Congrats mom!  You rocked it :)

I believe in cross-training

It has taken me 5 marathons, a couple handfuls of half-marathons, and a half-Ironman to finally realize the benefits of cross-training.  But tonight, it finally sunk in.  A switch flipped.  A light went on.  It finally clicked.  [Insert any other "suddenly I realized something" cliche here.]

A visual.  In case you are inhumanly
immune to cliches.  Random aside inside a
caption: I get to see first graders make
this face almost daily.

There are many steps that led up to this atmospheric explosion of brilliance.  I will chronologically review them for you here, in case you would like to be as smart as me.

1)  Do a lot of running.  And nothing else.  Like, for years.  Do nothing but run.  Maybe throw in a couple later bouts of sporadic strength training or boot camp.  But really, just run a lot.  All the time.  Really far.  Then keep going.

Replace the word "swimming" with "running." Sing along.

2)  Get slightly burnt out, but don't admit it to yourself.  Run a lot of races.  Get faster.  Start obsessing about speed.  Kind of forget why you started running in the first place.  Have a really bad marathon.  Realize that running hasn't been very fun for a while.  But don't admit you're burnt out.  That comes later.  For now, just keep telling yourself that you're trying to avoid getting burnt out.  That you're just in a slump.

3)  Train for an event that requires you to do something other than running (but still includes running).  I guess I could just say: Train for a triathlon.  Even though as training begins and progresses, you may feel slightly overwhelmed by the sheer amount of things you have to do, keep at it.  Swim.  Bike.  Run here and there.  Do two things in one day.  Have really good workouts that don't involve running.  You may not love it the whole time.  It might even be hard.  But that's kind of the way running has always been too (even before the burnt out days).  Sometimes you'll feel great.  Sometimes you'll be glad it's finally over.  But either way, you'll begin to realize that you just might have strengths in other areas too.

4)  While triathlon training, learn about (or remind yourself of) all the cool things that other sports have to offer.  Swimming and biking offer so much to the endurance athlete that running may not have.  As much as you love running--as loyal as you are to running--admit that there are other things out there that have the potential to be fun too.  Remember why you loved swimming as a kid.  Allow yourself to get over your bike fears and dislikes.  Realize that as you train in other things, your running is remaining strong.  In fact, it's getting stronger.

5)  Have an awesome triathlon where running is the least exciting part of the whole thing.  Surprise yourself when its all over and you realize that your favorite part was the bike.  Admit that what was great about the race was all the different things it involved.  Earn a couple medals.

Compete in a race small enough that you can actually place
top three in your age group.  You might feel like you cheated
a little to get that bronze medal.  But you didn't.  You earned
it fair and square.

6)  Stop training (mainly to cure the previously unacknowledged burnt-outness).  Here's where you admit that you are burnt out.  That, with running, you've probably actually been burnt out for quite a while.  But also admit that you are kind of done being on a "training schedule" for a while.  This hiatus from physical activity may only last a few days, but enjoy it.  Allow yourself not to feel guilty that you didn't get out there and run today.

7)  Start running again, but only because you want to.  Have some really amazing life-affirming, love-of-running-renewing runs.  Don't sign up for another big race (well, you can sign up for another race just make sure it's more than 8 months away--9 months did it for me).  Then run.  Just run.  Run because you had a stressful day at work and it makes you feel better.  Run because your internal angst has nearly hit explosion point and if you don't run, things could get disastrous.  Run because you suddenly remember why you loved running before all the races and the burning out.  Run because it makes you feel good.  Run because you need to.  Don't run because you feel like you should.  Don't run because you feel like you have to.  Run because you love to run.

8)  Wake up one morning and realize that today, even though you've had a series of awesome runs, you don't want to run.  Today you feel an urge to do something different.  Ask yourself, "what is this strange new feeling?"  "Do I ignore it and keep running?" No, that's how you got burnt out.  "Do I acknowledge new sensation and indulge the urge?   Yes, yes you do.  [Side note: you may want to check the room before having this conversation with yourself.  Significant others and children could possibly be scared.  If the room is not clear, have this conversation silently in your head.  Much less crazy that way.]

9)  Realize that you have 4 out of 10 spin classes left in the package you bought while tri training, and decide to go spinning.  Visit biking guru Peter.  He misses you.  He wants to know how your triathlon went.  Tell him it was awesome and that you realized at several points during the race that you were so happy you took those spin classes with him.  Tell him that you blew your anticipated bike time out of the water because you learned so much from him.  Watch him smile.  Enjoy the fact that you just made his day (or in his words "that just made my week").  Then get on the bike and spin.  It may hurt more than it did in training.  You may feel a little less strong than you did 3 weeks ago.  But keep spinning for 45 minutes.  Climb the hills.  Make the turns.  Spin the downhills.  Sweat a lot even though it's cold and rainy outside.

10)  Feel good.  Feel really really good.  Pat yourself on the back.  Congratulate yourself at the end of the spin class.  Because you just cross-trained.  And it felt amazing.  Because you just pushed yourself way harder than you would have on a run that you probably would have gone on that day even though you didn't mentally want to.  Because you would have suffered miserably through that run.  You would have counted down the miles on that familiarly worn trail.  You may not have physically been tired on that run, but you haven't quite cured the mental side effects of being burnt out.  Congratulate yourself that you chose to do something different.  To use different muscles.  To maintain all that great work you did while training for the triathlon.  Acknowledge how this cross-training will strengthen your running for the days when you do mentally want and need to get out there and run.  Feel the light bulb turn on above your head.  Realize that cross-training isn't just another annoying thing that all the famous running coaches say you should do.  Actually understand that it helps.  It helps physically.  And it helps mentally.  And since we all know that the mental battle is the hardest one to fight, relish in this new understanding.  Embrace the idea of cross-training.  Smile, because suddenly you feel brilliant.  Suddenly you believe everything those experts keep telling you.

11)  Acknowledge that in the future you will now be spending a lot of money on spin class.  But it will be awesome.  Biking guru Peter is not cheap.  But you feel the desire to dish out the dough.  Because you want to cross-train once a week for the foreseeable future from now on.

Because you have just suddenly realized all the physical and mental benefits involved in cross-training.  And now you are a believer.

Now, I am a believer.

Just follow these 11 simple steps, and you too can be a believer.

Or perhaps you could take the simpler path and just believe what all those experts say.  You might be smarter than me that way.

But if you are anything like me, you have to make the mistakes yourself and learn the lessons through your own actions before you'll believe it.  You have to figure it all out on your own before you will believe what all those others are telling you.

So get out there.  Go do it.  Become a believer like me.