Winter training in Alaska

So getting on the bike trainer for another day of intervals just seemed like torture yesterday. I don't know why but I was dreading it all day long. On Saturday I was supposed to have done intervals, too, but as soon as those big fat heavy snowflakes began falling, I went for a run. I just love running in the snow.

So I knew that yesterday, there were no excuses: I had to ride. Of course, I don't HAVE to do anything, if the truth be known. I could sit on my ass all day and eat chocolate chips out of the bag (one of my favorite pasttimes). I could read a book. Or go to the movies. Or organize my underwear drawer or whatever.

It's just that my pysche doesn't work that way. Because as much as I complain about sucky Alaska weather and hard grueling workouts, there is really nothing better than the post-ride/run/dog mush/ski high to be enough motivation to keep coming back for more. I guess in a way I'm addicted to training -- even though I'll never be the best, I just enjoy that natural energy that comes from challenging myself to better heights.

But at 3 p.m., I wasn't feeling that love. I had the bike set up, my gear on and my water bottle filled, but I was having one of the worst inner battles about whether or not to follow through on my ride. The rational part of my brain knew that the effort would be worth it, that I'd have that after-ride glow that keeps me powered through the day (and keeps headaches at bay, so there's reason enough there to be motivated). But the "person who is ready to ride her bike on actual pavement" was in on this battle too, thinking, "Trainers suck. Yes, they are a necessary evil, but why do you live somewhere where a third of your training miles take place on a stationary trainer?"

It went back and forth like this for a few minutes. Andy (my husband) had gone out on an errand, fully expecting me to be on the bike by the time he got home. So when he walked in the door and said, "I thought you were riding" and I bit his head off like he was an unruly child, he had every reason to be perplexed.

I fiddled around with a few other things, finding reasons to put off the ride, and then finally just strapped on my shoes and got peddling.

And PRESTO. My mind and body fell into the rhythm and within 2 minutes -- just two stinking minutes -- I could think of nothing I would rather be doing. Even when the harder part came of pedaling the higher-powered intervals I was comfortable -- sweaty and struggling -- but comfortable with the well-known routine that is my life on a bike.

I just don't get it -- I sometimes wish my mind was not so complicated -- that we humans just "did" things without the turmoil that comes with "weighing the options." Hell, I don't want options. I want to run. Bike. Write. Love. Play. Create. I want my brain to just stop messing with my heart and let me see a path that is simple and clear.

I was sort of bummed when Lance Armstrong announced his non-retirement from cycling and has rejoined the ranks of the pro cyclists. Like all the other pro athletes before him who made the big comeback because they could not leave their glory days behind, I thought, "Ugh, you should have stopped while you were on top."

But actually I sort of get why he did it now (and I'm not complaining that I get to see him in the news more often either!). Not that I'm even remotely close to that sort of ability, but the fact remains we all have our comfort zones -- those routines and things we do that come naturally and do not seem forced. Lance once said -- and I can't remember where I read it because I've read so much about him, all his books, articles, etc. -- that in retirement, he was afraid he would miss the absolute knowledge in what each day held: training, training and more training. To have days sprawling wide open before him, to be filled with whatever he wanted, was more daunting to him than tackling a four-hour hill climb at 400 watts avg. for days on end. Yes, it's insane, but that's his life.

So, on my tiny scale back here in podunk, Alaska, I got on that bike trainer and felt my own comfort zone settle in immediately. Why I had that battle of wills, I don't know because it goes against my comfort zone. But knowing that I ultimately did what comes most naturally to me, I do understand. It's how I stay sane. It's how we all stay sane -- no matter our "comfort zone" -- baking, sewing, running, biking, building, reading, etc. Unless they're destructive habits, I think we all owe it to ourselves to abide by those comfort zones and learn to tell our inner naysayer to take a hike.