InnerTeub

It seems that I am finally – finally – getting better adjusted to the altitude.

When we got to Colorado, I was so so so happy to get back to a routine and some normalcy. I spent November/December/January traveling and working out when and where I could, but an extra 10 lbs was telling me that it wasn’t enough. Upon arrival at our new house, I found my running shoes, my PT gear, and the nearest Crossfit gym, and forced myself to get back to it.

(Some back story: Way back in December it came to my attention that several good friends were registering for Grandma’s Marathon, up in Duluth Minnesota. I knew I was spiraling rapidly out of control with my sloth and was still in a bit of shock that I had actually, like, for real, moved away from my close friends, so when presented with the possibility of running a race with good friends in my home state seemed like a great motivator to pull it back together. Also, I’m about 6 months out from the Ironman, which means I can no longer remember how much I hate endurance racing, and have sugar coated over all the horrible parts of marathoning, which all means: Marathon. In June. What’s that definition of insanity again?)

It was rough going that first week of getting back to training; I’d like to blame the altitude completely but I have a feeling that there was a fair element of “out of shapeness” at play. I headed to my new CF gym on an off day from running, expecting that the workout would hurt, but not, like, be debilitating.

You guys, it was both.

The workout was 5 rounds of: 400m run/30 box jumps/30 wall ball. Now, I have many, many shortcomings as an athlete, but 400m runs and box jumps are not part of them. I can box jump like a mo fo, and 400m is nothing.

Excuse me while I change that entire last sentence to PAST TENSE. I died during this work out. I could not easily run 400 meters. I could not easily box jump – so much so that I started doing step-ups just to keep moving. I stopped the workout at 3 rounds, with the coach looking at me, saying: “Are you ok? Just breath. No, really: just breath”

I couldn’t breath. There is no AIR in this effing state. NONE! We’re 1000 feet higher than Denver – which is 5000 feet higher than my last state district of residence – and it feels like death.

(The gym’s website lists everyone’s times for that day’s WOD — and there was my name, with a nice little DNF. Ooooh, my ego. Once again, Crossfit does it’s job of reminding you that you are both awesome and totally not awesome, almost simultaneously.)

But it’s getting better. Not quickly, mind you – I tried to run a 5k a few days later and the combination of hills and NO AIR had me gasping and thinking about taking up knitting – but slowly. In the days after my first disastrous Crossfit WOD I was able to keep up and finish with the group, painfully, but not in such a way that feels quite as close to death as that first time; I ran yesterday (10x200m repeats) and it was the best run I’d had in months.

Which is all my way of telling you that if I ever do successfully adjust to this altitude, I am only ever racing at sea level. I swear to God, this acclimation process will pay for itself SOMEHOW.