Chicken Soup For The Psycho

Morning Workout
BIKE (on the trainer)
25 minutes in Lactate Threshold heartrate (Zone 2)
20 minutes in Aerobic Conditioning heartrate (Zone 3)
15 minutes in ST (I forget what ST stands for, but it sure hurts)(Zone 4)

Random Comments: I quite like this workout, mostly because it starts off nice and fine and then just plain hurts as you approach the hour mark. The other good thing about this workout is, with warm-up and cool down included, I was able to watch the entire movie "The Clearing" while spinning on my bike. How nice. Just a bucket of popcorn away from pure heaven.
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Pyscho means "crazy or insane". Somatic means "of or relating to the body". I don't like this whole notion of psychosomatic and it's implication that my body has gone loopy. Yet I suppose I must come to terms with it because sometimes I do feel like my body has gone completely batty - like it has a mind of it's own. Separate from the mind I use, of course... which happens to be in my body...but..... um.... forget it.

There was that time earlier this year that I got really sick before St. Anthony's triathlon. Couldn't run for more than 10 feet without breaking into an incredibly painful, gut-exploding whooping cough that drove me to the point of nausea. Well, lo and behold, I get through the race with barely a hack. Once the race was done, that cough magically disappeared. Haven't seen it since.

Fast forward a few months and I'm carrying my bike down the stairs three days before Vineman, my key race of the year. I step down onto the third stair and - SNAP! - my back gives out in a big way. I can't stand up without a shooting pain screaming up my spine. I can't even sit without a permanent grimace. I can lie down, that's it. The day before the race I spend flat on my back in bed, unable to move. Come race day, you guessed it, I get through the entire race without more than a slight pinch. A day later I'm lifting heavy boxes without a care in the world.

You see what I'm saying? I really bring new meaning to the psycho part of pscyhosomatic.

I didn't go to the office today - decided to work from home. I'm feeling a bit sick. A little feverish, sore throat. You know, the early warnings of sickness - as if the flu were lurking around the corner just waiting to pounce. I'm downing so much chicken soup, orange juice and echinacea, I think I'm pissing away all of my internal organs. The truth is, though, I don't feel sick in a normal way. I mean, I've got the feverish feeling, but that is usually accompanied by sniffling, sneezing, rasping, hacking, whooping, hawking, spitting, queezing or some other similarly disgusting act of illness. Me? I got nothin'. Which immediately makes me wonder what the hell is going on. So I start to do an emotional inventory, if you will, and try to find out the true meaning of my supposed illness.

Well, you'll be sad to hear that I didn't come up with an answer. Sorry that I can't provide a final, sum-up-my-whole-life-in-a-sentence ending for you. The fact is, though, that I've finally realized that my body is so quick to react to my emotional strain. That realization, in and of itself, is a big step. Because if I start a-whoopin', or if my back suddenly gives out, right before Ironman, let me tell you there's gonna be one angry blogger in the house.

Now excuse me, I hear the matzoh balls calling my name...