I've been training for Ironman Wisconsin for 10 months now. For most of my life, I can remember being in a state of training for something. But I've never committed to a goal quite as lofty as the Ironman, nor to a training plan quite as long and difficult as this. Indeed, the last 10 months have been a journey. And without question, the next 3 months will be the most trying part of it. With a move upcoming and a career transition, I'll have my hands full even without the training. But when I looked ahead at my training plan last night, my suspicions were confirmed. It's time to add significant volume to my training load so I can best prepare my body to endure the rigors of the Ironman.
After 10 months of training I feel great. I can confidently say I feel fitter than I have ever been in my entire life. I don't get winded easily. I have to push myself harder to raise my heart rate. I recover quickly. Despite the significant emotional stress that necessarily accompanies the pending major life transitions, I basically sleep like a log. I bike and run faster and with less effort than before. I still swim slowly, but I can cover distances never before imaginable to me with the greatest of ease. My body has become the machine I have trained it to be.
Since I have transformed myself into the invincible machine of bulging muscle, I have noticed a disturbing development. People I haven't seen in a while look upon me with a little concern.
"You lost weight..."
"You look thin..."
"Are you alright?"
"Are those your...ribs?"
"You look a little...sickly..."
Usually when others notice that we've lost weight, it's a compliment. This time, not so much. And the truth is, I've taken almost no weight off. I've done a pretty stand-up job of keeping my body weight where it was when I started this ridiculous endeavor by eating obscene amounts of food. Yes, that's my reward. A guiltless 1/2 carton of Chips Ahoy every night. Hey, it's carbs. Don't judge me! But I've certainly taken off some body fat and thinned out.
Do I look gaunt?
Do I look skinny?
Do I look like a 90 lb. weakling?
I couldn't possibly be a wimp if I have endured these 10 difficult months of training.
Do I really look sickly?
No I do not. I look "fickly," thank you very much. That's right. Fickly. I'm so fit that I look almost sickly! But sickly won't get me to the finish line in Madison, let alone the starting line. So I've coined the term, "fickly". Feel free to use it. Just give credit to the IronJew.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not glorifying the unhealthy thinness of being. I'm actually quite disturbed by society's accepted standard for the perfect body type, especially as the father of two daughter. I've always encouraged my daughters to accept themselves as they are- to embrace healthy habits, yes, but to indulge in ice cream and Chips Ahoy when the mood hits. I've never aspired to be fickly, nor have I consciously tried to make myself become fickly. But as long as I do, I may as well embrace myself. So what if I can wrap my arms all the way around myself twice. You can't bring me down by asking if I'm sick. If you offer me food to fatten me up, as long as it's kosher and not cucumbers, I'll eat it. But for as long as this training regiment continues, all it will do it fuel me for a few more miles. You just won't see a noticeable difference until I finishing the Ironman and let myself go!
Fickly and proud!
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