Wow. I don't think there's anything better than a workout two days after a race. If all went well, you killed yourself during the race and managed to chug through the rest of the day on all of the nerves and excitement that are now present in your body, thanks to the multisport kickstart you had earlier.
If all continues to go well, the nerves eventually die down, the exhaustion settles in, and you crash for that night. You are out quicker than you ever have been before. You get a good night's sleep and in the morning awake, your whole body sore. But it's the good kind of sore. Proof that you put your body through a little bit of torture the day before. And now you get to rest. Of course, you have to go to work and do all of the normal daily things that you do, but, with the race being over, you get to relax, since nothing is on the horizon for a little bit. And, quite possibly best of all, you don't have a workout waiting for you when you get home at night. You've now got a couple hours of found time, and they are yours to do with what you please. Although this is a rest day, you can't help but find something semi-active to fill the void of working out. It's not a sit-and-watch-2-hours-of-tv 2 hours, but rather, a do-something-I-haven't-been-able-to-do-in-a-while-due-to-lack-of-time 2 hours. And it's glorious.
Sadly, before you realize it, the day is all but over. But if you're lucky, another good night's sleep awaits. Then it's back to the workout grind. Well, sort of. This is recovery week. You can start working out again, but it needs to be light. More of a maintenance period. This is time that's used to recharge the batteries; to settle back into relative normalcy before you start climbing that hill again.
And so you await your first workout of recovery week. Interestingly, you are actually looking forward to it. That day off really made a difference. But it gets better when you actually start the workout. It's an odd feeling; you're in a place which, by now, you've mentally associated with pain and hard work, but there's no pressure today. Today you get to go at your own pace. You get to do what feels comfortable. And so you begin to remember how much fun it is to swim. To run. To bike. Just out there. No pressure. No looming deadline. You're riding/running/swimming simply for the sake of it. No other reason.
And that's when you realize possibly the greatest reason as to why you bust your butt day in and day out: For fun. If you feel like it, you can go and do a nice light workout, with no pressure. You own the road, the trails, the water. The world just flows by with ease, and you're out there, experiencing and loving every second of it. It's pure recreation. While other people are struggling a bit as they swim/bike/run, you're simply playing effortlessly. As some other people training whiz by, your instinct kicks in, and you pick it up for a second. And then you slow back down. You remember that this is your time. It's not race time. Not yet. At some points, you can't help but diagnose your form, your cadence, your position. You are surprised at how relaxed your body is, and how, in hindsight, you realize how tense your body has been for the past several weeks of training.
It really is eye-opening, and you hope you can maintain this level of levity throughout the rest of recovery week. Sure, you've already scheduled some medium tough workouts, but you can shirk them if you want to. You even have enough wherewithall to say that you're going to take it even easier tomorrow. Which may prove tough, but then again, it may come naturally.
Tough training seems so far away. And with such a relaxing workout tonight, you feel that the next few days are almost unnecessary. You've centered yourself mentally and physically. But you know that you'll stick to the plan. Recover this week. There will be plenty of time for hard workouts before the next race.
Everything's moving at a slower pace, and you 0nly hope that things can stay this way as long as possible, before the next inevitability of life pops up.
But for now...Recover.
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