Jamaica Me Tired
A year ago I was home and a whisp of a thing, 20 lbs less than my current 133. My training was deliberate and the goal each day was to hit my splits and learn how I could improve on the next workout. I think it really upset my mother to see me “torturing” myself so. She understood what I wanted to accomplish, and oddly enough (unlike all the other trips), didn’t argue with me when I went out for a run or swim. This year, it’s a whole different story. Despite running for 96 mins the day before I flew to Jamaica, I am having trouble mustering the energy to go for a walk. I have been in pajamas for the past two days, and I don’t seem to be bucking the trend anytime soon. When I finally got out of bed today, Ma said, “Lawd G-d, me t’ink you did dead. What a pickney can sleep.” Mind you, it was 9 in the morning, but in Casa Sin Quee, all rise by 5. It’s the People’s Court with Sheila as judge.
I am not sure if I feel lazy or guilty to be doing so much of nothing. I have spent years not listening to my body. To be successful in athletics, one needs to train the mind to be stronger than the physical limitations of the body. “No, I can’t,” becomes “Yes, I can.” Now, it is more important than ever that I recognize fatigue and give into it. I don’t expect that the next 4 months will be as inert as the past few days have been, but I am learning that race-ready is dependent on the race. There aren’t any splits I need to hit right now. And if my body is crying out for mangoes, goat, and rest, then all 3 it shall have.