First a gorgeous golden full moon and then we spin around to a molten sunrise. From this morning’s row:
The Civil War
My brain and my body have entered into a duel. I’m not sure who’s winning.
See, all week, my brain has been on high alert. The magic I-Phone crickets chirp at 5 a.m. and the neurons go full-fire. Sometimes, my brain woke up well before the 5 a.m., ready to go. Like this morning, when I woke up shivering cold, but wide awake, at 4:30. I said, “I’ll just lay here another 20 minutes for my alarm.” Did I stay awake? Nope, zonked right out into the deepest sleep I’d had all night. Same thing ALL WEEK. When the clock said 3 a.m. or 4:30 a.m., I said, “No, it’s better to sleep.”
But then my body became allergic to the I-phone crickets. “You want me to what at this hour? Turn on the light? Get up? Girrrrlllll, you must be crazy.”
Sometimes, my brain would slap it and say, “you’re doing this or else!” It would. My body would fight back by making the scale jump numbers. “You want to lose a few more pounds? Ha–take that!” Then at lunch, my brain would fire back. “If you had worked out this morning, maybe you could have gotten those chili-lime wings. Instead, you get lettuce. Take that.”
Other mornings, my body would win and I’ll roll back over. As punishment, I’d lie there in that unrestful half-sleep zone aware that I want to sleep, yet not truly conked out.
When I went to run the Hump Day 5k, my legs felt tired and depleted after the morning’s row. My brain said, “Just go and get the distance in. You need the cardio. If nothing else do some fast intervals.” Then my body goes and busts out a 6:13 first kilometer followed by a 6:02 second kilometer. The whole run everything felt whipped and slow. On the first 1k I felt for certain my tracker had a glitch. There was no way I could run that fast and feel that wiped out. By the second 1k, it’s no joke. So then my brain says, “fine? You want to run that fast? Then we’re going to work it!” I spend the next 3k mentally pushing to catch the people in front of me, to chase those suckers down. My body rebelled with a 6:11 and 6:13. But, the cranium wasn’t going to have any of that. Despite the burn, it forced those legs into a 5:54 finish to slightly nudge my PR down two seconds. “Sucker,” said my brain.
Erging was the reverse. I didn’t want to do it. My gray matter between the ears wanted to chill out and be lazy. I tried to row a little lighter, yet once my body started moving, it thought erging the cat’s meow. Spilt after spilt, nailing under two minutes. The whole time, the brain kept whining, “you’re going to do this again?” And even at interval 10–1:58. Take that!
My body isn’t giving up this war without a fight. Despite eating more veg, sucking down another tasteless egg (*gasp) for breakfast this morning, and averaging around 1660 calories a day, it’s gaining weight, yet losing inches. I am a brick house. According to the math, and the bagginess and extra “bounce” in my step, I may have gone down a cup size.
The winner is unclear. Will the brain persevere into forcing the body up early to whip it into shape? Will the body continue to rebel with fatigue and inconsistent scores? Only time will tell…