Rest for the wicked

It’s been three or four days since I last posted and, given that last time I reported that I’d been hit by a dose of the often-deadly man flu, many of you doubtlessly feared the worst and thought that maybe I didn’t make it.

Fortunately, I’m a brave soldier with a steely nerve and a robust immune system. Even in the darkest moments, when I was sneezing my way through a pack of tissues, dropping Strepsil like Smarties and downing yet another glass of OJ, I refused to give up hope. ‘Not like this,’ I said. ‘Not now.’

Amazingly, I have survived but medical students of the future will not study up on my case just yet because I’m not quite out of the woods. I thought I’d kicked this man flu’s ass yesterday but today I feel a little run down again and the dreaded ‘tickly cough and sniffles’ have returned. But not enough to stop me racing in tomorrow’s Aerofit Sprint Triathlon down in Ghantoot.

In fact, aside from the obvious inconvenience of basically being on death’s door, it’s been an enjoyable week as I took almost three full days off training and have gone very, very easy for the rest, with just one swim, a one hour bike ride and 90 minutes of running to show for the week. And, again, other than being ravaged by a life-threatening man flu virus, my body feels good – rested and recovered for the first time in a while.

This actually reminded me that my best two performances this year came on the back of small bouts of illness – and, therefore, enforced rest. So, rather than the usual attitude whereby extended rest days just remind me of what I’m not doing, I’m trying to think of this week (and next... as I do a small taper for the Abu Dhabi International Triathlon) as ‘improvement recovery’ – a necessary time required in order to continue my progress not ‘missing out’.

The lull in training has also given me time to reflect and there are a few conclusions.

 This may well just be a bug that’s going around that I’d have picked up anyway (half of Dubai appears to be under the weather), but I’ve been going too hard for too long. That’s not necessarily about training – just training combined with 60 hour/ 7 day working weeks and trying to keep up something resembling a social life. I can and (as IM Austria approaches) will train more but I need to find a balance. If work does take over for a few days or a week here and there, then sessions have to give way rather than be rammed in at 10pm or 3am... that simple.

Like anyone who rushes from one thing to the next discovers, you may do more things but the quality suffers. I suspect that, although I’ve been racking up some good kilometres over the past month or so, the quality hasn’t been great. I read a really good piece of advice about that recently which said you should identify your three (probably one each sport) key sessions each week and hit them hard. The rest you cruise. I like this sort of simplification and will be trying it out in March.

So, ready, sniffling, and sort of raring to race. And aside from the race, this weekend I’ve around six hours of training to fit in. Sounds a lot but not that much.

Old me: Easy. Smash the race, get yourself to a brunch, grab a few hours’ drunken kip, sea swim, five hour bike ride, coach dirt run and then make it to the pub for a football/rugby beerathon!

New me: It’s a big weekend of both training and racing. Smash the race. Focus on recovery, and have an easy day of chores, a movie and maybe even a well-earned nap. On Saturday, keep the sea swim steady (it’s not my key swim for the week), cut the bike ride to an easy 2.5-3hrs and see how the legs feel for the run. If there’s time, a couple of drinks watching Wales smash France in the Six Nations would be lovely – but, if not, just watch it at home.

I guess sometimes, when you come this close to man flu-related death, it just makes you look back on your life and make some changes. And nobody, as we’re always told, ever lies on their death bed and utters the immortal words “I wish I’d spent more time in work”. Although I’m pretty sure plenty of people have looked up and friends and family, as their grip on this mortal coil slowly started to loosen, and whispered: “Bugger, if only I’d stayed between 60-65% maximum heart rate on my Monday night bike rides...”