I had a few more wicks than that in May.
My friend Mo, running herself ragged at Adult Nationals in 2005, quipped "I'll sleep when I'm dead."
I just learned a valuable lesson in "too much all at once" where perhaps a dirt nap would have been preferable to the schedule I kept.
First, there was the non-stop action of competing three events at Adult Nationals. For a competitor, that many adrenaline rushes over the course of 4 days was a bit much. And my only off day, where was I? At the rink for 12 hours, volunteering as an ice sweeper.
Back home from ANs, a glance at my calendar revealed judging commitments, an ice dancing competition, work, household obligations, and the River Bank Run. Instead of the usual downtime to putz on the ice and rest on my laurels, I was running through the three dances I was planning to compete.
I threw something else into the mix, when Festival organizers dangled an invitation to submit work for the regional arts exhibition.
So what happened? I simply had too many candles burning, and I made a series of mistakes.
I competed the dances, earning three medals. But instead of enjoying it, I was relieved for it to be over, one more thing checked off the to-do list.
For the River Bank Run, anxious that I didn't properly train for it, I overdid the training the two weeks prior to the event. Instead of listening to my body and trusting what I had been doing all along, I feverishly pumped away on the elliptical with vigor, ignoring pains here and there in the vain hope that the cliches were true that this was "fear leaving the body." Instead of being up and eager for the race, my legs were heavy, as if made of lead. The first two miles were awesome, as I posted 11 minute miles. By time I left the zoo, my brain went into negative overdrive and I had a mental fight on my hands for 3.5 miles to the finish line. As a result, I averaged over 14 minute miles, every footfall felt like defeat.
Knowing I would be hurting and pressed for time the day of the race, I nonetheless agreed to judge a "quick" test session as well as skate in an exhibition at another rink. My brain said no, but my mouth said "sure!" As with any skating competition and test session, it ran late and I was disappointed to be a no-show for a skating event for the first time in my life.
And the exhibition for Festival? Even though I thought to myself, "no, you don't have time to pull something together," I slap-dashed a piece into a frame and ran it over to the event organizers, who sent me the "sorry, not selected" email at probably the lowest ebb of the weekend.
I could throw shade at the "snobby" jurors for not selecting my work, but that would be unfair. I hesitated before going downtown, knowing that while the work was great, the presentation was not my best, and at that moment, I argued my art deserved better matting and framing than what I submitted. I didn't allow myself the time to present my best face.
I love showing off my knack for time management, but I need to learn the value of no. Had I acknowledged I was stretched a bit too thin the last couple of weeks, I wouldn't have turned in a weak project, nor would I have dealt with the anxiety of preparing an exhibition program and racing across town to do it. I could have also given myself breathing room by limiting my availability for the test session.
What I did in the aftermath of my marathon weeks was a forced vacation from training. No skating. No running. Wrote a bunch of blogs. Only thing I did at the Y was a little stretching in the hot tub and some foam rolling. Bought a new swimsuit. Cleaned my skate bag. Shopped for new running shoes. Cleaned a neglected house. And slowed down a bit.
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