Recoverying

This post is bound to be a little all-over-the-place, so buckle up and behave or I WILL TURN THIS POST RIGHT AROUND.

Wouldn't you know it, another training block has come and gone, and I'm exhausted again. Funny how this works. Funny, see? HA HA HA.

After yesterday's loooong ride (nothing compared to the A Race at Dartmouth, I know, but it hurt enough), I wanted to ice my left patellar tendon, because it was hurty. But my right calf was hurty as well. As were my right quad, my left hamstring, and both ITBs. Not the scary injury-indicating hurt, mind you, but just the soreness that follows 3 big weeks.

I actually don't have that many icepacks. Even if I borrowed some frozen vegetables from the ol' roommates, there wouldn't be enough cold compresses to thoroughly ice everything.

So. I bought 4 big bags of ice from the student center's convenience store. "Throwing a party?" asked the clerk? "Sitting", said I.

I filled the bathtub with ice, then ran cold water. Then I sat. In the cold. Cold. Water.

It seems I've gotten ahead of myself, so let me backtrack a bit. Once the tub was full of icewater, I put my left foot in and yelped. My right foot, and another yelp, followed suit. A few deep breaths. I put my hands on the porcelain rims of the tubs and started lowering. Some more deep breaths.

I hovered with my butt a few inches from the water for a while. Every once in a while, I'd count down from 3, as if that would help. Finally I asked myself if I was going to do this or not, so I just did.

An outburst consisting almost exclusively of expletives almost certainly followed, but you'd have to ask Will. I was busy trying desperately to ignore the ice water that was now in contact with my genitalia.

The trick, in the first 45 seconds of an ice bath, is to breathe. You'd be surprised how hard it is to follow this simple rule.

I think it was worth it, though, because my legs feel reasonably okay today. This is a very subjective assessment, but the efficacy of ice baths isn't really in question - their physiological rationale is pretty solid. It's just nice to see that my mind-shattering sacrifice wasn't for naught.

Remember being a teenager? That was fun, wasn't it? Like woo! Junior High! Remember the ungraceful awkwardness, and being all elbows and knees? Well, it's back. Making my way between tables and chairs today, I was knocking them around like a drunk. But I was sober.

I think it's the fatigue. I've overused some muscles, and now they're misbehaving in a way with which my motor cortices aren't coping well. Just like when I was a teenager, but this time it's from the fatigue rather than the growth. There's probably a Gedanken experiment in this somewhere, but that's not for today.

Also for another time is the story of the panic I felt when, after a pretty tough ride, my calf muscles got all twitchy during a one-legged sobriety check, courtesy of the Hamilton Police. I passed, of course. But it's a story for another time.

So today was the first Cycling Team Yoga Soiree. Coach Ken's wife Lisa led it, and it was great. As always, while I love yoga with all my little heart, I have trouble with the hippie-ness of the language of the instructors. Don't tell me to direct my breathing towards my hip; tell me instead that I should be feeling the stretch in the hip flexor, or in the adductors, or the abductors. Tell me what I should be doing, not what connection with the universe this pose should enable.

Pluto said, "I can't take this seriously with you guys". He's absolutely right, we were joking around way more than would any respectable yoga class ... but no more than I want to while in a respectable yoga class, anyway.

This is, in my opinion, how yoga should be: Get your stretching and strengthening in, sure, but don't worry yourself with "focused breathing" or "aligning the root chakras". Yoga-ists shouldn't take themselves so seriously.

But yes, I can still scorpion ... now on my hands, too!