Went to see Coach again for treatment yesterday. Treatment consists of me laying on the physio bench aka The Slab! and Coach (who is a world class physio) working his magic. The Slab, affectionately called this, as I am simply the keyboard and Coach's fingers tap, push, prod and hammer my troublesome itb into submission. It's 45 mins to an hour of hard manual labour for Coach, I'd like to think of it is a labour of love, but perhaps it's more a rescue mission in reality. On auto pilot he gets to work, and the conversation freely flows with topics that range from racing, training, adjustments to training, life, the Crew and members and what they are up to, to the big ticket items such as how we managed to slip the latest Big Lebowski quote into a situation or how we slammed some fat fuck out on a run. Good times.
Without ever divulging too much of what goes on in my head, for no other reason than, it just doesn't seem as critical when I get on The Slab, I listen, laugh and consider the conversations and advice he imparts and measure this against my own thoughts and ideas. 9 times outta 10 I come away with renewed vigor, motivation and a released itb. It's a win all round.
My latest thoughts again come full circle back to getting the iliotibial band release surgery and how I never get anywhere in my training. With two Sprint races now under my belt, I was slowly feeling like I was getting somewhere. But dashed when the itb tightened again after running group with the Crew the following Wednesday. A hiccup in the matrix, but still it was enough to dash me against the rocks and start the storm of self doubt and 'why bother!' thoughts charging through my head again. Que video........
Right now, the enemy is within! Within my own head. Can I do this? Am I fooling myself? Just get the damn surgery! Give up! It's like someone has tipped up a cement mixer and as the grey sludge rolls into my brain, it fills every cavity in my head and pushes the positive thoughts into the darkest places of my mind. The grey sludge rolls like lava and conceals rationale thoughts and visions. I can't even see the medals that hang from the wall any longer, the grey is all-enveloping and suffocating like a pillow wrapped about my face. It's dark and has no place in an athlete's mind. But am I an athlete? or just some chump weekend warrior who has an over inflated expectation of herself? I should just give up! But that's the easy way out!
Once on The Slab it's like he pulls the plug and the sickly wave of sludge releases and dissipates. I don't even feel it go. Perhaps my itb is directly linked to my brain!
I strike out on a new week, with renewed commitment. WELCOME TO THE GRIND! This is the battle Roy-ale between body and mind. Now let's pick our shit up and get our hands dirty!!!!!!