Thursday night. My shoulder hurts so bad it's shooting hot bolts of lightning down my arm. One of these days I will have a heart attack and think it's just my shoulder. Icing it not helping. Can't sleep. Take 3 Vicodin on an empty stomach. Finally get to sleep.
Wake up Friday, yak a few times. Pain comes back, take more vicodin. Stay home from work.
I don't know if the return of the pain is from the increase in swim volume (minimal) or thanks to the weather shift (probable). The weather here has turned and you can feel the wistfulness of fall in the air.
I decided not to go home, and go to the IronGirl practice since I had to either pick up my uniform or race naked next week.
Turns out it would be about the same. The shorts are a bit shorter than I would ever choose to wear in public. And it will be a miracle if the zipper in the top survives.
The group was doing a brick of the 18 mile bike course and the 3.4 mile run course. I made it through the bike course, with a slight detour adding yet another hill and a little more mileage.
Waited for B to finish so I could give her a bike bottle since she didn't have one. I have an entire huge storage thing of them plus like another 30 of the ubiquitous Gatorade waterbottles, so I was fine letting one go. Even if I was a little sentimental about the NJ State one. She'll give it a good home.
Later I met J at the pool to swim a few laps and be lazy. Right around dinner I realized I had tried to fuel two workouts on a latte, a croissant, and spanakopita. That was right about when I got the world's worst headache that would not go away. I so hate gym hangovers.
Sunday I slept in instead of doing my long run or North East. And spent the whole Nats game in search of salt, I mean a curly "W" pretzel. Ate an obscene amount of bread at Macaroni Grill trying to stuff the hole I dug myself into on Saturday.