VERSION FRANCAISE NON DISPONIBLE POUR LE MOMENT
As a kid, my parents introduced me to a plethora of foods. Some of those dishes my well-meaning parents prepared were good, others were just not kid-friendly, and some of them were downright HORRIBLE.
For example: the dreaded recipes from Anne Lindsay's cookbooks that were "poisoned" with pine nuts, or the disgusting yellow Uncle Ben's rice with soggy rasins strewn about the bright, grainy slop.
I was a young PODT (Prisoner Of the Dinner Table) until every last bite was choked down. (The other option was: "Fine, go to bed. You'll eat it for breakfast.") ... I think this might have made me a better athlete in the long run.
I adopted a strategy to get through my meals. For example: after suffering through a bite of the neon rice and boogery raisins, I'd treat myself to umami goodness from my cup of milk. Dreaming of the finer things in life, I would forget the putrid taste I'd had in my mouth minutes earlier. Eventually, I would get to a point where I'd think "Geez, it couldn't have actually been that bad. I'm ready to try again.", and choke down the next forkfull. I would repeat the process with perserverance, and eventually reach my ultimate goal of dinner table parole. I'd be free for the next 22 hours.
Intervals are the same. Head burried through pain, sweat making lakes and rivers everywhere, legs burning, heart pounding, parts of me fighting with other parts, trying to make me stop, trying to make me go, vision going funky, thoughts getting loopy ... When the timer says I can stop, it feels like it's the end of the world.
During the recovery minutes that follow I regain a bit of composure. At a certain point I start thinking "That couldn't have been so bad. I bet I could do it again."
When the seconds on the stopwatch signify GO-TIME, I start. The suffering begins again. The end of the world feels more imminent than ever. But the world doesn't end, and I make it to the next rest period, and the next interval... The cycle continues, and I get stronger.
I feel like I deal with these intervals just like I dealt with that nasty yellow biryani. Perhaps in a future part of my life it will be the intervals, and not the gag-erific pine nuts, that are going to open some really cool doors for me. In the meantime, I know these paincave sessions are helping me be faster, stronger, better... and to be a part of winning bike races.
Thanks for not just feeding me grilled cheese, pancakes, and chicken nuggets, Mom and Dad.