You no doubt read the very wise and compelling stories about overtraining written in this space by my esteemed editor and publisher last week. But did you see yourself in any of it?

Perhaps you did not. Perhaps you said something like this to yourself: "Sure, Tinley and Molina, I can see them being overtrained. Those guys trained at such an incredible volume that it’s amazing they were able to keep going as long as they did. But that couldn’t happen to me. I don’t have that kind of time, for one, and I don’t race for a living."

I am here to tell you to stop kidding yourself.

I am here to further tell you that it is very possible for a person of very average ability, training on a not-at-all inhuman schedule, to skate that fine edge and potentially slip over.

I read through those stories last week with especially keen attention. I was taking a week of "active rest" after I’d told my very wise coach that I was feeling "on the edge." The little aches and pains were multiplying, the fun in the workouts was draining away, the need for sleep was feeling extreme. I was tired. I was cranky. Most importantly, I was losing perspective. I could only see the workout on the schedule and feel the pain in my body, crazily weighing them against each other to try to find out how to get through one while minimizing the other.

Well, sure, I knew there was something wrong, but I am a triathlete. I am in possession of many of those qualities that have, to put it kindly, two definitions: You can call me driven (or insane), meticulous (or nitpicky), focused (or obsessive), determined (or relentless). Most days I’d like to see the kinder side of those definitions, but I know their darker side is also just as true at times.

I will freely admit, for example, that in many circles it is considered insane to head out for a 10-mile run in the pouring rain. But who among us hasn’t done that?

So this is how I got here, and I share this with you only so you can learn from my mistakes.

I took no time off at the end of last season. None. Well, that’s not entirely true. I did have a few days off when I crashed my mountain bike while vacationing in Utah in August. A concussion can force you to do that. I crashed on a Thursday. By Tuesday, I was back in the pool. Hey, all my limbs were working again even if my mind was cloudy; why not?

I did end my season early—in August after the Santa Barbara long course. But I kept working, diligently, because I was finally getting some consistency in my training after literally years spent battling various injuries. I was starting to see results, feel stronger and all of those very good things. I was pain-free. It was awesome.

I told myself that I was working on a periodized schedule—but the easy weeks, in retrospect, were not nearly easy enough.

In January, I started a good, solid training program with a wonderful coach. She didn’t know that I hadn’t rested in the fall/winter. To tell you the truth, it didn’t even occur to me to mention it.

I hope by this point some of you are pointing at your screens and shouting, "Fool!" If not, it’s worse than I imagined out there.

We were working at a base-building level, and the volume was progressing in a sensible, reasonable way from the levels I’d reached before I started working with her. What my plan finally had was focus and precision. Life was good.

Then suddenly, life was not so good.

Little pains. Lots of rain. Lots of running in the rain. Lots of ankle-twisting, knee-knackering runs in the rain on muddy trails. A bizarre little shoulder injury. Knee pain.

Did I take an extra day off? No, but I did skip a run here or there.

Ah, but here’s the kicker. A couple of Saturdays ago, rolling over in bed about 4 in the morning, I was struck by a nasty, searing pain in my calf. It was the mother of all calf cramps…which I have never before been prone to. Once the burning knot was worked out, and plain-vanilla pain took its place, I found myself thinking these thoughts: "Well, that’s going away, good. OK, now. It’s raining. How many trainer hours will make up for that 60-miler on the schedule?" Well, about three, I figured. Ugh. Three hours on the trainer. OK, I’m motivated. I’ll do it. Go back to sleep and get up a little later, set up the trainer and away I go. Three hours on the bike to nowhere. Not even U2’s Popmart tour video could make the time go faster. A three-mile run after the ride. Knee pain is back, a little, but not bad.

But that night—let me talk to you about that night. Hooboy, am I tired. More tired and sore than I should be. Perhaps, I think, I just rode too hard. But finally, the delicate knocking on the door to my brain that my body has been doing ever so politely turned into a pounding, and a thunking. For Sunday’s run, I am wiped. I decide to go out and do two six-mile loops, with the option of bagging the second one. Well, I did truly feel like garbage and so bagged it after six.

But you know what? Moments after I walked in the door I found myself thinking, "Hmm, maybe I could do another loop."

Hello! Body to brain: "You’re an idiot. Sit down." Fortunately, I did.

Sound familiar? No? Good for you. You get 10 points and can move to the end of the essay.

I really, really, really enjoyed my rest last week. I rode my trainer a fair bit (it is, predictably, still raining like mad in my corner of the world), ran not at all, swam once.

Because I was not training that much, I was able to: Stay up late with my husband so we could attend the Sybase Open tennis tournament. It was fun watching someone else sweat for a change. Sleep in. Cook actual dinners. Read.

I ate carrot cake.

Most importantly, I got some perspective. If these aches and pains turn out to be more serious, that will not be the end of the world. Every road has bumps, and nobody’s path is clear. I have an identity beyond my workouts and the races I plan on doing this year.

Yes, I needed that time to bring me back to the land of the sensible.

There are two half-ironmans on my schedule for this year. It is February. Sure, I don’t want to take much time off. But I also don’t want to push myself over the edge into injury, depression and tunnel-vision.

I truly hope this doesn’t ring a bell with any of you. I really would much rather be alone in this.

But if you see yourself in any of what I’ve said, please take this simple and oft-repeated advice: Listen to your body. I’ll add another: It’s the journey, not the destination. (That one’s mainly for myself, but you can listen if you like.)

The mind is a powerful thing. It can take us to the finish line of an Ironman when our body says, "No way, dude."

But think about that work your body does for you day after day. Yes, you are making it stronger. Yes, your determination to succeed is admirable. But sometimes the old thing
just needs a rest.

Be sure to give it one before it starts breaking things to get your attention.