It was the best of weeks, it was the worst of weeks. Before I get all Dickens on yo’ asses, let me explain.
Last Sunday I ran 8 miles and I felt FANTASTIC. I was all like, sheeet, I can just keep running. I got this. 13.1 miles got nuttin on me! I am going to OWN THIS HALF MARATHON.
Then I caught the death cold. Not just any old cold. No. Mere snuffly noses and tickley throats are for people with far better luck than I. I got the ‘can’t lift my head off the pillow, you can have my autographed Wheatus CD, take care of the kids’ cold. I called off work. Two days in a ROW. Ya. THAT sick.
Needless to say, I didn’t do much running. I basically spent the entire week telling everyone I saw how sick I was. I was proud of my sickness. I lived, dammit, I made it through. I imagine I felt a lot like the people who lived through The Depression felt, only without all that pesky no money, no food stuff.
I was also dealing with this while Casey was gone till all hours of the night (9:30 pm), manning his booth at the Home and Garden Show. Between my death cold and Casey being gone, the entire week went by without a run.
It’s hard to explain the strange sort of funk this put me in. I set this goal for myself, and I was working SO hard to achieve it, and then – brick wall. In five days I managed to go from running almost everyday to not running once. In order to get really good and funky, I started eating like crap, almost to punish myself. ‘Can’t run today, self? Hm? Still all sicky wicky with your coldy woldy? HERE. Eat a can of Easy Cheez. It will patch you right up!’
Yes, in five days I went from being a world class athlete in the mind of no one but myself, to hate-eating processed foods.
By Friday I had it with myself. Even I was getting sick of hearing about how sick how I was; I can’t even imagine how everyone else felt. I was taking this funk by the horns. If funks even have horns. I’m actually not sure if they do. Regardless. I was wiping this bugger out and that was THAT.
I decided to do two things on Sunday to make me feel better: Do my 8 mile run with my running group, and go to the ballet. Everyone knows if you want to go big you need two things, a long distance run and people jumping around stage in their underpants.
I could feel the power of my positive decision making coursing through my veins (may have been the red wine) as I laid out my running gear last night. I was going to meet my running group at 7:30 am and DO THIS. That’s right. 7:30. In the morni….wait. It’s day light savings time? So really 7:30 is 6:30. So basically you’re telling me that I’m getting up at 5:30 am to go run 8 miles after not running all week? Where is my Easy Cheez?
I kid. While it was a little rough this morning, I did it. And holy shit am I glad I did. We ran all over downtown Pittsburgh, and it was the best run I have ever had in my life. I made my 8 miles, and I was treated to the absolute best the Burgh has to offer. The views were stupendous:
And then I came home, had snuggle time with the kiddos, showered, got all hotted up, and went to a fancy girl date downtown with my friend Shawna:
We had brunch at Six Penn Kitchen (I burned over a 1000 calories during my AM run. That’s a LOTTA brunch) and then went to see the Sunday show of A Street Car Named Desire at the Pittsburgh Ballet Theater. And while we did that, Jones got to go to the park with his big brother Kyle:
And now I’m home, drink in hand, hanging with the kids and waiting for Casey to get home from his last blessed day at the Home and Garden Show. I have learned that set backs aren’t the end of the world. Sometimes they can actually be a good thing. They can strengthen your resolve. They can stiffen your upper lip. They can give you an excuse to bitch your head off and eat Easy Cheez for a week. But they don’t have to be the end. That’s what they are called set backs and not game overs.
The week started off crap, but ended on a high note. Sort of like a Celine Dion song.
Yours in living through the death cold and not even getting a stupid t-shirt,