In the summer, I had this awesome thing called a “part-time job” which pretty much left me with a “full-time do whatever you want.” Living in the City of Lakes and less than a half mile from beautiful Lake of the Isles, I took full advantage of my time and spent a lot of it running in circles, soaking up the sun’s warm and tanning rays, loving every pound of my foot against the paved trails. In the early spring I used to think it was absolutely brutal to take 2 full weeks off from running and this summer it became so much a part of my routine that taking two days off had me feeling out of shape and all wound up. Stretches of rain that lasted more than 72 hours put me into a tailspin and wishing to run laps around the living room or up and down the stairs. Not only did I need running for my physical health, I needed it for my mental health. I tend to crave a good run at emotional extremes (I think I have discussed this before), because I get a lot of energy from my emotions, whether they are positive or negative. Terribly excited? Go for a run. Super pissed off? Go for a run. It’s how I deal, and it works well for me.
Insert two months off from running from brutally cold temperatures and a total bulldozer of a semester. In this time I certainly experienced a lapse in ideal physical health* and had my moments in which even I thought my own mental health was reaching a breaking point. A run or two (or 25) would probably have been really positive, but it was cold and I kept feeling like I could not possibly find an hour in my day to dedicate to physical activity without it negatively impacting another sphere of life.
Today was the big day in which I made my official return to regular running.
I WILL NEVER TAKE TWO MONTHS OFF EVER AGAIN.
Never. Never never never again.
Unlike the last Anatomy of a Lake Run post, I don’t need to go through this one minute by minute, since my thoughts were pretty much a constant loop of:
“Whew, this isn’t so bad. I’m a runner, I’m a runner, I am a runner!”
“Okay, I am just going to run to the end of this song, then take a little break. I just got back to this after all.”
“When the %#@! does this song end?!”
“Everything hurts. Everything hurts. Everything hurts.”
“I am not a runner. I don’t want to be a runner. This $#!% sucks. Who does this? I hate this.”
I remixed** 2.6 miles, and I refuse to share my time with you. I refuse to share it with myself. In fact, I already forgot it. So there. Let’s just say, I deserve to be stripped of my title of “athlete” in any sense of the word. Bru-tal.
Every story has a silver lining: My custom shoes look absolutely stunning against the snowy backdrop of the lake and the new running shirt and jacket from Mom and Dad made me the best dressed runner/remixer/round-is-a-shaper out there today. So, you know, yay for looking good even when you feel crummy.
*This lapse in physical health may or may not have been exacerbated by my stellar semester one eating habits in which I occasionally made a meal out of a bag of Doritos, had no problem eating half a bag of Tootsie Rolls during one paper writing session, and frequently drank my weight in coffee.
**Remix (verb): to not entire run, but not entirely walk a workout route. Used often by Mugwumps because it sounds cooler, admittedly even a little more badass, than saying “I was wheezing so severely and my legs were so cramped up I could not completely finish a lame and unimpressive 2.6 mile run and had to stop and walk– on more than one occasion.”