The not-posting ’round these parts has been a symptom of 1) I don’t ever have any time to write about anything because 2) I’ve been too busy with fighting some severe depression. I can be a little flippant about it now (I feel like Heather Armstrong’s book title: _It Sucked and I Cried_) because I’m getting a handle on things. Or at least it appears I am. I’ll spare (the few of) you what I’m sure would be a fairly rote description of how I felt, but I won’t spare the details of how I pulled my shit together.
I ran another marathon.
I couldn’t pass this one up; the start/finish line was a block from my front door, and the course took me right past my house. At the beginning of the semester (before things were really bad) I recruited two new running buddies who were game for the challenge, and we set to training. Now, had I registered for the race on my own, I’d never have trained or even stepped my toe to the starting line–I’d have happily (or more accurately, miserably) stayed in bed all those Sunday mornings, feeling sorry for how lazy and worthless I was. With buddies, though, I had to suck it up and plaster a smile on my face and put my ass on the trail when I’d have gladly lain my ass across the train tracks instead.
I didn’t PR. And it hurt like crap at the end, like it always does. But it sure is hard to feel like you can’t do anything right — or well — after you’ve covered 26.2 miles under your own motor.