It’s a strange thing to wake up and NOT head out to some state park to run many, many loops.
It’s a strange thing to wake up and NOT stuff my face with peanut butter cookies as a caloric “base” for a marathon run. Though to be fair, I did still wake up and stuff my face with a peanut butter smothered English muffin (perhaps one of the few things I’m really pro-English about).
It’s a strange thing that despite NOT having a race today, I did still get up and go out for a run. It was a slow, recovery run, but a bit necessary if only to “taper” from the mileage of the past few weeks.
One can’t simply go “cold turkey” after a series of marathons. Not only has my body adjusted to the mileage but so too has my metabolism. Without the need to burn some calories, I think I’m more likely to see that infernal bathroom scale spin higher and higher… and I really don’t need any help making that stupid thing creep up in poundage and up my depression. I’m perfectly capable of screwing up my weight on my own.
And so I try for a run to keep the body and mind focused on the notion that though the multi-day series of races are crazy, they are kinda what I do. They are the new normal. Maybe not *every* week or even every month, but it is something I like being able to go do. I like being able to run a marathon and if I’m careful about what I eat and how I move, I can go run another one the next day… and the day after that… and the day after that. Life is a marathon and thus I’m hoping it helps to be able to run ACTUAL marathons. We’ll see how that goes.
The other recovery aspect is that this is the first time I’ve been home since Hurricane Irma stormed through. There’s still some damage and debris; there’s a bit of obstacle course maneuvering necessary on the sidewalks. But given what others endured, we kinda lucked out. It was a stressful, tough situation to be sure; I think Mom is going through the PTSD thing given how nerve wracking the preparation and anticipation were. I feel doubly bad that I wasn’t here to help.
But, ya know, there was running to be done. There’s always running to be done. I wonder if that’s why *I* am a strange thing.