Remember when I last posted (like a month ago or something) and said I’d run 26 miles on my 26th birthday? Well I did it.
The start of year 26 commenced with a 4 a.m. wake-up for 12 pre-work miles. I did 9 over lunch, and got the rest in after work. And then I ate three (large) pieces of the cake our group’s admin so sweetly got for me. (She actually staged a whole little surprise party type deal in one of our conference rooms. I thought I had a meeting about an upcoming workshop and bam! Cake! It was incredibly thoughtful.)
(Also duh I ate way more than that, I just thought I’d point out that I was lucky enough to get cake, even in this turd-hole of a country.)
A couple power outages prevented me from recording exact times, but total run time was about 4 hours and 20 minutes. Right where a conservative 26 mile effort ought to be for me, I think. (Especially since I’m not at the best level of fitness I’ve ever been at.)
I’ve been trying to up my mileage lately, and have done some reading on Lydiard’s “Miles make Champions” business…it’s bait I’m willing to take. I’ve always thought that I stood up to moderate (50ish a week is what this means for me…I know it’s subjective) mileage fairly well, in that I’m (KNOCKS ON WOOD) not injury prone and honestly just like running big (for me) miles. I feel good when I’m over 40. Mentally, physically…it just works for me.
Last week I was going for my first ever 60+ mile week. By Friday I had 41 miles on the books and plans for a 20 miler over the weekend. And then I came down with (what I think was) food poisoning, and well, I’ll spare you the details. But I got through 4 miles of my run before I had to go spend the next two straight days rotating between the bathroom and the fetal position.
This week was a planned cutback week, and it’s been abysmal. My stomach funk isn’t gone, and I just don’t give a damn right now. I can’t stand the the thought of being on the treadmill for hours at a time anymore. I lost a day of running to feeling like hell, and another one to a day where I had to be at the office before 6 a.m. and didn’t get home until about 8:30 p.m.
You “full-time blogger” types? Can suck it.
I’m in this magical place where I just hate pretty much everything. Today our power went out because the infrastructure here is a joke. It didn’t even affect everyone in our complex–just us. Lucky us! This is the second time we’ve been so lucky to get the it’s-just-you power outage. (And that’s to say nothing of the times the power goes out ((DAILY)) that affect everyone).
Yesterday I wanted nothing but peanut butter and jelly toast for breakfast. And then I opened a brand new NOT EXPIRED (hard to find here) jar of jelly and it was covered in mold.
And THEN I bought $80 worth of asparagus and brussels sprouts unknowingly. (As in, no posted prices, and I didn’t get that fun little gem of information until the bastards had my credit card.)
I got in less than 30 miles this week. And I just can’t bring myself to care.
I know I’m being a whiny brat here, and every now and again I get to take kick-ass vacations…but the time in between those? Fricking sucks. My life is one giant repeat of wake up, bus to work at 7 a.m., run at lunch, eat something shitty, home around 6, re-watch some episode of something we downloaded the last time we were in the first world, sleep. And repeat.
I’m lucky. I know I am. Mr. Engineer and I work for what I’m guessing some magazine somewhere has rated one of the best companies there is to work for. And I’m grateful for that.
But living here is just so hard. We’ve been doing it for a year and I’m just not good at it yet. I’m not.
So, to my five readers, how do you pull yourself out of a funk? I’m chest-deep in negativity and can’t shake it. I think I want to–I have at least a year left here, so I have to–but damn I’m struggling right now.