or being kind to yourself when running doesn’t go as planned.
I’ve got to be honest with you all. Ever since Broad Street, my run mojo has been out of whack. I thoroughly enjoyed, and am proud of, running Broad Street but physically (and if I’m being entirely honest, emotionally), I have been off since.
The Broad Street Run was wonderful. It drizzled a bit at the start and then poof! The skies cleared and I tore down Broad Street like a woman on a mission. I ran my race at my pace and sure, after the race that day I was a little tired, and perhaps, maybe the rest of the week I was feeling ew and ugh, but that’s normal, right?
Yeah, no. Not for me at least and when I sat back and tried to figure out what, I found myself falling into the pit of what Mr. Gary Gilman calls “The Great Depresh”. Allowing myself to feel I found
- I was feeling no joy in running. Running was starting to feel like an obligation instead of the gift it is. Working at getting my miles in meant that I was spending more and more time out of the house and trying to reach my goal. And even though I have worked hard at running my race and my pace, there is a part of me seeing the progress of other runners and wondering why I am such a slug. More and more the siren song of the bed called and I would snuggle under my weighted blanket (these are the truth!) and my snooze became music in my dreams.
- I was not being prepared. Far too many mornings found me scrambling through the house looking for my gear. One morning (OK, several mornings) all of my gear was scattered throughout the house. Reflectors not on the hook, sneakers upstairs, no socks…a hot mess! Totes on me for not putting things away as I use them but reason can’t compete when you’re in the throes of “Idonwanna.”
- Inadvertently not fueling enough. I couldn’t figure out why I was so tired. I was sleeping in, I was taking (a lot of) rest days but I was so lethargic. I realized that I was not eating enough. Not on purpose; I just wasn’t feeling hungry after the runs I did complete and when I would eat, it was a nibble here and a nibble there. In the past I would have celebrated not being hungry because weight loss good but my goals have shifted. Sure, I want to look good in my clothes but I would prefer to be strong. If that means I don’t reach that number I’ve always chased thinking it would make me happy, then I’d rather shave time off my mile and eat a second meal than have to quit my run in the middle because I’m too tired.
The Great Depresh as coined by Mr. Gary Gulman is a bitch. There is still a part of me who thinks of depression as someone wearing a ratty bathrobe and sleeping a lot but that’s not true. Depression looks like going to work but each task takes three times as long and leaves you tired and frustrated. It looks like coming home from work and dropping into the chair in front of the TV and watching reruns of The Simpsons (and not even the good older episodes, the crappy newer ones where Marge sounds like Selma and Patty) because that’s all you can handle. It looks like ignoring the group chat planning runs because there is no way you can comprehend the plan and you are definitely not going to make the run.
So this month I’ve decided to be kind to myself. Take it a day at a time. Keep prepping for my upcoming half but being ok with me taking test days and sleeping in and eating second breakfast or not eating when I’m not hungry.
See you on the trails or maybe not. Practicing some kindness to myself and hope you’ll do the same.