The Road to 100: Part 1

It's been a long ass time since I've written anything. I could just mash it all up into one post, but it would probably end up being 50 pages long. So I'm not going to do that. I'm going to break it up into multiple installments to enhance the reading experience for myself and the 10 people who read my blog. The first episode is entitled:

July and August Pretty Much Sucked

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Hmmm...maybe I'd better think of something more clever.

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The Serious Case of the Mondays That Lasted Two Months

So the last time I posted, everything was butterflies and fucking sunshine. I rocked the box for five straight months as an ultrarunner, kicked ass at my job, went to therapy LIKE A BOSS, and was only minimally upset about my train wreck of a personal life.

And THEN I needed a break from running. And THEN all the bubblegum and unicorn farts disappeared.

After running the night half marathon at Perry and having absolutely nothing in the tank from the very beginning, it seemed perhaps time to give the ol' running gears a rest. I wasn't injured, but I was just generally worn down...a perfect state to be in if you WANT an injury. So I cut WAY back on my mileage. And wouldn't you know it, much to nobody's surprise, the exact moment running was off the table...BINGO...my depression crept right the hell back onto the table.

It was subtle at first. And less subtle as weeks went on. Enjoyment of simple things began to decrease. I made less effort to find ways to occupy my free time. I slept like an idiot. I obsessed over things I have no control over and old questions that I already know the answers to. I stopped going to therapy. I stopped going to yoga.

I let myself feel sorry for myself, and I reveled in the comfort of my own misery.

I really can't describe how reassuring it was to discover how transparent and fragile my mental health is. Without running, everything basically sucks. I mean...it doesn't suck...my life is really awesome...but without that one constant in my life that constantly reminds me of the things I am capable of, I am incapable of recognizing it.

Then one day I woke up and my knee hurt. For absolutely no reason whatsoever. From there, whatever vestiges of contentment I might have had in my life went out the window. 

Desperation...

I saw my massage therapist. I took two entire weeks away from running. I saw my massage therapist again. I took ANOTHER week from running. I obsessed some more. I basically gave up hope that I'd be able to run the 100 miler in November. I slept away most of my free time or spent it watching Battlestar Galactica. Honestly, the only time I wasn't overtly unhappy was when I was at work. Luckily, I still love my job and am still convinced I'd have gone off the deep end months ago without it.

The knee was slowly getting better, but I was so miserable I couldn't take it anymore. Colleen's Sweaty Ass Run would be a chance for me to get in some miles and get an idea of whether or not my knee was healed enough to try to start building mileage for the 100 miler. I planned on trying to get in 15 miles and just see how things felt. Things felt ok, it turns out. I ended up getting in 12 miles and called it quits because I didn't want to push it.

The mysterious knee pain had come and gone with nary a clue as to what caused it. I had a very tentative sense that I was back in business for running, but mentally I was still completely fucked. One particular evening I was in a horrible funk, unloaded on somebody who didn't deserve to be unloaded on, and hit my emotional rock bottom. Two days later, I deactivated Facebook to prevent myself from unleashing any more poison unto the world...and also because it's the hugest fucking waste of time ever invented. 

The day after that wasn't great, but it was a little better. And sometimes a little is just enough.

I think I went for a run in the morning.  

To be continued...Onward to Part 2!