It was slow goin’ even before I left the house. I planned on a 1:00 pm leave time and didn’t start out until closer to 2:00. Last year, I had a routine when it came to suiting up for those cold weather jaunts. I knew where my gear was and exactly what I needed. This year, I’m wandering about like a confused bag lady, snatching up this and that, unsure what will be useful and what will be extra baggage. Fortunately, my E&E kicked in and my brain cleared enough for me to dress myself appropriately.
But even those first few moments were slow and painful. Actually, the first 45 minutes felt as though I was running underwater while breathing glass. In an effort to be kind to my shins, I took my prescribed walk breaks (I stuck to 3:1 intervals for the majority of the run, only running through when I finally fell into my zone). Whether it’s an overuse of the treadmill or a crash and burn of the diet sort (I’ll get to that in a moment), my body simply felt tired and used up for that first 45.
For most of our mini-vacation, I set a very good example for clean eating. I ate the food we packed. I drank my Shakeology. Even when we dined out, I ordered Paleo-friendly dishes. Then came my perfect storm.
My two older monkeys spent the night at their bio dad’s house. It’s a good thing, but I always miss them terribly. We’ve been the Three Musketeers for five years now, and splits are always tough on mama. Add in the fact that – *Warning! I am about to discuss “female stuff” – it’s that time o’ the month, we had just arrived home after a week away and a full day of wrestling, and I was beyond exhausted and emotionally drained…and there you have it. My perfect storm. I sent the Hubby for treats and lo, he did provide. Chocolate, ice cream, and much salty goodness in brightly colored wrappers. The foods I typically sneer at, I devoured until my belly hurt and my soul felt soothed.
Today, I felt like the crap that goes into those foods. Bleh. But I refuse to wallow. Moving forward, I must not cave, but I will not feel any guilt over this digression. It aided to the general suckiness of those first 45, I am certain. But again, that suckiness evaporated just as magically as it always does.
Because I finally found it. My zone, my zen, my love of running. I smiled at drivers, at dogs, at people walking dogs. I snuck loving glances at my neon-covered feet and bopped my head to the music. I felt that little twinge of disappointment when I realized my time on the road was coming to a close. It was enough that I am already looking forward to my runs next weekend. So I found it, and I’m keeping it. In the words of my toddler, it’s MINE. MY zone.
Oh – and my shins feel fabulous. I know you were wondering.