I've been AWOL lately. I guess I figured if I didn't have anything nice to say, I should remain mute. But the brutal honesty is ripping out of me. Right on schedule, Post-Ironman Blues, paid me a visit. Except that calling them something as quaint as "blues" is nothing short of a grossly underestimated euphemism. You'd think because I've been through this before, I'd have it mastered by now. Not the case. Maybe it's because this is the worst case of post-race "blues" I've ever had (read: depression). Perhaps it was the mix of being depleted from the Ironman, not exercising for a few weeks (which I rely on for my daily boost of serotonin), or the start of my off-season, or a mix of all three. Whatever the cause, I could barely see through the foggy haze of my chemically-depleted state. I desperately needed to exercise but couldn't muster the energy to leave the comfy depths of the pillows of the sofa that swallowed me. I was hell-bent on destroying every relationship that mattered to me as well (poor Brent). Dark thoughts plagued my mind, racing through my head endlessly. The only thing I could do was work. Preoccupying my brain with the multitude of minutiae that dominate in lab was soothing and numbing. Needless to say, I've gotten loads of work done. I'm tired of all the energy it takes for me to be happy. I've complained to my doctor and to my therapist. There has to be an easier way. I've decided to try anti-depressants. They have helped in the past. With any luck, a little chemical boost can make me feel like myself again (of course, for the past 2 weeks, I've just been suffering from nasty side effects). I'm still waiting. Am I happy yet? In the meantime, I've written up a new training plan, trying to keep me from getting totally derailed. Time to shock this body back into action and flood the brain with good ole' endorphins.
...Am I happy yet?