On Suck-Ass Runs

I didn't want to run today. Or do anything. Maybe lay on the couch all day. It was a low-energy day. I loathe low-energy days. By now, you'd think I'd be able to at least predict, if not prevent, these doldrums. They inevitably always follow a string of overly productive days. I just can't help myself. I love wearing myself out but hate dealing with the consequences. Maybe it was the 10-mile run in the rain on Saturday. Or the weights that followed. Perhaps it was the 50-mile hilly bike ride Sunday morning. Or the 5-mile snowshoe afterwards. For some odd reason, I've been uncomfortably tired this week. Nothing breeds depression more quickly than lethargy.

After taking a much-needed rest day Monday and then another unintended rest day Tuesday, I knew I needed to get out to quell the blues singing in my chest. I so did not want to work out. I woke up and put on my running clothes, trying to make it easier to get out the door. Sipped my cup of coffee and sunned myself while doing a crossword puzzle, trying to wake up. Nope. Went back to bed for a 2-hour, fitful nap. Woke up feeling worse than ever. There was no way I was going to run.


I was muttering my list of things to do softly to myself. Travis, with his incredible, super-power, dog hearing, overhead me breathe the word, "run". He perked up his ears, wagged his tail, and started towards the door, softly whining. "Alright, fine," I muttered. If not now, then when? On days like today, there's never a good time to do it. I decided to get it over with.

We headed out on the trails, Travis smiling the whole way. I decided to go a way we usually don't, adding interest the route. My legs were heavy, and I forced myself to ignore my snail-like pace. I shuffled over the rocks, through the muds left over from the recent rains, occassionally jumping over eddies of trickling creeks. I rolled an ankle, cursed, and continued on my way. Every hill was a mountain. I didn't even pretend I could fake a shuffle up them. I simply walked. My mind was numb, and I kept on going.

Luckily, the miles flew by. I had promised myself 4 but ended up doing 5. My despondency was somewhat distracted by an exuberant black dog, bounding ahead, bunny-hopping into the bushes, jacknifing over trenches, and plunging into every stagnant pool of water he could find. At least someone was having a good time.

I got it done. That's all that counts. My body is trying to tell me take it easy. Maybe I should listen. I've never been a very good listener though. However, even though it was a suck-ass run, I do feel better.