Post-race blues

Or something. I don’t know that my funk is definitively related to the whole post-race letdown, or whether it’s the time change, or something else entirely, but I have noticed subconscious tendencies to try to self-medicate with sugar, which…well, it’s about as effective as you might imagine, after the initial hit. Blargh. Honestly, I did try to avert the whole post-race letdown by having at least vague future running plans in place before toeing the starting line, and yet here I am, feeling exhausted by noon on most days, and it’s certainly not all, or even mostly, physical.

Doesn’t help that I’m still being a “good girl,” mostly, and sticking to my recovery plan, which is preventing me from ramping up my miles too quickly. I feel down, and running lots and lots of miles helps, but that’s something I “can’t” do right now – not and steer clear of injury. Tonight, a cross-training night, I went to the gym and hiked up a mountain on the treadmill for an hour, which was all right, but sort of like a friendly handshake when what you need is a lengthy Swedish massage. Five miles of running allotted to me tomorrow. Like Oliver, I’m all, “Please, sir, might I have some more?” only slightly more pathetic-looking.

Sam had a church play this morning. It went fairly well, though I do wish he looked a little less like he’d rather be undergoing dental surgery when he’s up on the stage. (At least he didn’t fall clean off the front of the stage, as one little girl did; the look on her face before she burst into horrified tears almost made me cry.) Sam just grimaces and does the choreography in a halfhearted, slightly delayed, manner, conveying extreme discomfort and reluctance. But he voluntarily auditioned for and was given a group solo part, which he performed without reluctance, so…I dunno. In the fall, Gabe will be in that class, too, and will therefore also be in the plays; when we told him that today, he reaction was vehemently negative. Not sure what to do; we have to attend that service, as choir members, and there’s no other Sunday School class for their age group. I don’t know whether kids can opt out or not. Of course, with Gabe, it’s likely he’ll change his mind a zillion times about being on stage before it’s even an issue.

Head hurts a little. I’m thinking early bedtime tonight, if it can be arranged.