I was struck down.
Completely out of the blue.
By the post-marathon blues.
They incapacitated me. Truly, I stood in my house in the middle of the living room with no motivation. I'm HOSTING thanksgiving. I have THREE kids. I assure you that there was plenty to do. Go ahead, ask me what I did for three hours today.
I didn't read.
I didn't watch TV.
I sat on the couch, I did nothing at all. I sat there with B-nut ("we sat there we two") ...under a blanket while she watched hours of PBS in a row. This is not my scene. But, I just. couldn't. move.
Here's where I went wrong: I thought that knowing they were a possibility would ward them off. I thought that having my huge week last week would help buffer them. I thought that being registered for the next thing would help. I thought that a galactically bada** PR would save me.
There's a phrase out there... the bigger they come, the harder they fall.
Yea, well you know what? It applies to all things. The birth of a child- what could be bigger? The "perfect" marathon experience - what could make a runner more high? *shelly, don't answer that The 8 year old asking to vacuum? Seriously.
Crashing down... down down down. You know what I need? (don't say chocolate, I did a little chocolate today and now I feel hungover AND guilty). ART. That's what I need. A little Art Therapy.
If I survived the Taper... surely I can survive the post marathon blues... right? RIGHT?