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Running Is My Drug & I Am Super High
Don’t do drugs.
You don’t need them.
Just run, and then you’ll be all high and stuff.
I flew through this weekend in a slight funk, alternating between wicked fun times (spinning! packing! Home Depot!)…
…and dramatic, whiny lows (um, not running — at all). So when I went to bed last night, expecting a maximum of five hours of sleep, I anticipated waking up, trying to run, having things hurt and then writing a little post all about how “this weekend was a bummer because I didn’t get to run and now I am sad and the only thing in life that makes me happy is sweat and when I’m not sweating I may as well cease to exist.”
You could say I really know how to keep it positive all the time. This was true in fifth grade and it’s true now, clearly.
But then something magical happened.
I slept for five hours, yes, and I woke up feeling not terribly exhausted.
Thank you, steroids. You’re OK with me today.
I got ready and my stomach was not a total whore.
Still, steroids, nice work: You’re not making me want to go all Godzilla on Manhattan today.
And then I ran.
Oh, I ran.
And it was good.
My last run was on Thursday, and it was OK. Not great. Not too painful. Just slow, steady, uneventful. Then, since my new motto is “don’t run when it hurts too much if you want to be able to run for the rest of your life,” I took Friday, Saturday and Sunday off from running.
I hated it.
I hated not running all weekend, even though I knew, ultimately, it would be good for me.
I hated going to bed Friday night knowing I didn’t need to carb load (don’t worry, I still did, you know, just in case) for a long run, and I hated waking up Saturday morning while everyone PR’d in races and did long runs and Tweeted about them with pride (no, really, I’m psyched for you guys). As much as I loved my Saturday morning workout, it was done in a gym, with stale air and not a Bridle Path in sight. It wasn’t running. It wasn’t as fun. It wasn’t as rewarding.
I made the most of it, because that’s my style. I went to Crunch’s Union Square location and made myself a Gym To-Do List:
I worked my way through the list, did some lifty things, stretched, all that jazz, and then took Matt’s spin class, which was actually, I think, the best spin class I have ever taken. Everyone kept clapping and cheering and holy crap it was awesome.
It wasn’t Central Park, but it truly was the next best thing.
I didn’t foam roll twice, but I knocked out everything else and left Crunch with a mini endorphin high.
Back to my running talk: I did a lot of spinning this weekend. I did a Friday night SoulSurvivor class (that’s a full hour of spinning), Matt’s Saturday morning class and another SoulCycle class Sunday morning at the ripe hour of 7:30 AM. Each class was fantastic.
After each little sweat session, I felt happy.
Then I thought about running, and I felt sad.
So it was today’s run that brought me back to life and love and happiness and puppies.
I set out simply hoping to run and see how things felt. If my shin or knee hurt, that’s OK. I would stop. I would slow down. I would do whatever I needed. I just wanted to run to check in on things since I have an appointment this afternoon with an orthopedic surgeon man, and I want to be able to really pinpoint things for him so we’re not wasting anyone’s time (or, more importantly, my money).
I started to run Garminless (satellite, where are youuuu?) and in the first mile felt great.
Then I turned on my watch in Central Park, to measure distance, not speed, of course, and I checked in every so often.
I avoided the Bridle Path and the Reservoir — my comfort zones — and did a lower loop of the park instead.
Everything was perfect. The weather, the minimal crowds, the sunrise.
And I felt good.
And my pace wasn’t half-bad either, all things considered.
I swear I smiled the entire time. I was so happy. At one point I saw Brian biking in the park and I think I did a jig, or perhaps a short variation from Lord of the Dance.
I am so ready to run again.
I had my burnout phase, I dealt with the Crohn’s stupidity, and now I’m ready to be back on the roads.
This weekend, I found myself missing racing, which is crazy because I haven’t truly wanted to run a race in months.
I know that I may wake up tomorrow with a whole lot of pain again. This might be a cycle. I might be injured or I might just be overcompensating various muscles. I don’t know. That’s what the doctor is for.
So in the meantime, I’m rolling with this runner’s high.
I didn’t get to run this weekend. You’ve gathered that by now, right? I spent so much time dwelling on the fact that I wasn’t out for double digits, and I let that completely control my mood. But guess what? I bet I’ll rock out a double-digit weekend pretty soon, and eventually I’ll be back up to the 50-mile weeks I was dreaming of (and, at one point, reached).
I’m proud of myself for not running, as much as I wanted to. I know my leg needed the break, and it may continue needing breaks.
I think that’s all I have to say about that.
In other news, you people really want a Sweat shirt, huh? Thank you all so much for voting in the Fitness Blog Awards — today is the last day to vote, so if you’re inclined, feel free to head over again! I won’t be mad.
And the winner, as determined by the very fancy random.org, is…
Congratulations, Kristin! Don’t fear the ‘Roid Rage, though. It’s totally tame now. Seriously, tell me about your weekend long run. I won’t try to slice your Achilles at all.
Kristin, email me at email@example.com with your address and your shirt is on the way. I hope you love it. I hope you get it filthy.
To wrap this up, here is a photo of me with a giraffe, because why not? I love giraffes.
TELL ME SOMETHING GOOD: Since I’m on a runner’s high now, I am ready to hear about your weekend of running. I will support you and be happy for you. Promise. My fingers aren’t crossed. Tell me about your weekend run! Or, if running isn’t your thing, tell me about your weekend sweating in other forms! Or tell me about your weekend of eating Matzo Ball Soup and Cadbury Mini Eggs. (I had zero helpings of one of those things and an excessive serving of the other. You figure it out.)