I'm Pissed

I’ve always enjoyed reading friend’s blogs about running, life, their thoughts, dreams, ambitions, insane lifestyles (you know who you are, Rocketship), etc. However, I’ve never really been inspired to write a blog of my own.  Until now.  And my current inspiration is that . . .

I’m pissed.  Most of you who know me know that I’m not much of a swear-er and when I read this someday down the line, I’m sure I will blush at my public use of such a word, but for now, it captures how passionate I feel about this exact moment in time.  And my purpose for capturing this moment is so that I can use it in the future.  Because I think that being pissed can be such a powerful motivator. 

For example, just over a month ago, as I was dually preparing for both the Chicago marathon (main focus) and the Brookhaven run (secondary focus, but I wanted to break 18 minutes for the first time on the roads, gosh darn it), I did a little tune up workout on the track the week leading up to the Brookhaven.  Just some simple 400’s at 5K pace after a 2 mile at marathon pace (I needed to still get some sort of marathon focus in, after all).  I couldn’t run 88’s to save my life, and 88’s were NOT going to get me a sub-18 5K.  I was pissed.  I verbalized more of those words that now make me blush right out there on the track, and loudly.  I was frustrated that all of my training from the summer wasn’t lending itself to awesome track workouts.  Heck, I would’ve just settled for one of those “I got through it” workouts, but that wasn’t even happening.  I left the track in a terrible mood (complete with a temper tantrum, to be honest) and didn’t even allow myself to enjoy ice cream that night, which most of you know is really quite a serious situation.  When I woke up the morning of Brookhaven, I was hoping to just squeeze out something sub-18 by some miracle--I would’ve been ecstatic with a 17:59.99.  But when I lined up for the start, I started to think about my awful track workout, and instead of doubting my abilities, I just got pissed again.  And I ran a 17:36. Two seconds off of my all-time 5K PR.  On a course in which I’ve previously run 19:00 and 18:08. At the end of a 92-mile week.  I wasn’t pissed anymore.

Okay, back to present time.  I’m pissed today because it took me 30 minutes longer to get ready this morning.  I’m pissed because my awkward attempt to shave my legs without putting weight on one foot resulted in one hairy strip that remains down my right leg, which goes nicely with my dress clothes and heels (excuse me, heel).  I’m pissed because I don’t have the time or energy to hobble my way to the dog park in the morning so that my dog can enjoy his morning romp.  I’m pissed because it took me 10 minutes to walk from my apartment door to my car parked in the apartment parking lot, juggling a backpack, purse, my breakfast, and my coffee on crutches.  I’m pissed because it took me 15 minutes to walk the quarter mile from where I park my car on the street (since I didn’t buy a pass to the lot by my building, my logic being that I have two perfectly good legs to walk my bum to class without having to pay $108 to park closer) to my classroom this morning, making me late for class since it is normally a 5 minute walk.  I’m pissed that every time I try to do something, someone asks if I need help.  It’s not that I’m pissed at them, I really do appreciate how kind everyone is, it’s that I’m pissed that I could actually probably use their help but I don’t WANT to NEED their help. Heck, I’m pissed that school is hectic and overwhelming right now. I promise I’m almost done with this rant.  Actually, all of this leads to the real reasons I’m pissed.  I’m pissed that my fantasies about race day that got me through those long, excruciatingly hot runs this summer didn’t even come close to happening.  I’m pissed that the marathon once again has had its way with me.  And most importantly, I’m pissed that I’m so pissy and I can’t do the one thing I know will make me feel better.  The thing I rely on most for my sanity.  Thank goodness I didn’t spill my coffee (the other thing that keeps me somewhat sane) this morning, or I’d be on the verge of a mental breakdown.

I realize that the sting from this weekend’s events will wear off, and I will live to run another day (and a few fast marathons, too!), so that’s my purpose for this rant.  I don’t want to forget this feeling when I start training for my next marathon. I want to remember this when I line up for my next marathon. I want a repeat of Brookhaven.  And I want the few close friends and family that might read this to remind me that I’m pissed when I complain about training in the future.

Don’t worry, I don’t expect many posts to have so much darn complaining in them.  I’m generally a very happy person, a lover of life.  I just love life a little tiny bit more when I can run.  After all, since moving to Oklahoma, I think running has been such a big part of my identity.  Now, for a few weeks, I’m just the girl who eats a lot of ice cream but really should probably try to cut back a bit.  Ha!  Okay, so I have a lot of other things going on in my life, but I just need to run.  End of story.  I promise in person I’m not all grumpy like this post might suggest, so please don’t stop inviting me to your parties—I will happily attend, grin and bare it, and then eat any and all chocolate provided at said party.  J