I think I have the male runner’s equivalent of postpartum. These past couple of weeks since the Flying Pig have been one ‘blah’ run after another. While I’m happy with the improvements I’m starting to make with my form, I’m just not happy with how it’s been feeling. My fitness level hasn’t dipped. My diet is the same. Even my milage is back up to where it had been pre-taper. I’m still motivated enough to get out there, but I just haven’t been feeling it at all. No real sense of energy. No feeling of satisfaction when I’m done with the runs.
Because I have no one but me to blame it on, I’m going to chalk it up to post-partum. I’m not trying to trivialize real postpartum depression, I am empathizing.
For my entire life, I had envied runners. Those people who worked hard at running, day in and day out. They were like a magical bunch who ignored pain, boredom, weather and just kept going. After many false starts at running, I can now finally say, I’m one of them. No, I’m not claiming to be good at it, and I’m certainly not the fastest, but I am doing it. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t have “I’d really like to run a long race” in my head, and hold it out there as an accomplishment, an endpoint. I’m 41 years old. That’s a long time to be wishing for something.
On May 3, 2010, I finished a half marathon and did so at a decent pace. Truly, a life-long goal was attained. Although I still have the full marathon looming out ahead of me (and who knows what after that), I wonder if my doldrums these past few weeks haven’t been somewhat related to having achieved something long desired and now missing the “want” just a tiny little bit.
I know I’ll get my running mojo back, it’s just a matter of pushing through. Until then, I’ll just have to deal with the reality that I can get excited about future, seemingly unattainable milestones too.