Let me explain. I've been running forever. When I train for a marathon, I run almost every single day. On Sundays I rest. Every other day of the week revolves around a workout. That means since early summer, I've started almost every day with a run. Out of the past 113 days, 97 have included a workout. Not because I love running. Sometimes when I'm out there, I hate it. Sometimes I hate it more than anything. But I love being done running.
After a week and a half of not being able to run, I'm going insane. I'm totally stir crazy. And not to mention, I've been physically ill pretty much since I crossed the finish line, so I'm miserable to boot. I'm a real treat. I spend my days limping stiff-kneed around the office, sniffling, coughing and wallowing in self-pity. Today, my intern told that I needed to "take some happy lamp time." On a related note, Confessions: I have a happy lamp. And I love it. But not even the happy lamp is working its magical happy beams this week 'cause I'm a fucking mess, ya'll.
And the other thing? I have the eating habits of a 300-pound man. I'm hungry just about all the time and if I see food, it's probably going to end up in my mouth. [Editor's note: That's what she said.] Pizza, candy, cookies, pasta, sushi. Three weeks ago, I ate four cupcakes in a single sitting. FOUR. CUPCAKES. IN A SINGLE SITTING. On Thanksgiving, I literally ate myself into unconsciousness. I have no self control. Not to mention I drink. A lot. I love heavy beers. Belgian brews, Irish stouts, porkchops in a pint glass as my dad would say. I consume them all without giving a single thought to my waistline. I realize I sound like a piece of shit for saying all that in a world where every woman is obsessed with her dress size so GO AHEAD AND JUDGE ME. But not this week. Suddenly I'm obsessed with calories. I've been checking the scale compulsively. I'm afraid to eat anything besides salad and vegetable soup. How can I when I'm not running?
Last night I tried spinning, and even that hurt my knee. I can't run, I can't bike, I CAN'T DO ANYTHING WITH MY LIFEEEEEEEE.
I know how this looks on paper. I'm so annoying you hate me. You want to punch me in the mouth. Maybe even take out my other knee a la Tanya Harding vs. Nancy Kerrigan style. If I could just shut up and rest for a few weeks, my sickness would most certainly be gone and maybe my knee might even be better. But right now "a few weeks" sounds like a death sentence. In "a few weeks," I'll be 200 pounds. My body is collapsing in on itself and I'm a total fucking spaz. I mean, I'm always a spaz, but this week I've taken it to epic proportions, even for me.
I've never considered myself a crazy runner. I basically would run to stay in shape and not get fat. But now not being able to run is affecting every aspect of my life. I miss my Back on My Feet team. I'm whiney. I'm distracted at work. And I can barely function in social settings. My mental acuity is slipping. I JUST HAD TO GOOGLE HOW TO SPELL "ACUITY." I THOUGHT THERE WAS A "Q." I BET IF I WASN'T WEARING BOOTS TODAY I WOULDN'T EVEN BE ABLE TO TIE MY OWN SHOES. Guh. I can't even think of a good way to end this post, so I'm just going to stop writing abruptly. Like a fucking spaz.Tweet