Extra Ordinary.

Extra Ordinary.

Last night, we met some lovely friends at Extraordinary Desserts where I had my not-frequent-enough rendezvous with my lovergirl and swallowed down a giant dish of berries. It was great to see Sasha and David again and sit at "our" table, but it was also some much needed pampering and tastiness.

I feel like I'm amidst a giant crash down from a giant high. It's exacerbated by the fact that I literally can't run right now. My brain no longer has Sunday's endorphins, and my legs are itching to run. My left foot, however, begs to differ and might even have a stress fracture. Great. I spent the last six months of my life preparing mind, body, and soul for this event, and now it's finished. All of a sudden, I crossed the finish line and that's that. While I had an amazing finish experience, what with the sprinting and the sobbing and all, but I did manage to notice the spectator's silence and bored looks as I ran down the final stretch. I wanted to yell to them! "CHEER, BITCHES!" I didn't, of course, but it was eerie how quiet it was. I'd say it was the beginning of the Post Marathon Anticlimax.

My running buddy sent me a really touching email today, and not just because of his last line, "Thanks for being my running buddy. I'm really gonna miss us." (Swoon). I digress. He talked about how he knows and he feels like he's done something remarkable and extraordinary, so why does he feel so disappointed and let down? Why is it so anticlimactic?

I thought that I would get past the emotionally rocky last week of preparation and race day, and be a normal person again on Monday. Tuesday at the latest. But here it is, Thursday, and I just feel like I'm sinking further and further into a post-marathon funk. People are still asking me about the race and telling me they're proud of me, so it's not like I'm disappointed in the support or being all "CHEER BITCHES"-y. It's just a "so, now it's over" moment.

As I limped towards Extraordinary Desserts last night, leaving my doctor-issued crutches at home out of pure shame, I realized that I need to hurry up and recover and get out on the trails again, so I can clear my head and just run again. (And burn off the pot of crystallized sugar I was about to eat).

That last paragraph clearly means it's an addiction, counting the days until I can shoot up again. Actually, I think we can pretty much agree this whole post signals addiction. Awesome.