The lowest of the lows.

This week hasn’t been a great week. What I have noticed the past year is that the downs seem so much more steep after I have had some “up” weeks for awhile. I thought last week was pretty good. I managed 33 miles, despite being sick on Friday.

This week, I have been a miserable slug. I am dragging myself out of bed each morning, shuffling around at work, and dragging myself back home. Running has not happened, save for a miserably failed attempt at a recovery run on Monday.

One of my biggest frustrations is: why am I so tired? Is it because I was sick on Thursday night and that knocked my immune system down? I ran early on Saturday morning, which made me terribly exhausted. Did that drain me so much I am having a hard time bouncing back? Are my thyroid levels just continuing to plummet and my medicine isn’t working?

I would deal with all of this so much better if I had a magic date that I could mark on my calendar with a gold star and a note saying “you’re cured!” But that has not happened. Each month passes by, and it is another month I claw and fight my way through the minutes of every day.

Some days I am OK. I would never say “great,” because I haven’t felt well since last spring. I am always aware that under the surface, I am tired and I am not 100%. But I have days were I feel OK. And I can go on a run. I know I am nowhere near running stairs at Baker U stadium. But I can get out and do some nice easy running.

Some days I am not OK. I don’t want to do much more than lay down and sleep. That is where I am this week. I have not gone for any lunch walks. I have not run. I step on the scale and feel horrible about myself. I know that until I have energy, my metabolism is in the toilet, and I won’t get back to looking and feeling like me. And I am impatient. It has been almost a year. I am more than ready.

I have a 5K and a half looming over my head. Just a couple weeks and I will be plodding along the trail, remembering how I was flying last year, and now just struggling to keep an easy pace. That is a hard thing to accept. To feel that you were once good at something, and now feeling like you are less than mediocre at it. Everyone will tell you “good job” and they fly around you. And they smile. And they are most likely being sincere. But I am not wired that way. I don’t want a participation medal. I want to be fast. I want to win.

It is lunchtime, and I want to nap. I am drinking my crazy-caffeine tea and am hoping I have enough left at the end of the day to FINALLY get some miles in with Atlas. I need those miles. I need to not feel worthless. I need to feel like me. I remember me. She was a fearless, crazy girl. She didn’t back down and didn’t quit. Now she is scared and alone. And she just wants no one to notice her struggling.

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