I know, I haven’t written about my Boston Marathon experience or updated you on the latest absurdity that has come out of Marlo’s mouth or been put on her body. And I want to. I make a goal every day to carve out that time, and while that time never materializes, that’s not the main reason I haven’t.
Once I get done with a spate of travel that started three weeks ago with that trip to Boston and does not end for two more weeks, I have an appointment to meet with my primary care physician and my therapist. I’m experiencing a depression unlike any other I’ve endured in my life, and not because it’s worse. It’s just different. I can perform daily tasks and work my way over challenges like I do when I’m feeling well. As a parent and a business owner, I’m completing all the morning and evening routines with a smile and a hug, meeting my deadlines and rounding up new clients. But a low buzz of sadness hangs onto every minute of my day like a soggy cotton sweater. I wake up almost every morning with tears in my eyes from having cried in my sleep. For no reason.
This started a little over two months into my training for the marathon and only worsened when the mileage multiplied every week. So while I’m sure this is a symptom of the let down many athletes experience after completing a competition, it’s not just that. I’ve depleted my body of… everything?
I don’t know.
And I’m trying to give myself some time.
I thought I might bounce back quickly after the miles dropped from my legs, but it persists. And maybe tomorrow on a four-hour flight I’ll feel a release and will be able to write, I’ll notice a lifting that I need to feel in order to do justice to the hours I spent next to Simon in Boston. Maybe that will happen. But if it doesn’t, I’ll continue to be patient with myself. I’ll get some blood work done and talk about MY FEELINGS, and eventually I’ll figure this out.
Thanks for sticking around.
(But seriously, I can’t wait to tell you about mile 21 when some drunk bystander yelled, “KEEP GOING! KEEP GOING! YOU CAN DO THIS!” and Simon turned to me and said, “Do you still have that pretzel in your hand? Yes? Can you shove it in that guy’s eye?”)