Learning to Live Again

This morning after Orangetheory, I found myself on the Mohawk Hudson Bike trail doing my normal half marathon training run.  For someone who used to hate every single thing about running, I am coming to covet this time a bit as I am alone with my own thoughts for a change.  Today, I found myself reviewing the week.  Monday.  Yeah.  That was a day.  I did what most people in their late forties do, I had a "procedure."  Really it was an upper endoscopy to try to find an answer to my god awful acid reflux.  Yes, I know.  I drink a ton of coffee, but no, I am sure that plays no part in this.   I had spent that morning extremely pissed off.  I finally got a day off and I got to waste it being sedated with a camera shoved down my throat.  I didn't get to work out. I didn't get to go get the grocery shopping done, pay the bills or deal with the mountain of laundry in the corner.  I had to do this instead. Well, I had it in my mind I may not be able to drive after due to the drugs, but I still could deal with the house stuff.  Yes, I would be done in an hour, go home and hit the ground running.

There was an issue with that notion.  I couldn't.  I was tired.  The drugs had left me tired.  OK, I'll take a little nap, and then I will get things done.  I found myself in my adult son's room, as it is separate from the rest of the house.  If I walled myself off from the kids, I could power nap without interruption and then get busy.  Only, the bed was warm.   Like a cozy cocoon.  The Netflix was good, and suddenly I was more tired than I remember being in a very long time.  I had slept two hours Sunday morning after my overnight shift to make it to Goat Yoga on time (more on that experience later), and stayed up until midnight after that taking care of household things.  The six hours of fitful sleep that followed that as I had anxiety over the procedure, did not prove restorative.  Suddenly, my post procedure "power nap" was four hours long.  I was warm and cozy and slept like the dead.  I woke up feeling better, put dinner on the table and spent the rest of the evening continuing my Netflix binge watch and moving very little.    My step counter for the day read .37 miles.  Certainly a low for me. 

When I got up on Tuesday, I felt energized and ready to go.  I began to wonder why it was I am so oppositional to giving myself the rest I so clearly need.  I used to think it was more about not wanting to slide backwards by missing a workout, but as I chugged along on the trail today, I began to think that this may not be totally the case.  My "procedure" had forced me to a place I realize now, I have learned to avoid.  Years of being cocooned in my basement, with carb laden salty snacks and Netflix night after night had produced a shield of fat that kept me perfectly isolated and unhappy.  I had convinced myself at the time, that this was my reward for working all day, and moming all night.  However, a certain amount of guilt always followed this, and  I would go to bed each night, promising myself that I would start again the next day, only to fail time and time again.    Now, that I have emerged from that place, fit and healthy, with the badass butterfly tattoo on my left ankle signifying my escape from the cocoon of misery, I think maybe it isn't the fear of going backwards that has me push back on rest day, but the resentment of the years when rest and unhealthy snacks had become my primary activity. 

What happened after my day of rest?  I went to Orangetheory for class, and after had the best training run I have ever had for my half marathon training.  Thirty minutes of intervals all run at a sub 9:30 pace.  Granted it was on the treadmill, making control a lot easier, it was still a win for me.  That proved two things to me, I need rest and I need to trust I can run faster outside if I just get out of my own way.  As these things came into focus today, I would find sudden wisdom in my running playlist.   The Foo Fighters.  "Times Like These" would come on in my third mile.  "It's times like these you learn to live again..."  Three and a half years of learning to live again outside of the cocoon of my basement, under a sea of salty snacks, maybe had a steeper learning curve than I originally anticipated.  In fact, I am quite sure I have quite a bit left to discover about learning to live again.

 I would end my run today at Lock 7, admiring the massive amount of lily pads, watching a cardinal fly by suddenly knowing in my heart of hearts my mom was right here with me urging me to keep learning how to live again.  I may never get good at rest day, but I can try.  Regardless, though, one thing is for sure, the best is yet to come.