Post-marathon blues have kicked in. All of the running, scheduling running, blogging, chatting on the forum, asking the coach silly questions and the countdown to the start line of the marathon ... all gone.
I was buoyed up by my result ... it still doesn’t seem like MY time ... but one that a quick runner would do. Me? I’m average. That’s not my time.
I ran the day after the marathon, through the tiny cobbled streets of Paris from Montmartre cemetery up the steep hills and steps to the Sacre Coeur Church where I paused for breath and looked out at Paris laid out below me like a patchwork quilt. The spike of the Eiffel Tower on the horizon.
How could I top that as a final run?
I’ve entered the New Forest Marathon as an antidote to the blues but it doesn’t seem quite real yet - it’s months and months and MONTHS away. How can I look forward to something that far in the future? It’s like waiting for Christmas! A sweaty, runny, 26.2 mile Christmas.
I stopped eating my 3rd Cadburys Flake of the day yesterday and realised I was using the post-marathon blues as an excuse to be lazy. I don’t run to fill time. Or to get skinny. Or get rich. Or even to prove anything. I run because I love it. And I need to get back out there and remember that I love it.
The thought of climbing onto a treadmill and running on the spot doesn’t appeal at all. I’ve got no wish to go to the track and run in circles like a hamster on a wheel. I need to just get my trainers on and go. To run in the lanes and on the trails. To smile into the wind and smell the rain. To remember WHY I run.
(Stops typing ... goes to get trainers ...)