Trust me, I’m no egomaniac.  If you’ve read even a handful of my marathon training posts I think you can attest to the fact that I can be annoyingly self-deprecating.  Although I admit there is  probably a smidgen of narcissism deep down in someone who keeps (and publicizes) a blog about their own experiences, I usually don’t take myself completely seriously.  But at the same time I believe there is a lot of truth in sarcasm, so here I go.

One of the best things about completing a marathon is taking time off from running.   As you may have detected towards the end of my training posts, preparing for and completing a 26.2 race burnt me  out both physically and mentally.  I sat sedentary for a full week before returning to classes at my beloved gym, Urban Escape Fitness.  I could count on one hand the number of times I ran, outside of the gym, in the remaining months of 2013.  It was a mostly lovely vacation- not worrying about ticking off miles, not being preoccupied by keeping predetermined paces, or having to drag my butt out of bed early on the weekends to train.  But throughout this self-imposed break, I couldn’t help but feel that I’d left a big ol’ chunk of myself back in Portland.  Not my heart (that remains in San Francisco ha ha) , not my mind (that has been racing just fine, thank you), maybe my headphones (I haven’t been able to find them since marathon day), but definitely the majority of my ego.

One of the worst things about completing a marathon is taking time off from running.  When a person spends weeks and weeks, 18 to be exact, preparing for something- what is she to do once the anticipated date and event have passed?  If her perception is that she has been victorious, then she’d probably sprint across the finish line with elevated dignity and continue on her path.  She probably wouldn’t throw in the towel and throw out the running shoes (not really- those suckers are expensive) once she arrived home.  But if said person was less than pleased with her achievement, she just might take the deflated remains of her self-worth in to hibernation with her bad attitude  and her  jog bras.  All this would be fine and dandy until she magically realized, or her husband patiently pointed out to her, that she might be a little happier if she stopped being so hard on herself and got back on that horse bike trail.

So here I am, logging miles 4 days per week- “everybody loves a comeback story, especially starring me” (sorry, Real Housewives of Beverly Hills reference- I couldn’t help myself).  I wish I could say I’ve taken to my running return with the greatest of ease, but in reality I’m a little less motivated and a hell of a lot slower than before.   As I struggle through workouts which are paltry fractions of 26.2 miles, I persevere mostly by trying to convince myself reminding myself that both the act of running, and the state of being a runner, are a part of who I am.  And if all else fails before I head out, I check my Garmin and the remnants of my ego, at the door.