Just like with childbirth, I think three days post-event is the hardest. The endorphins have dissipated, your Facebook is strangely quiet, and all that's left are some vague aches and pains.
I've hit the Inevitable Letdown.
In the last three days, I relived the race to anyone within earshot. I talked about the crazy mariachi guy spraying runners with a hose in Pilsen. That couple dressed as bananas on Broadway. The guys twirling rifles in Boys Town, and all the spectators who offered hard candy, popsicles, and even set up tables with goodies for us. I scoured the race's website and crunched the numbers -
Official time: 4:14:33
Overall place: 16,550/40,567 (40%)
Place Gender: 5311/18,389 (28%)
Place Age Division: 890/2953 (30%)
- and wondered if I could have gone faster if my legs were a bit more rested, if that pack I was in was a tad faster. I thought about crossing the finish line, finding my mom, how good that beer tasted on Sunday night. Man, it was fun.
Yesterday, I paid bills. Changed the kitty litter. Swept the kitchen floor. At one point, I pressed my face against the window, admiring the lovely fall weather and wished desperately I could lace up my shoes because it was just so perfect out there. I caught myself looking at runners in my neighborhood with envy as I drove around doing errands. I had to suffer through early morning dark runs; these lucky cats are out at 10am! And it's a luxurious 72 degrees.
It is also not insignificant that the Inevitable Letdown coincides with the arrival of Marathon Fotos in your inbox.
I opened mine with great anticipation only to find a horrible, hideous group of the most unflattering photos of myself ever taken.
Oh holy crap, why did I think that tank top was flattering? I felt much...thinner. Is my face really that puffy? What is wrong with my right eye? Good god, am I ugly. Why does it look like I'm walking? ...that's an odd expression. I didn't even know my face could do that. Where is the finish line photo? They missed my finish!
Argh. Curse you, Marathon Foto. At least I don't have to shell out $8,000 on silly photos, since they made that decision easy for me.
I coped by eating four pieces of cold pizza for breakfast. That was a mistake. I should have stopped at three.
Life feels very quiet now. What am I going to do tomorrow morning? No long run. No pasta party tonight, that's for sure. Crap, I could potentially have a glass of wine, guilt-free. That's just...weird.
Suddenly, I don't know what to do with my hands.
So...LA in MARCH?!