At least I'm not nauseous anymore
The good news: official chip-timed results are up on the race website. 28:44. #798 out of 1406 participants, #278 out of 687 women, 82nd out of 168 in my division (which appears to be females between 25 and 30 years old). So I'm pretty well average. My pace, they tell me, was 9:15. Not bad.
Also good: it turns out that when you log miles at the all-girls fun run at the local runner's shop, week after week, you're working toward free gear. After 50 miles I get a short sleeve Nike Chicks Dri-Fit shirt. Dude.
The bad news: Oh, my God, I'm so sore. My legs are screaming. I'm fairly chipper about that, as such things go; battle scars are made to be flaunted, and all that. Problem is, I woke up with a headache, a stiff neck, and nausea. Between all that, the DOMS, and the are you shitting me? Monday already? but I had to get up early both days this weekend and I never got a minute to myself! resentment settling in, exercise this morning was rough. It's just not a good sign when I start sniveling and whimpering in the middle of the Salutation to the Sun. Bad yoga day. Very bad.
I'm so tired. How I'm going to get through today, I don't know.
Yesterday I had to get groceries before we did laundry, so I walked out to the store (we have no car) and lugged the groceries home. My Hub called me on my cell phone when I was just getting out the door-- he had been taking a nap when I left, since he insists on staying up until all hours of the morning even when he knows he'll have to get up early the next day-- and I was so stressed out and miserable that I snapped at him and then damn near cried on the phone. Next thing I knew, he walked out to meet me halfway home and take the grocery bags from me (oh, my sweet boy), got me home, gathered me up on his lap and let me cry all over him, and then rubbed my back. I felt better after that, but we still had to go do laundry (a huge, horrible amount of laundry). Aaaargh.
The same thing happens every time I seriously book my weekends like that: I get stressed and angry. My Hub has gotten to the point where he can predict an impending breakdown just based on my feeding patterns (which really ought to say something to me about my lack of instant success in fixing my eat-to-fix-stress reaction-- my inner Cartman ran the show this weekend), and on Sunday morning he was predicting a big explosion. Which, pretty much, was what happened with the post-grocery weepfest.
I hate being overbooked. Really, Sunday itself wasn't so bad, it was mostly just a reaction from Saturday and pure hateful resentment that I hadn't had two days to deal with the various things that we have to do on the weekend... plus the race. Saturday, I got up at 5:20 AM and exercised and then went through the long process of rousing my Hub out of bed and getting him moving, and then we helped our darling friend move, and then we came back so that my Hub could take a nap (really, if my husband could get it into his head that he really needs to go to bed earlier in order to get enough sleep before the alarm goes off, life would be drastically simpler), and then we ran off across town to go to another friend's party, which my Hub promised we "wouldn't stay that long" at...
And really, things were okay up until that point. Nothing had really happened that I hadn't already scheduled into my little mental planner. I was tired, but there was the promise of a nap in the near future, and so I just had to ride out the next few hours and it would all be okay.
Except that then my Hub invited another friend, also in attendance at the party, back to our place. And so, instead of having a quiet evening to ourselves in which I could pass out and not have to use my poor tired brain to be sociable, I got four extra hours of Friend Time. This went on, literally, until I fell asleep-- I tried very hard to stay awake but the body needs what the body needs, and I passed out while sitting on the couch. I'm not a good host, really. This alerted my Hub and our friend that oh, possibly it was time for social hour to end. (Gee, really? Did I mention that I have a race that starts at eight in the damn morning?)
Add in the fact that having our friend over meant ordering out for food, rather than cooking, which means that now my Hub is stone broke for the week, which means that now all the incidental household expenses fall to me until Friday, and... yeah. Pretty much, that's where the wheels came off my mental health wagon.
I think I need to learn two lessons from this. First of all, when the weekend is already jam-packed, I am never to assume that I will be "okay" with adding just one more thing. It never works. Never. Ever.
Secondly, I still have to work on this stupid assumption I have that it is somehow more important, even when exhausted and already put-upon, to go the extra mile for our friends. I can't. Some days-- many days-- I just can't. And what happens every time is that I say "sure" and then I resent the hell out of it, but feel like I can't go back on my word and so I suffer through it and then I'm completely fucked. It happens every damn time and I just have to learn to say no. "No, we can't have people over, I'm in desperate need of down-time before the race in the morning." Period. What is wrong with me that I can't learn to do that?
You know what else? I can track that nightmare from Sunday morning straight back to dealing with our friends at that party. They figured out I was tired, and I explained why I was tired, and from some people (including, bless them, the hosts of the shindig) that garnered a certain amount of respect. Not so from others, one of whom cracked wise in a snarky voice, "Well, why don't you just dance around for a while? You said you take dance breaks to stay awake at work, so just do that." Another found this amusing and added "Yes... DANCE FOR US!"
I felt instantly deflated and diminished from that. Yeah, it's a dumb trick that I do at work: when the afternoon sleepies hit, I shut the door and dance around like a maniac to get my blood up. I told people about this because it struck me as a good solution (and because certain friends who claim they have no time for exercise needed an example of what could be done). I feel pretty vulnerable when I share my dumb tricks with my friends, since they're all older than I am and (in spite of the fact that they don't think they do this) they tend to treat me like a kid. So having this one bandied about like that when I was already tired and not really up to defending myself... well, it made me feel small, like they were holding my ideas up for ridicule.
In both of the things that really bothered me this weekend, I seem to suffer from not instantly knowing how to react. I can never tell if I'm overreacting or not, and I never want to overreact out loud if I can help it, so generally I just let these things pass. Then, of course, I take it out on myself by jacking up my frustration levels and making myself crazy. Sigh.
Now, I have to figure out how to keep myself awake. I can't fall asleep at my desk... and yet I've been on the verge of doing just that, all morning. God help me, I'll probably have to bounce around to try to get my blood moving.
Also good: it turns out that when you log miles at the all-girls fun run at the local runner's shop, week after week, you're working toward free gear. After 50 miles I get a short sleeve Nike Chicks Dri-Fit shirt. Dude.
The bad news: Oh, my God, I'm so sore. My legs are screaming. I'm fairly chipper about that, as such things go; battle scars are made to be flaunted, and all that. Problem is, I woke up with a headache, a stiff neck, and nausea. Between all that, the DOMS, and the are you shitting me? Monday already? but I had to get up early both days this weekend and I never got a minute to myself! resentment settling in, exercise this morning was rough. It's just not a good sign when I start sniveling and whimpering in the middle of the Salutation to the Sun. Bad yoga day. Very bad.
I'm so tired. How I'm going to get through today, I don't know.
Yesterday I had to get groceries before we did laundry, so I walked out to the store (we have no car) and lugged the groceries home. My Hub called me on my cell phone when I was just getting out the door-- he had been taking a nap when I left, since he insists on staying up until all hours of the morning even when he knows he'll have to get up early the next day-- and I was so stressed out and miserable that I snapped at him and then damn near cried on the phone. Next thing I knew, he walked out to meet me halfway home and take the grocery bags from me (oh, my sweet boy), got me home, gathered me up on his lap and let me cry all over him, and then rubbed my back. I felt better after that, but we still had to go do laundry (a huge, horrible amount of laundry). Aaaargh.
The same thing happens every time I seriously book my weekends like that: I get stressed and angry. My Hub has gotten to the point where he can predict an impending breakdown just based on my feeding patterns (which really ought to say something to me about my lack of instant success in fixing my eat-to-fix-stress reaction-- my inner Cartman ran the show this weekend), and on Sunday morning he was predicting a big explosion. Which, pretty much, was what happened with the post-grocery weepfest.
I hate being overbooked. Really, Sunday itself wasn't so bad, it was mostly just a reaction from Saturday and pure hateful resentment that I hadn't had two days to deal with the various things that we have to do on the weekend... plus the race. Saturday, I got up at 5:20 AM and exercised and then went through the long process of rousing my Hub out of bed and getting him moving, and then we helped our darling friend move, and then we came back so that my Hub could take a nap (really, if my husband could get it into his head that he really needs to go to bed earlier in order to get enough sleep before the alarm goes off, life would be drastically simpler), and then we ran off across town to go to another friend's party, which my Hub promised we "wouldn't stay that long" at...
And really, things were okay up until that point. Nothing had really happened that I hadn't already scheduled into my little mental planner. I was tired, but there was the promise of a nap in the near future, and so I just had to ride out the next few hours and it would all be okay.
Except that then my Hub invited another friend, also in attendance at the party, back to our place. And so, instead of having a quiet evening to ourselves in which I could pass out and not have to use my poor tired brain to be sociable, I got four extra hours of Friend Time. This went on, literally, until I fell asleep-- I tried very hard to stay awake but the body needs what the body needs, and I passed out while sitting on the couch. I'm not a good host, really. This alerted my Hub and our friend that oh, possibly it was time for social hour to end. (Gee, really? Did I mention that I have a race that starts at eight in the damn morning?)
Add in the fact that having our friend over meant ordering out for food, rather than cooking, which means that now my Hub is stone broke for the week, which means that now all the incidental household expenses fall to me until Friday, and... yeah. Pretty much, that's where the wheels came off my mental health wagon.
I think I need to learn two lessons from this. First of all, when the weekend is already jam-packed, I am never to assume that I will be "okay" with adding just one more thing. It never works. Never. Ever.
Secondly, I still have to work on this stupid assumption I have that it is somehow more important, even when exhausted and already put-upon, to go the extra mile for our friends. I can't. Some days-- many days-- I just can't. And what happens every time is that I say "sure" and then I resent the hell out of it, but feel like I can't go back on my word and so I suffer through it and then I'm completely fucked. It happens every damn time and I just have to learn to say no. "No, we can't have people over, I'm in desperate need of down-time before the race in the morning." Period. What is wrong with me that I can't learn to do that?
You know what else? I can track that nightmare from Sunday morning straight back to dealing with our friends at that party. They figured out I was tired, and I explained why I was tired, and from some people (including, bless them, the hosts of the shindig) that garnered a certain amount of respect. Not so from others, one of whom cracked wise in a snarky voice, "Well, why don't you just dance around for a while? You said you take dance breaks to stay awake at work, so just do that." Another found this amusing and added "Yes... DANCE FOR US!"
I felt instantly deflated and diminished from that. Yeah, it's a dumb trick that I do at work: when the afternoon sleepies hit, I shut the door and dance around like a maniac to get my blood up. I told people about this because it struck me as a good solution (and because certain friends who claim they have no time for exercise needed an example of what could be done). I feel pretty vulnerable when I share my dumb tricks with my friends, since they're all older than I am and (in spite of the fact that they don't think they do this) they tend to treat me like a kid. So having this one bandied about like that when I was already tired and not really up to defending myself... well, it made me feel small, like they were holding my ideas up for ridicule.
In both of the things that really bothered me this weekend, I seem to suffer from not instantly knowing how to react. I can never tell if I'm overreacting or not, and I never want to overreact out loud if I can help it, so generally I just let these things pass. Then, of course, I take it out on myself by jacking up my frustration levels and making myself crazy. Sigh.
Now, I have to figure out how to keep myself awake. I can't fall asleep at my desk... and yet I've been on the verge of doing just that, all morning. God help me, I'll probably have to bounce around to try to get my blood moving.
posted by Meg at
12:08 PM
1 Comments:
The "DANCE FOR US" comment definitely would have gotten a "ha ha SHUT UP!" from me. Except probably only in my head, so I sympathize with the clamming up and feeling hurt. Sorrry they were so lame!
By
Noames, at 8:32 AM
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