So, after the elation comes the drop.
Damn f'ing hormones have put me into a slumpy slump.
This will, of course, pass as suddenly as it has arrived. But while it's here my world does not look rosy. This is not aided by waking up with an eye infection (how random is that?); my car sounding like someone has poured a bag of spanners into the engine; and going all the way into town (9 mile drive) and back only to discover that I forgot the eye infection clearing cream that I went to buy in the first place! Not even a trip to the green goddess (Starbucks) cheered me fully.
So, the brain is addled, the pain in nestling helpfully in my lower back, and I am cranky. I thought burdening my blog readers would be the next, best, course of action. But tomorrow will be a better day. I have plans: plans to get some work done, plans to go to the gym and follow new Runners World instruction to only do 12 reps (sounds blissful), plans that the hmrc tax rebate cheque will arrive and my state of penury will subside a smidgin; plans not to go shopping instantly and return myself to the penniless state just to feel the momentary rush of a good shop.
Okay, I think I might have to calm myself and stop being paranoid - I keep wondering if the extra buzz of being pmt-ish made me run faster a few days ago? Hmmm, or did it make me more competitive and therefore push myself harder? I wonder what the hormones do to us while running - there must be books and books on this subject.
Before I rant and rave (or cry and wail depending on the exact moment in time) any more I am going to try and go to bed, with a hot water bottle, and a dog. Wish me luck for tomorrow - I've got all the work in the world to get through (and no real desire to get it done).
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