I had a 5k this weekend, that I was certain to PR. (Famous last words, by the way!)
And I was all ready and hot to go for it, and I paced amazingly until Mile 2.2, when I (along with 5 other people) got completely lost.
Race was not marked and there was no one in sight. So our little clan stood at the intersection, and said, “Well? Which way do we go?”
We choose right. (Wrong!)
And the wind was knocked out of my sails–because I didn’t know where we were going, or what the hell was going on…. (In the future, I will just run and run my 3.1 and declare that my 5k, official or not. So that was a lesson learned). Anyway, I finished up the race about three-tenths of a mile short, meaning it was a big PR, alright…but not the real kind. I placed second with my time of 25:55. I left before the medal ceremony, because I did not run a 5k. Yes, I had notified the Race Director, who wasn’t concerned, and said, “This is all about fun! Get your medal!”
Uh, no. And okay, sure–yes, it is about fun. But I’m not taking a medal when I cut the course–whether it was intentional or not (not). Because I didn’t run a 5k, and those who didn’t get lost and DID run a 5k- well, they should be sure to be the ones to get the medal.
He understood. So with my 25:55 5k, I left and went home, totally bummed.
Because I wanted to run a 5k and get real results. And I didn’t. But, then I receive the email with the results.
Meredith Atwood, 2nd place female, 35-59, 25:55
And then… the third place girl… her time was 34 minutes.
UGH! So I “did” actually place second?!? I mean, if I had not gotten lost, I would have finished at least 28 something… so. Poop. A second place 5k for me? On what planet does that happen? In a running race? (Okay, a really small one.) But still.
So that was my semi-success note for the weekend.
(*And we had our wonderful Virtual Race with the kiddos and all the others who registered… I’ll do another post about that soon!!*)
In my other folder of notes from the long weekend, I have this one: humiliation.
Yesterday, I was hungry. Like really hungry.
It started because I had a long swim and a run, and I didn’t eat enough and I wasn’t done with the workouts until about 1:30–and I was hangry. Then we trekked with the kids to eat where I ordered healthy, but the food was for rabbits.
Then I came home and ate anything that wasn’t tied down or didn’t eat me.
Had a healthy dinner. YUM.BUT….
I was behind the food 8-ball. I didn’t get ahead of the nutrition early, and I was monster.
SO I made cookies.
I intentionally made them. I watched them bake, with the oven light on. I inhaled the smells. I pulled them out of the oven two minutes early, and started feeding.
I burned my mouth on the steaming, boiling chocolate chips as I stuffed them straight out of the oven into my mouth.
And I did it intentionally.
Without hiding. Right in front of the Expert, with his eyes-wide.
With no apologies. In fact, I had justifications. Even better.
I ate EIGHT cookies. EIGHT of them. [And I am still not sorry.]
You know why?
Because I have spent too much of my life being sorry or disgusted about what I ate. (And rightly so… honestly. There have been some truly bad and horrific things that I have eaten and drank for years. For real). For the most part, I really eat well these days. I take care of myself. I train hard. I don’t eat crap. I don’t drink crap. I do the right things, right? Right…
So I am choosing to let these EIGHT (*yes, eight) cookies go.
Because that’s exactly what I should do–it’s not fatal. I’m not going to gain 10 pounds from it. It doesn’t RUIN anything. It’s just cookies. I mean, we can’t make habit of having *just eight cookies* every day. But…
Here’s the thing though. I am mad that I ate the cookies, because this morning I woke up feeling like crap.
Then I told my strength trainer, and he shamed me for the cookies, declaring me the queen of self-sabotage (in the nicest way possible), and pretty much proceeding to ignore me the rest of the morning. Well, isn’t he mean!??
Actually, no. He knows I can do better. I know I can do better.
He knows that I am made of better resolve and drive than eight freaking cookies. And I am.
So. I am not sorry, really. But sort of, I am.
A positive note for today?
I haven’t eaten any more cookies.
I only cried twice from being completely stressed out from the list of things I need to do–none of which appear to be getting completed. And for having to deal with sh*t that I shouldn’t have to deal with. And for major things that I can’t discuss. And for minor things that are super whining–like cookies–that I can discuss. (Aren’t you lucky!?)
But really, I am thankful that the day is almost over so I can go to sleep. [And put my head in the sand that is my bed.]
Some days are just like that. You do the best you can, and it’s still just too much to bear and deal… even if the stuff is small. And especially when the stuff is big.
And today, is just one of those days. (Just without the cookies. 🙂 )