Pretty much the moment I crossed the finish line for the half marathon a week and a half ago, I have been stressing over whether or not I want to start training for another one right away.
I am not sure why I can't be like a normal person and bask in the glory of running 13.1 miles without immediately thinking of how I'm going to one-up myself the next go-around.
The thing is, I honestly DO NOT want to go through the training again. It's murderous to spend your entire weekend dreading waking up Sunday morning and running for one, two, almost three hours. I hated walking around like a zombie on my beloved weekend. I hated the anticipation and worry leading up to the race.
The only thing I sort of liked was the running. And I mean it when I say I sort of liked it.
Actually, there was one other thing I liked: losing weight. I don't weigh myself so I can't throw out a number, but I do know that I dropped a few pounds during the training. I felt good, strong, capable. I'm scared that if I don't keep pushing myself I'll gain it all back. I'm well on my way already without the motivation of the training plan.
I guess the answer is clear in reading through this post:
I'm not going to run the next race. My heart just isn't there. BUT, I am going to join the gym and continue running, taking Zumba classes and lifting weights.
Maybe I'll just give myself a training plan and some other motivating factor for finishing it. Because, really, how is a race any kind of reward for completing nine weeks of training?
You know what is, though?
A little shopping spree or, even better, a massage. Yeah, I could go for that.
Anyone care to join me?
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