I've got the post race blahs. I've held them off with constant marathon training since June-ish, but here I am. And I knew it was coming. You know how on race weekend you feel like Superman? You're all strut and swagger, you've just done the impossible, you've kicked all of the couch potato's butts. You can eat and drink whatever you want and be merry merry merry!!
And then I die on the inside.
BECAUSE IT'S ALL I WANT TO TALK ABOUT!!!! In detail. I've learned, however, that the non runners in my life are not interested in how many gels I had, how many salt pills I took, what socks I was wearing, how I wore my hair, if I will lose a toenail, and how many times I pooped before the race. Why wouldn't they want to know about this? Because to a non runner it's the most boring stupid dumb crap ever.... oh yeah, that.
So I sit at my desk and wait for race pictures, reanalyze my splits, look at results over and over again, and wonder... is this how Clark Kent felt when he read the newspaper? He's out saving the world, then goes back to work like it's no biggie. Everyone is all, "oh Superman this and Superman that", and he's just sitting around casually acting like he doesn't have this amazing secret life. Maybe that's what these races are. A way to be superheroes on our down time?
Superheroes sounds much better than mildly self abusive, often OCD types that enjoy relentless forward movement, huh?