HAY GUYZ. I know, it’s been quiet over here. I went out of town for an entire week, to fly to LA and then road trip back to PDX through California, with a friend and my smexy man-friend. It was exhausting, but in that good way, and a lot of good times were had.
I also didn’t skate for that entire week–or do much of anything resembling a workout, aside from a 4.2-mile run at the beginning of that week–which was a little weird. I’m sure I’ll be making up for it soon enough, because I seem to have lost the ability to sit still. (related: that 4.2-mile run happened because, after being confined to airports and tiny commercial airliner seats for half a day, I was too twitchy and antsy to not do something.)
Between work, travels, and being sick, I’ve missed more Sunday endurance practices than I care to admit. Now that I don’t have any big trips on the horizon until Labor Day weekend, I’m definitely not allowed to skip that for a very, VERY long time.
I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been depressed, for the past month, maybe more. It’s certainly not the soul-crushing weight of clinical depression I went through in college, but it does have a frighteningly familiar tone, at times. There’s the sense that I’m so very close to that brass ring, that I could grab it if I just did a little bit more, but I don’t quite have it in me to do one more thing in a day. The fates haven’t allotted me enough spoons for that.
It feels like I’ve been spinning my wheels (no pun intended) in many parts of my life, and I’m trying to keep up, trying to keep pushing myself, and waiting for something to happen. The work is paying off, but it’s paying off so slowly that it’s hard to stay motivated. Routine is the only thing carrying me through, and the big payoffs–big paychecks, life-altering changes, getting scrimmage cleared–haven’t come yet.
At least with derby, I have some idea of what I need to do. Having a formula doesn’t trump depression, but it helps push it down just enough to take some of that personal power back.
Beast mode, ENGAGE.
P.S. I totally reffed in the pack for the first time, this past Saturday, heh. I yelled, “CUT!” reflexively, and they sent the offending skater to the box, but I still felt like a jerk afterwards. I mean, I have been told that I should speak up more often at practice, but I’m pretty sure that’s not quite what they meant. 😉