I remember this space of time, after every major race I've run, where I slump a little. I've just spent a significant amount of time working toward one day, one event, and now it has passed. And there is this feeling of "Now what?"
What do I do without a goal? What do I do now that I don't have to supermonitor what I'm eating? Now that I don't have to structure every run toward one specific purpose? Now that I don't have to plan weekends around run time(and run recovery time)?
This time has always been a little hard, a little sad, a little lost.
But this time?
Not so much.
I'm not sure I can really say why, either.
I think I went into this knowing that it was the last one. And I felt like I got to end on my terms, not someone else's. And I think knowing that from the beginning really changed the game for me.
It was almost like a last dance. A chance to say good-bye.
And we did, the marathon and me. We had a lovely last dance.
And now? Now what?
I still have two more races lined up in the next month. There's no laurel resting time. And that's nice.
After months of quietly, patiently accepting that life kind of revolved around my training and how my body was reacting to that training, after months of doing very little of what he'd like to do, or going where he'd like to go, and not complaining about it, Hubby gets to make some plans for us for the weekends. And that's nice.
I don't have to completely micromanage my food intake anymore. And that's nice. Dangerous, but nice.
I don't have a giant, all-consuming goal on the horizon. And (for now) that's nice.
Now I can turn some attention to other areas of life that are sorely in need of attention (and not just my clutter-strewn house). And that's nice.
Now I feel a little stronger. A little lighter. A little bit ready for what comes next. Whatever that may be.
And that's nice.