I’m losing it, big time.  It takes all I’ve got to drag myself out of the house for training this week.  Maybe I’m tired from the abusive travel Slovakia put me through on the way home.  We all had to ride on a 5:30 am shuttle after racing the night before, no matter when our flights were.  I was at the airport FIVE HOURS early, and none too pleased about it.  Generally a patient person, I’ve inherited a hidden red streak from my dad, and I was so enraged at the stupidity of getting 4 hours sleep for no reason that I snapped at the ticket lady, the convenience store guy, you name it.  Any mild offense was met with a fiery tongue and a devil’s glare.  Classic “take it out on the wrong person” stuff.  The regret I felt immediately after each interaction still wasn’t enough to prevent further assaults…only a good night’s sleep would cure this attitude problem.

By that logic, one would presume that from three nights of just that, a rosie-cheeked angel should then emerge from her Irish duvet.  But no.  There has been a mistake, for I’ve turned into a sloth instead.  There are plenty of places to train, and no shortage of time to do it, but I don’t know.  Its just not appealing.  Everything is blah.

I’ve put in 7-10 mile easy running days since the race, on faith that things will turn around and I’ll feel motivated again.  I can’t help wondering if I’m anemic or nutrient deficient from surviving on croissants and chocolate (my own fault; they are so good in Europe!)  Tomorrow I plan to attempt a workout, so I guess I’ll have to wait and see.

Black Caste

Ruins from the Black Castle in Wicklow. Taking my camera on runs is the only way to get out the door.