Everything seems a little surreal as I head into the final stretch of my second 70+ week. I'm tired, certainly, but it's a very zen sort of tired. Except for the hallucinations and the staring into space, I feel very centered and strong. I've got a worrisome soreness in my throat, but it would be weirder if I wasn't feeling some sort of physical strain these days. At any rate, the fatigue keeps my mind off of the rest of my life. Next Friday is my boss's last day at the company and there's been no sign of what the powers-that-be have in mind for me. As far as I can tell, they're content letting me and one part-timer continue to run what used to be a four-person department, but that's just a recipe for disaster as I see it. Mistakes will be harder to catch and work is bound to fall through the cracks and when it does...will that just give them an excuse to let me go too? It should all be very worrisome, but it's so easy to focus my mind on mile repeats instead.
Which reminds me. Last night's track work out was a bitch. Huuu-MID, and how. And of course the usual carnival day care circus freak show. Who knew the place to be on a Thursday night is the Riverbank Park and Recreational Center? Bring your kids, bring your in-laws, bring your games involving balls and waterguns and play them on the track! I got one real, turn-around-and-smack-your-mother wallop on my shoulder from a soccer ball on the third lap of my fourth mile repeat and shocked myself with the shrillness of my voice when I shrieked something close to "Truck!" and "Watch it, will you??" I sounded like such a harpy to myself that I was sure they'd be aiming the ball at me next time around, but I guess I scared them. One of the college track coaches commented as I swung around on my last mile, "She looks like she gonna beat somebody up!" I think I would have too. Especially since I was pissed off at myself for slacking the second and third repeats so I really did have something to prove over those last eight laps.
It all came back to bite me at 6:30 this morning when I headed back out into the park for nine more miles. I wasn't in pain, but I felt incredibly heavy and sluggish. The rising sun hung dimly in the hazy sky, a pale salmon disk you'd expect to see over the African savannah. The thick air felt exotic and foreign as well, so I tried to visualize myself as a bounding gazelle, despite the fact that I was really feeling much more like a constipated water buffalo. It was the slowest I've run in quite some time, but if you're meant to measure effort by your heart rate, then I'm sure I was still probably pushing the pace too hard. No worries though. Tomorrow is certain to be better and I'm sure it will help knowing that my easy week is just around the corner.