Yesterday’s run was so hard. I wasn’t surprised. After a big race I always seem to lose my mojo.
I didn’t want to go. It was about 83 degrees. There was a big headwind. I was tired.
I made it 1.5 miles of a moderate run and did about 1.5 mile of 400 meter sprints with 400 meter jogs. I meant to go up to 5 miles with the sprints, but suddenly my body started screaming at me and I was mentally halted by the word “RECOVERY” running through my mind.
I’m pretty Type A…and learning to let go and slow down is
hard difficult near impossible for me. As I finished my run I was thinking of the other times when I’ve had to learn to let go. My mind wandered to a card Chocolate gave me for my birthday.
Inside it read:
Before I knew anything else, I knew how it felt to be loved. Thanks, Mom
It reminded me of arguably one of the other hard times when I lost my mojo. You see, I had brought two new babies home from the hospital before him. I remembered the sleepless nights, the cracked (not chaffed!) nipples, the c-section recovery, stitches, pain, etc. New parenthood is not for the weak of heart.
But let me tell you…bringing home an adopted child is like nothing else. That innate need to be needed that my previous two children had wasn’t there. I stared into the beautiful, broken eyes of a 2-year old boy who didn’t know how to need yet. He didn’t know how to trust yet.
Whereas the card he gave me said the first thing he knew was to be loved, he doesn’t remember that the first things he knew were pain, brokenness, hunger, abandonment and a host of other really awful things. And it was my job to introduce him to this big scary world and show it him that I was safe.
He would do this thing where he would zone out. He’d get lost. I’m sure it was his brain being overwhelmed. At first, it happened every 20-30 minutes, then slowly morphed to once an hour, then once a day, then every few days. Hugs went from zombi-esque to soft and natural. I could tickle my little boy. Forced giggles turned to lit up eyes.
Getting from point A to point B took everything out of me. I always had high standards for my first two boys, but this was different. Patience, grace, and unrelenting abundant love had to flow out of me even when I was rejected, hurt and my tank was totally empty.
Sure, I might have been sleeping more per night than with my other two, but the constant need for me to change my standards, clear my expectations grated at me most minutes of most days. Sometimes I had to learn to dig down deep to persevere and other days, realize my mojo was on vacation.
What does this have to do with running you ask?
You see in February I wrote these two goals down. Finish the Illinois Marathon (I amended it to BQ, but it wasn’t a hard set goal, just a pipe dream) and then to place in the Laguna Hills Half.
This was ambitious. I was going to likely have to shave about 3 minutes off my half PR (doable I figured from my marathon training) and was pushing the recovery boundaries with the races just 4 weeks apart.
So here I am…trying to figure out how I find my recovery, assessing when to dig down deep and when to just adjust my expectations. The former of which I typically do and the latter, notsowell. All the while, my mojo seems to be a month ahead of schedule on the vacation I have planned for June.
What do you do when you lose your mojo?