Sometimes things REALLY suck

[CN: depression]

I had thought my 18-mile run would be the last long one before my marathon since it was three weeks out, but my coach gave me a 20-miler for two weeks out.

I was not thrilled about this because I was on vacation in California, but I spent a lot of time in advance on Google maps trying to plot my route through the city. When I arrived, however, I learned that California is freaking mountainous. Who knew?

So I threw out my map and planned to run six dull laps around the lake.

I went to bed at a reasonable hour and woke up the next day . . . with a terrible stomachache and still felt dreadfully sleepy. So I dozed another hour, felt a little better, and got dressed to go despite a deep feeling of dread and "I-don't-wannas"  . . .

And then I found tears streaming down my face for no reason at all for like ten minutes straight before I even left. Wtf? It was a beautiful day; I couldn't have asked for better running weather.

I dragged my butt out the door, spent another five minutes just trying to set up my freaking interval timer and GPS tracker, and set off downhill a half mile to the lake. The "I-don't-wannas" persisted, and though I can usually shake it off and push through, I really struggled to make myself run during the designated intervals and even stopped to sit several times (which I never do) to try and get it together.

After an unbelievable mental struggle through the first lap, I cried through the entirety of the second, stopped many more times and longer, and was too far gone to reliably assess whether the pain in my hip and butt was serious enough to stop. I tried to start a third lap but knew there was no way I'd finish it without walking the entire thing, so I turned around to walk back to the apartment. Still crying for no fucking reason at all PLUS feeling like a complete failure PLUS looking forward to telling my coach I'm a complete failure PLUS suppressing all sorts of terrified "how am I ever gonna finish my race—what if I DON'T finish my race?!" thoughts.

I'd managed only a piddly 8.33 miles out of TWENTY in two and a half hours, whereas those 8 should have taken less than two hours.

Seriously.
Crying for no GD reason.
Can't run another step, and I know it's not physical.
WTF?
Is my depression doing this?

In recent weeks, I've had a few bouts of the uncontrollable urge to cry for no reason. Last year it was constant for weeks and meant I needed to up my dose of bupropion. Running has usually balanced my emotions and I have never before had to face this while running.

I felt a little better after showering and dressing, mostly because I wasn't running anymore. But this was a seriously important training session, and there was no way to try to redo it in time for the race.

The next day I ran a similarly slow 4 miles instead of my scheduled 2, and I still felt crummy and weepy, though less so than the previous day.

As miserable and difficult as the summer slog had been, at least my fucking brain wasn't malfunctioning. Even though I'd had some crummy runs, they were just that and nothing more: no additional weight or emotions attached to or triggered by them.

There's not a happy or conclusive ending to this post except that my hosts totally understood and offered me hugs, didn't mind when I said "not right now," and didn't push me to talk more about it when I withdrew.

My coach was very understanding, which I pretty much expected, but depression brain doesn't understand anything more nuanced than "OMG, I have to tell her I'M A FAILURE."*

However, the week improved markedly, and I'll write more about that next time.

*Aside: wicked déjà vu just now

Trinity River Run Race Report

Two thumbs down for the 2016 #TrinityRiverRun last night.

The nearest available parking an hour and a half before the race was 0.6 miles from the start.

Not sure why they even called it the “Trinity River Run” since—instead of using the long, beautiful Trinity River recreation trail—most of the course wound through ugly, smelly parts of Dallas, starting near the jail, and over dangerous cracked and crumbling asphalt and unmarked potholes, closing MANY intersections and obstructing a ridiculous amount of traffic, as well as running us up and down over and under every possible bridge.

And I'm wondering how the heck they can afford all those cops and closure permits—I've never seen so many on just a 10k course—when the event took a HUGE loss last year, which was its first year.

I was killing myself through most of the second half of the race to stay ahead of some asshole wearing strong perfume. WHO THE HELL WEARS PERFUME TO RUN?!

There were too few water stations on the course—no problem for me since I brought and drank all of my water bottle, but I heard several participants complaining of thirst—and they ran out of cups for the second and final water stations.

Then the finish line was a quarter mile away—no exaggeration—from the medals, water, and warm fucking beer.

At the end there were too few trash bins provided, such that I had to set my warm beer on the ground when I left, because the bins were all overflowing onto the pavement, making a big damn mess of such a nice park.

I mostly signed up for this race because last year's tech shirt was so great, but this year's has a poorer quality of fabric and a crummy fit.

A Noteworthy Run

I had a noteworthy 16-mile training run yesterday.

When I got to the lake well before dawn, I used the portapotty, and then discovered I’d locked my key in my car. With my phone. And all my gear. It was still dark, and my car was the only one in this lot . . . except for a cop car at the far end.

I walked over to ask if the officer could call a locksmith for me, and he looked at me solemnly and said, “No.” Then his face lit up and he said he could actually help me because he recently bought a Slim Jim kit since so many people ask if he can help them get into their cars. And he hadn’t gotten to use it yet and was kind of excited to try.

As we went to my car, I wondered if maaaybe I should have pulled off the Black Lives Matter decal, but it was still pretty dark, so it went unnoticed or unmentioned. I was going to offer to get my ID from the trunk to prove it’s my car (there were a few other runners in the area), but he never asked, and I finally got to start my run. Thanks, DPD!

All of this happened, by the way, with a high surge of anxiety that wouldn’t dissipate for at least 5 miles.

I had been SO looking forward to the forecasted low 50s weather, but it ended up in the low 60s instead. I kept wondering “wtf?” as I passed so many people in sweatshirts while I was basically sweating my tits off.

The run itself was wholly unremarkable . . . except that it wasn’t nearly as torturous as I’d expected! My Vibram FiveFingers just weren’t working for me for more than about 10 miles, so my long runs in recent weeks have all been epic suffer-fests. Yesterday I had on a new pair of Asics, and I’d finally figured out how to lace them to give my toes enough space to spread and keep my heels from slipping.

There was an official half marathon happening on the trail that day, and I arrived before it began, had no trouble parking, finished after it ended, and faced no delays on my drive home. What luck!

I also packed myself an icy cold, post-run egg nog in the car. It was awesome: 10/10 recommend. (I’m so clever) I had a 90-minute massage that afternoon and felt pretty good on this morning’s 2.5-mile recovery run. Who’da thunk?

And then I realized the marathon is just over a month away, and holy crap, that’s kinda scary.

Well, I’m already chowing down on chocolate, trying to suppress the election anxiety, so let’s just roll the marathon nerves in there too. I'm sure it will all be fine.

My Willowcrest Dollhouse

In the late ’90s my grandmother built me a Willowcrest Dollhouse from a Greenleaf kit. She was new to the craft and put a lot of literal blood, sweat, and tears into the effort. I remember her fingers often being bandaged from working to cut out the pieces.



She had taken my sister and me to the hobby store to pick out a kit for each of us, and we got to choose the paint colors for the finish, too. I loved the Victorian Mansard style and deep, rich colors. Nana built the whole thing and finished the outsides, leaving us the interior to optionally finish at a later date.









She often took us shopping for dollhouse furniture, and I had no idea at the time the value of all these things. As my interest in dollhouses has renewed this year, I am certainly learning the physical and monetary costs for myself.




The house took a bit of damage since we moved at least a half dozen times since its construction, and I had to remove all the roof shingles since so many were pulling away. Earlier this year I wired it, my first time working with dollhouse wiring. I've primed all the rooms and am oh-so-slowly trying to paint the staircase hallways before papering the rest. Of course we didn't know it would be so difficult to do after construction, and any sane person would probably leave those crevasses empty, but I have tiny hands, an artistic heart, patience, and no small bit of stubbornness on my side.









Unfortunately, life has been quite hectic all summer with marathon training taking up most of my free time, and I've not made any progress in two or three months. That's why I started a small room box project in the meantime: I can work on it on the coffee table and complete significant pieces in a small amount of time, compared to hauling the Willowcrest to the dining table, tipping it and propping it upside-down or on its side, relying on a hand mirror to reach the stairwell, and waiting hours for many coats of paint to dry. But hopefully I will find time again.

The Tennyson Dollhouse

In the late ’90s my grandmother built my sister a Tennyson dollhouse from a Greenleaf kit.










Now it sits in my bedroom with my surplus dollhouse furniture, waiting for Sis to move back to the area.

Sacré Bleu

I've had a renewed interest in dollhouses this year, and in addition to remodeling the one my late grandmother built for me, I've been watching Craigslist regularly for others to cherish.

When a beautiful Windflower Manor listing dropped from $200 to $70, I jumped on the opportunity, contacted the seller, and asked my aunt to come with me to pick it up because at 52 inches tall, it certainly wouldn't fit in my Corolla. It was even bigger than I'd imagined, and the seller had cut the price again to $60 for a recent garage sale.



She said it was built in the ’80s, and her mother-in-law was going to get rid of it a few years ago, so she drove up to Chicago to bring it back to Texas and had begun refurbishing it. But her 2-year-old took a liking to it, specifically to climbing on it, so it HAD to go.



Yes, it's absurdly large, but I'll have fun decorating the interior and touching up some of the minor wear and tear. It's in nice shape overall, though. And I certainly won't be tempted to buy any more dollhouses as long as I live here — I now have three sitting in my room since there's not space in the craft room, and I wouldn't trust the cats anyway.



I'll not be able to work on it any time soon since the Willowcrest still needs finished and I'm presently working on a witch cottage room box, but it will be a great place to keep the surplus of miniature furniture I have while I work on the other house. And I'll share more pictures of all these in future posts.

Delicious New Music!

Banks released the album Altar on September 30, and it is glorious.

Beats Antique just released Shadowbox album today, and it is HOT.

I'm sorry I don't know how to embed a Spotify playlist, but go listen to these. Seriously.

And for good measure, here's the Luke Cage playlist.