An adventure race called "Death Spartan" or some such...it begins at 4 a.m., running through the dark, then crawling upstream in cold water under yards and yards of barbed wire in the dark, carrying an ax and a bucket. You then find a tree stump with your bib number stapled to it. Chop down the tree stump, put it in the bucket, and crawl back down the muddy barbed-wire stream. Run back to the starting line. And then the race actually begins.
Normally, this sort of thing would excite my every nerve. I'd be checking deal sites for lightweight axes, finding out if I had to bring my own five-gallon bucket, and deciding how, exactly, I'd sell the idea to C (not for him to race with me, necessarily, but to support my spending a weekend in such a crazy, useless fashion). I'd learn what kind of training I'd need for the 48-hour race. I'd be planning my race nutrition. It would be all I could think about.
But yesterday, watching the video...nothing. Not only did I not really care, but I actually found myself thinking, "That looks really unappealing." I don't mind mud and barbed wire, but crawling through cold water would annoy me these days.
Weird.
The sprint (3-mile or 1-hour) version of this race didn't appeal to me, but that didn't surprise me; usually the more extreme version of a race is what really gets me going.
Hmmm.
I got an email from the organizer of the local "Will Race for Beer" series. Beer? Running? Me? I'll do the entire series, please! Except no. I again found myself thinking, "Ennnnhhhhhh. Who cares? No thanks. Whatever."
Am I dead?
I checked out the websites of the local running clubs and check on registration for the local St. Paddy's Day run, a very fun local tradition. I no longer have the patience for 5000 runners in a 4-mile race, a narrow .2-mile finishing chute (one year a friend was forced to walk the final part of the race, because it was too crammed to run), and the local pubs much too packed to enter for the free post-race beer...no thanks. No thanks? Me?
Yeah. I don't care.
And as for this Sunday's long run, I nearly emailed my trail-running group to suggest we do a long trail run instead of a road run. But then I realized I don't want to run this weekend. Road or trail.
I don't get it. It could be because I feel like crap. I feel round and tired and squishy and tired and low-energy and...tired. Running no longer excites me. The thought of skiing doesn't excite me. Or mountain biking (the snow melted already!). I get to yoga a few times a week, and I still look forward to that, but that's about it. That, and I still feel joy biking fast around town.
So I guess I'm not entirely dead yet.
But I feel strange. Maybe I'm coming down with a virus. Maybe I'm teetering on the edge of another plunge into depression (oh, please, no...). Maybe I have a massive case of ennui. I don't know.
I do know that if the one thing I counted on as a stabilizer no longer interests me, I am left wondering if I'm just adrift now. Maybe there's something else I'm supposed to be turning my attention to. I don't feel like considering other goals. I want to know why this thing that was so important to me has vanished so suddenly.
But maybe it is time to be soft and squishy and do something else.
Or just eat cookies, drink wine, and sleep.
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