Last week I wrote out a wonderfully long blog post detailing the horror of my first marathon. Or non-marathon. You know, since I didn’t actually get to cross the finish line of 26.2 miles – instead it was like, 23.5 miles.
Toe-may-toe, Toe-mah-toe, though, right?
I remember distinctly finding a ton of articles on the post-marathon blues when I was researching training plans 6 months ago and wondering what exactly that would feel like. I kind of skimmed over them since I really had no reason to look at them, with like not having completed a marathon or anything at that point.
But so you know, PMB basically means you’re sad at life. You committed and worked hard to achieve a certain goal and now you have nothing to, for a lack of a better phrase, look forward to. You’re just there. With this medal (or non-medal) hanging out trying to figure out your next step.
Do you sign up for another one as soon as possible to try and beat your time? Do you choose to step up your game and look at ultra-marathons? Or triathlons? Or do you simply stop doing any freaking thing that is remotely fitness oriented (other than wearing race shirts) and ignore your feelings altogether by drinking fruity cocktails your husband prepared?
DING! DING! DING! We have a winner!
It’s not that I haven’t thought about it – especially since I have a half-marathon coming up next weekend that I signed up for before marathon day (not exactly my smartest decision) – it’s just that I haven’t cared too. The first few days after the marathon, I could chalk it up to giving my body a break. I had just ran nearly 24 miles in really crappy conditions and I was all sorts of emotional about it. But by Wednesday, I was no longer sore and really had no excuse.
I simply didn’t want too.
I figured to get myself out of the funk, I’d make myself go for a run that Friday – nothing forced, maybe 2 or 3 miles – but my husband had other plans. He couldn’t handle the fact that I officially had a better story to share with friends/family concerning my marathon so he just had to do something about it.
He decided to hammer metal to the point that it splintered and flew into his eye, cutting it. Like, literally cutting his eye. Not the area surrounding his eye. Or the lid. But the actual eyeball itself. It’s called a corneal laceration and resulted in 5 stitches. In his eye. He had emergency surgery Friday, was home Friday night (it’s an outpatient procedure which is crazy because there are stitches IN HIS EYE) and needless to say, any idea of my wanting to go out for a run was quickly vanished as he became the priority.
Here he is hopped on pain killers after surgery channeling his inner pirate.
Also, I’m a filthy liar because he in no way planned on doing this to outshine me on the pity party story. But he has. Damn one-upper.
He should be able to regain full vision back but it’s going to take time (2-3 months possibly) and well, that’s frustrating for him because he needs to see to do work. And that’s frustrating for me because, well, if you’re married or in a long-term relationship, or live with someone, or basically have had any interaction with anyone ever in your life you know why – people get pissy when they’re frustrated and can’t do things they’re used to doing.
Like bending over. Picking things up. Or anything that would strain the eye in any capacity.
For someone who is a farmer/plumber/operator, uh, that’s next to impossible. So, prayers are always welcome as well as any positive thoughts you may have lying around.
Anyway, that’s pretty much been my post non-marathon life. Not working out & taking care of dead eye. It’s been an interesting couple of weeks.
Hopefully we can follow up these shenanigans with non-eventful and boring weeks. They may not be glamorous but at least they don’t result in hospital bills, am I right or am I right?
Have a great one, friends!