Five hours previously I had posted a picture with a brief message alluding to Joseph’s successful first day back in the school saddle; I’d been mentioned on twitter as part of ‘7 Special Needs Mother Bloggers You Must Follow’; had a decent run after dropping laddo off at school and bought the dog’s bollocks of all trainers.
I was pleased that Joseph hadn’t cried about going back to school, slightly disappointed that he had spent a brief period in the cupboard that masquerades as a cloakroom before venturing into the classroom, but overjoyed that when I went to collect him and found that he had not kicked the shit out of anyone.
And then the feeling hit me like I’d just been kicked in the stomach and I couldn’t understand why I felt this way. So in typical me fashion, I tried to analyse why I couldn’t be content that we’d both had a great day without worrying about the next hurdle.
Imagine training for months on end for a race and you had put every ounce of energy into perfecting your training so you could produce a brilliant performance. And incredibly, you deliver the performance but when you finish, you body is exhausted and you are mentally drained due to the months of physical and emotional energy you have invested. You are elated at what you have achieved, but you are already worried about the next race and whether you’ll execute it as well. All you want to do is lie down and rest.
And that is where I am right now. For me, I’ll always be on a treadmill and whether we’ll be running on the flat, uphill or downhill it’s anyone’s guess. I know there is no significant rest period and there will be another run tomorrow. Maybe it won’t be THE event of the year and it won’t get the coverage the big run today has but it’s another run and I hope the training will suffice.
I have a love/hate relationship with running, but I will kick this marathon’s butt.