Just give me some candy after my hug.

For some reason this week seemed monumental. I was slammed at work and the Wednesday off in the middle seemed to make the week longer than normal. And I guess I'm still recovering from Sunday's 20 miler (and not going to bed when I should, like normal) because I'm just totally knackered.
I love running. I love running in the sun and the rain. I love listening to my music and getting lost in my thoughts and almost run over by any number of vehicles and bikes and careening around people with gigantic baby carriages that take up the entire sidewalk and quickly slicking my hands down the back of waggy dogs as I fly down the leaf strewn trail next to the roaring, churning creek. I love crossing the finish line and post run coffees and brunches. I love feeling the stress fall off me as I come down 15th and envision myself at the 26.2 mile mark of whatever upcoming marathon it is I'm training for. I love the confidence that I have in my body and what it can do and my discipline and the knowledge that if I can have a PB in Boston then I'm pretty sure I can face most challenges that come my way.
And. This year I had a personal best marathon. And a personal best half marathon. And this is the first time that I will have run three marathons in one year.
I do not love having to cut out early from Po's place and missing out on all the great food and wine and conversation because I have to get a good sleep in to run 6 miles tomorrow so that I can race 13.1 miles on Sunday.
I do not love being exhausted when I wake up in the morning, or the time it takes to train for a marathon. I hate gels. I almost threw up when I tried to ingest the last, lingering Powergel that I had languishing in my cupboard while I was out for a fourteen miler the other day. My brack toe was intriguing initially, but now I'm just worried about gangrene. It's cold and dark and rainy out and I seriously am concerned about getting wiped out by an errant Mazda 3 or Jetta (such pricky drivers) or turning my ankle on a wrinkle in the sidewalk.
Running has been wonderful to me. Running keeps me sane and it makes me happy and relaxed and it allows me to eat as many whole grain Triscuits as I want. But tonight I realized that I want my life back. I want to have fun with my friends for as long as I want, as late as I want. No more cutting out early. No more saying no to Corb Lund and Mozart tickets. No more lamenting that I'll have to make up Wednesday's six miles at 6am in the morning in order to be able to attend book club.
After Vegas, I swear I am going to scale back.
I promise.