Redemption Rising

Last weekend's race was a hard pill for me to swallow. I felt like an impostor. The time itself has had less of an effect on me than the feeling that seeped in to every nook and cranny of my willpower. Questioning my goals as far as running goes has felt a little foreign to me. I look back over my running log for the past years and I really do wonder if I struggled as much mentally with it as I do now. But who knows...I'm really sick of examining the autopsy of my drive and determination. Shit, if it feels that way then what am I saying? Is it dead and I'm just the grieving widow who refuses to accept the passing of such an important part of life? Fuck it. I honestly don't care at this moment.

I logged a whopping 15 miles this week. Today's run that was supposed to be 13 (in order to flush the bad aftertaste of last week out of my mouth) turned out to be just 5. I ran with my sister which was nice.

Hopefully my motivation is only mostly dead...