“The moment of victory is much too short too live for nothing else.” – Martina Navratilova
This week I discovered the post-run blues. After working up to that 10 kilometer race for 5 weeks, I felt at a loss. I didn’t expect that. I thought I’d feel over the moon about having done it. Instead I felt adrift and sad it was over. After learning from Keri that this is normal, I wondered once again why everything fabulous is followed by the blues. Babies, finishing novels and now wonderful running adventures — all followed by the blues.
The down I’ve had this week after making it to my goal reminded me of what that great tennis lady said and helped me to remember how fun the process of getting to a goal is. It’s hard to remember sometimes when I’m in the middle of it but it is truer than the truth. And one of my favorite getting-to-the-goal moment last week was the ferry ride.
I grew up in the Pacific Northwest so ferries never seemed unusual me. It’s hard for me to imagine a world without them. The parents often debated as we went to Grandma and Grandpa’s house on Bainbridge Island from our home on the other side of the Puget Sound. Drive around or (joy or joys!) take the ferry?
In my memory the boring drive around the peninsula won out far too often but every now and then, we’d pay the money, so my sister and I could run from one side of the boat to the other, noticing how the waves played with the prow or the stern and feeling the thrill of the wind at the front of the boat compared to the calm at the back. We never could understand our parents reasoning when they let money keep us packed in a car complaining for the entire hour and a half eternity it took in the days before DVD players, iPods or other such entertainment.
My ferry ride with Keri and her marvelous daughter last Sunday was, once again, one of the best parts of the trip up the the Fort Ebey Kettles Run last Sunday. The day was remarkably beautiful. I can’t say enough about the weather that was supposed to be rain and more rain but turned out to be sparkling sunshine with views of the Olympic mountains dusted with snow.
On With the Run
Ferries are in my dreams and in my memories of that super run where I felt my dad around every corner from the boat to the trails, right along side the trips to my grandparents. The shuddering car toting boats provide a way to get from one place to another, but over the years they’ve taken on more meaning. My only complaint about that Mukilteo-Clinton run is that it’s too dang short. Sort of like the build up to a run, memories of being pregnant, writing the novel (in retrospect) and, the biggest too short ride of all: life.
Here’s to loving our ride, my friends. May we all get to soak up the wind in our faces, watch those waves, let ourselves feel sad it’s over and then move on to our next adventures. Mine will be a mud run with my teenager in March. Now that’s enough to pull me out of the blues, right there. 🙂