Thrown back into the wild...

Ever since returning home from Arizona, I can't lie...I feel like I've kind of been walking around aimlessly.

What's that? You mean I don't have to wake up early tomorrow morning and run until my blisters pop?

Needless to say, all this free time on my hands has made me a little crazy. I feel like I need to be doing something. anything!

We've decked the halls.

Okay...correction. Mike pretty much decked the halls. Those that know me well are likely scratching their head and asking if I'm sick since I pretty much LIVE for Christmas (remember my crusade last year?)...

But no.

I'm not sick.

Just in a funk.

A funky funk, at that.

Now that I'm back to "normal," I simply don't know what to do.

(and for the record, whatever this is going on with me, it's hardly normal.)

Adjusting to life after training is proving to be far more challenging than I ever anticipated. And dare I say that I actually miss doing those ridiculously long workouts? Because I do. Sorta. Just don't go and tell that to the Chief of Pain...because I'm not quite ready to start laying everything out for 2010.

So what do you do when you find yourself in a funk?

You do something permanent. and painful. and awesome.

So in true Barb Masochistic Fashion...I went with Mike and got inked on Friday night. But only after a freak out moment (I had it in my head we'd be going several days later) that consisted of a flurry of encouraging texts.

It was nauseating.

It was painful (arguably moreso than the race itself).

And it was exhilarating.

I nearly drew blood when bit my tongue since there wasn't anyone holding my hand. I focused on three-part breathing. I came close to tossing cookies. The burn reminded me that I was alive. And I found peace in the pain.

I think it looks pretty damn fabulous on me, too.

I promptly went home, opened a beer, and admired the new awesomeness in the mirror for a while. Then had to triple check to make sure it didn't wash off accidentally.

(Talk about doing something drastic!)

But I can't lie when I say it's been fun being able to peel of clothes and show off the ink to anyone who wants to see it (including a bartender--woot!).

In other news--after 10 months of minimal alcohol consumption (much to the chagrin of my husband and my friends), I've gotten wasted two consecutive weekends, including last night's small gathering of friends "throwing my back into the wild" since I hadn't seen the interior of a bar in oh, almost a year.

The hangovers hurt so good.

And my tolerance was surprisingly not too shabby all things considered.

I've done exactly one workout since IMAZ...a run mid-last week, just to test out the legs and make sure they still functioned. And to my amazement...they did. A little too well, perhaps. I decided to go out and just run until I felt like I should turn around and run home. And after three miles along the lakefront, I had to fight myself to turn around and go back. I honestly think if you asked me to throw down a solid 10-miler, I would've been able to. Easily. Instead, I was happy with the 6 I cranked out at a 11:01 pace.

I still find myself sitting around thinking "what's next," "so...," and "now what?"

I mean...how do you top a day that was so infinitely awesome? Where on earth do you go from here? Because really...the finish line was indeed its own start line...the start of arguably many things...

...but the start of exactly what? I'm not sure...

...but I can't wait to figure that part out.