Oh, you guys.
It has been a long, arduous six-ish weeks. See, in mid-April I went on vacation (and totally rocked a 19.3-mile weekend). Then I went to Phoenix and slid into a bit of depression that I could not shake. For my next trick, I got sick. Like, really sick.
Between the many medical professionals I spoke with over the course of the illness, I've been told it was probably bronchitis, walking pneumonia or full-on pneumonia ... or the combo platter. Because when I do things, I do not do them half ass. No sir, the whole ass or nothing, thank you very much.
So, it's been about six weeks since I've worked out regularly (or at all.) I've tried, but breathing was nearly impossible, so every time I tried, I abandoned it again.
That wears on you after awhile. My sickness left me feeling even more depressed, and I could not for the life of me see the way out.
I've dealt with depression off an on throughout my adult life, and this was by far the worst, because I could not find a way to help myself.
Finally, last week, the right meds began to kick in, and I'm coming back to life. The thing is, the decline was so slow and steady, I didn't realize how bad it was. I had zero energy or motivation. I felt horrible, all the time. Even when I tried to do better, I just didn't have it in me.
I share this because for about 48 hours now, I've felt better. After six weeks, the light came back on, thanks to great medical care and an even better support network. I'm hurtling toward tri season completely untrained, but I am so joyful to be able to do it at all, I cannot wait.
It will not be easy. But I will cross that finish line.