I was pumped all day for my long run tonight. 20+ miles done in 6 runs in 10 days. I was ready to #getsome!

Only I wasn’t. All weekend long we were trapped inside the house awaiting the “Biggest Ice Storm in 10 Years”. It never happened. Yes, we got some great family snuggle time. Yes, it was a very relaxing time: eat, drink, sleep, repeat; for 3 1/2 days. Yes, I still made it outside for a 3.6-miler during a break in the weather. Only the past two weeks of shit weather has left me in a rather state of… Bleh.

I drove home from work this afternoon, basking in this shit grey cloudiness, leaving my want/need to run behind with every mile that I drove towards home.  During that commute, the only thing I gained was an overwhelming craving of something red and peppery, starting with the word Zin and ending with -fidel.  The St. Louis traffic only added to my irritation when I almost got side-swiped by some idiot in a mint green Caprice going 90+ mph… Bleh.

I walked in the empty house, threw the mail on the counter and cried. No, not about the mail. Not about the near-death experience.  Not really about the weather, either, although the lack of sun does depress me something terrible.  I honestly think I am destined to live somewhere warm, tropical, and forever sunny. No, I am just…. Bleh.

My husband arrived home shortly, and tried wrapping me in a great big bear hug and rubbing my shoulders. His touch was all of a sudden irritating.  Contact with my husband is currently… Bleh. Go away husband… Bleh.

I upped my Vitamin D intake last week. Initially I feel like it did help alter my mood for the better. But with two weeks of eating healthy, inputting it into my calorie counter, exercising 6 out of the 7 days a week, and seeing the scale not drop but rise…. I feel fucking… Bleh. And pissed.

I know, I know… I give the same advice to friends and family: you could be gaining muscle, it could be PMS, it could be water gain, you could be not eating enough calories… I know.  Only, that little fucker scale doesn’t know, and likes to taunt me with a stupid number during my deepest, darkest of times, forcing me further into… Bleh.  Fuck you, scale. Just…  Bleh.

So here I am… Floating in a tub with Myrhh and Clary Sage laced Epsom Salts, trying to promote the inevitable to maybe push me past these… Blehs.

My 5-year old daughter came home from school today, crying about how she thought she missed her classmate’s party. It wasn’t the party, or the fact that she had a substitute teacher today and disrupted her everyday. She is feeling the ‘Blehs’ too.

Pushing aside my needs, I helped my little Mini-Me deal with her ‘Blehs’.  Perhaps not the healthiest tactic, I whipped out the chocolate covered toffee, and we each took a little nibble, chatting each other into a respectable kind of calm.

Hopefully, tomorrow brings a new day, minus the… Bleh.