Welp. That was embarrassing. You know what I need? I need me one of those “IT HAS BEEN ___ DAYS SINCE AN ACCIDENT IN THIS WORKPLACE” signs, except for missed blog posts.
The oopsier part? I don’t have a decent excuse, other than Big D got a hold of me. I know, it’s such a bummer, but it’s true. Didn’t want to get up, didn’t want to do anything, slept too much, felt stressed about lack of productivity. Rinse, repeat.
To be honest, I don’t really know if it was a bout of depression caused by inactivity, or a bout of inactivity caused by depression. Either way, I’ve spent the past week locked in my house, not doing much of anything. It’s been a HOOT. And since I’ve been a big bag of empty only getting a sense of satisfaction from playing Sims 2 and seeing my virtual people get promotions and buy houses and other stuff I’m not doing, I’ve kind of kept my head down and out of reality for a few days.
The simultaneously wonderful and terrible thing about these grey days is that I don’t know when they’ll go away. While I’m in a funk, I feel like I’ll never be cheerful again (H/T Ron Weasley). But once I make that turn, I’m back to being productive and creative and happy again like the dementors had never even shown their faces. Their terrifying, soul-eating faces.
Quick sidebar: I know JK Rowling has said that dementors are a metaphor for depression, but let’s talk about how infinitely grateful I am that depression doesn’t actually have a physical form. SWEET MOTHER OF GOD.
Okay, so anyway. I’m not sure what it was about yesterday, but without really thinking about it, I got out off the couch, put on my hiking boots, and drove to the trailhead over by the firehouse on Sierra Madre. I got out of my car, I put in my headphones, and I just started moving.
And it felt TERRIBLE. But in a good way! I’m so out of shape, you guys. I’ve lost some weight since getting sick (coming up on 20lbs now, yikes), but I’ve been pretty much couch-ridden since Thanksgiving. So stamina-wise, I am about as fit as an asthmatic walrus.
But I did it! I dragged my heaving sweating hindquarters all the way up that mountain, and it was worth it (although I wouldn’t have agreed while on the ascent. Don’t make me sweaty. You won’t like me when I’m sweaty.). I haven’t done anything more than a short walk through the neighborhood in months, so this steep climb (1000ft+ gain in just over 1 mile) kind of kicked my ass. I kept making deals with myself: get to that switchback and you can take a break. Make it to that tree and you can have some water.
It’s kind of pathetic, but it worked. Just when I thought “I honestly can’t make it to the top, I HAVE to go back,” I turned the corner and saw the peak. And then, I shit you not, Get On Your Feet by Gloria Estefan came on. Who can give up with that kind of musical cheerleading?! So I hauled myself up to the top of Azusa Peak and was rewarded with a pretty breathtaking view.
So what did I do when I got to the top? I looked around to make sure I was alone, then I ran down the path yelling “I’M GOING ON AN ADVENTURE!” Bilbo Baggins style. And then as the sun started to set, I ran down the mountain. I’d like to say it was a wild rush of endorphins, but honestly it was only because the path was so steep that if I tried to walk I would have just rolled down. So I hopped and skipped and jumped my way down.
And today? Today I am sore. And tired. But not tired in my soul, like I’ve been this week. Tired because I got outside and did something. So, here’s to hoping I can use my mountain-running momentum to get my sickly hippopotamic ass in shape and start taking care of myself a little better.