In 8 Pics: A blog-type series dedicated to narrating the odd collections of photos I gather as I roll through the adventures of my life. Click to enlarge. Or visit the full gallery and respective album for more.
I haven’t written much here lately and this is a little odd. Not because I don’t take the occasional break from the pitter-patter of little fingers on my keyboard, but traditionally –in my multiple years of writing– August and September have both been months when I’ve done a lot of blogging.
But August was thin, and a third of the way into this month, it’s looking even more sparse.
Claire wanted to go for a bike ride this evening. She was brimming with bubbling-over enthusiasm, and so I grabbed the camera, set her up on her bike, and tailed behind her to the park.
She did loops.
I sat on a bench and wandered around a little bit snapping photos.
She bustled with glee at the glorious evening.
I turned on the grungy-like filter on the camera and took artsy-fartsy pics of the trees.
She biked five full loops of the park and in the middle even left her bike with me and ran –yes, ran– a full lap of the park.
I sat on the bench and talked about the weather to an old lady who was walking her dog.
It’s not sadness. Nor depression. Nor anything deep or broken. So, maybe melancholy isn’t exactly the right word. But after a summer of epic accomplishment, after months of training and build up to that one stupid race, the sudden crunch back into half-assed running and fatherly commitments to school and lessons and whatever else is swirling through our lives and –even if it doesn’t splash in my face directly swirls our lives in rigidly defined directions, that crunch is just taking a few extra days of getting used to than I thought it might. It’s a heaviness.
A weight, as if after putting myself through this ridiculous and monumental task, a task that is tied with credible anchor points to all sorts of societal expectations, after achieving that singular goal, that there is something heavier inside my brain that I haven’t quite figured out how to deal with.
I mean, I’ll get over it. I’m pretty sure. I’ll deal. I’m not looking for pity or some kind of fix.
But it does mean the blogs are a little more sparse.
The walks are a little more meandering.
The words are a little more weighty.
And this particular September continues to flit by in a breeze of uncertain expectations and unbalance.
I was actually doing a bit of reading on the topic last week and, as it turns out, post-race slumps are not uncommon. If for no other reason than just having an epic goal that is so complete and final –as if a switch was thrown– the moment you cross the finish line. After all, we did four months of hard training and it all built up to one run on one day and ultimately one step across a single arbitrary line in a parking lot. And bam! Over.
I have other races. I have other goals.
(And I have a brilliant little girl to keep me grounded, too.)
But at the end of the day all I can say is that I made some kind of trade with the race course: I left a little bit of me behind there that day and collected a few new fresh knick-knacks for whatever metaphorical dusty shelves are lining my brain. It changes you, I think. And it’s difficult to explain beyond that.
Either way, September is still fresh and a little melancholy for the trade… but I’m okay with that. Though, if I’m still moping around in October you have my permission to kick me in the butt.