Two weeks ago, I took a week off running.  I wasn’t injured and I wasn’t recovering from a race.  Instead, I had been gradually been building mileage and was running well, but I was losing motivation.  Perhaps it was the end-of-winter fatigue that comes with fighting the cold, the wind, and mounds of snow.  Or maybe it was the result of having a lot on my plate at work.  Whatever the reason, I just wasn’t feeling it.   So I made my big girl move and put away from running shoes for seven days.

At first, it was easy.  I was still riding on my smart trainer, I had the pool to swim in and I booked a few yoga classes.  My walk to and from school removed the void of wanting to do anything outdoors; so did the chilly outdoor supervision duties that come with my job.  But by Friday, with two days to go, I was ready to give in.  “Just an easy 5K,” I told myself.  “If you are going to rest for a week, take the whole 7 days,” I argued.  I settled with a long ride on my trainer instead.

Saturday was my last day off.  After swimming and doing some chores, the outdoors started calling me.  “I can’t,” I sighed.  “I’ve come this far.  I’m almost there.”  That’s when it hit me.  I had evolved. All week long, there were no tears over not running.  Not one.  Sure, there were some mind chats back and forth telling me why I should or should not, but I had generally accepted the decision to take a break.

Deep down, I guess I wanted a week of rest even if I didn’t need it.  What I did need was to miss running, which I did, and find the spark that normally sends me flying out the door.  And while that spark was back and lighting the fire, I stayed true to my goal: 7 days.

On Sunday afternoon, I laced up again.  Spring was visiting and temperatures soared to 13C.  I spent 45 minutes running on roads and mucky trails and felt amazing.  The combination of time off and spring weather worked.  I am excited about running again.

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