I feel the need to apologize. You see, summer is in full-swing here in Seattle and… I kind of fell off my fitness and health wagon. I woke up last Thursday and, for the first time in a long time did NOT want to go running. Nor did I want to go to the gym. Or bootcamp. The very thought of prepping a week’s worth of Paleo fare made me sick to my stomach. I was burnt out to the max. I wanted to lie on the beach, listen to Bob Marley, drink a handful of microbrews and make daisy chains while Blaze wandered around Trolley Hill Park.
So that’s exactly what I did. From Thursday until Monday, I spent a lot of time indulging in everything that is summer (and not necessarily Paleo). I managed to squeeze in a handful of five-mile runs, but didn’t really pound the pavement until this morning when I tackled my first-ever 18-mile run up and down (and up and down) Seattle’s waterfront. Instead, I had a really good time with some of my all-time favorite people. I went to the Taste of Edmonds on Sunday, where I had a piroshky and a Red Hook ESB. The same night, I treated my mom to dinner on the patio at AQUA by El Gaucho, where I had to stop myself from finishing off a 16-ounce rib steak in order to save room for one or three s’mores at a bonfire later that evening at Alki Beach. Sure, the steak was extremely Paleo, but my Reese’s peanut butter cup s’more was decidedly not. I had an amazing lunch (or two) at Toulouse Petit in lower Queen Anne, which I was really excited to find is an extremely Paleo-friendly restaurant and played at least a dozen pickle ball matches at Kinnear Park. And… I started working out at Urban CrossFit (totally hooked already).
What caused the burnout? To be quite honest, I have no idea. I spent nearly a week being utterly sick of running – complaining about it and procrastinating it and looking for legitimate excuses to not do it. The only justification I could come up with was an odd combination of laziness and dietary sabotage. Convinced that I could overcome the food adversities I have developed in the past couple of months, I set to wreaking havoc on my stomach and psyche. I sat on the beach and had some s’mores. I drank quite a few vodka sodas. I played with Blaze more than I probably should have (not a complaint in sight from the little guy on that one!). Heck, I even did my laundry and washed my windows. It wasn’t until today that I realized something important: I am not sick of running. I’m even less sick of the Paleo diet. I love running and I really love the Paleo diet. The problem I was having is the same problem that I’ve had for years and years and years when it comes to propelling myself forward: I got scared. Until today, I had never run farther than 18 miles in one session. Until last week, I had never gone a month without grains. I have never known myself well enough to identify what foods and drinks and activities make me better – or worse. After a couple months of Paleo living and marathon training, I simply got scared of what my new life had become. So, I indulged.
And you know what? I entered the second half of this week feeling irritable, lethargic and congested. My stomach hurts for the first time since I began the Paleo challenge. I snapped at my brother for having an empty gas tank when he loaned me his car as a favor. I rolled my eyes at my mom when she gave me money to book a flight to New Orleans for my birthday vacation. I have become a huge jerk. And I’m sorry. Really sorry. I’m back and am devoted as ever to the Paleo way of life. Get ready for some killer recipes and exciting news from the R&W home front in the next couple of weeks.