Back to track workouts, a foot that gets healthier by the day, and newly elected to the COC Athlete's Council.
So I was surprised that I felt enveloped in a cloud of "myeh" upon waking.
I brushed my teeth. Colgate didn't cure it.
I checked voicemail certain that a bubbly message from my youngest sister who lights up my day, would zap it.
"Mini Me" never called.
I Browsed through email, looking for that forthcoming/pending message from a producer at the Oprah Winfrey Show asking me to be on the entire hour talking about "Perdita's Favorite Things".
Nothing from "Anybody!@Harpo.com."
Sigh.
This left the one thing that can make me truly happy: nutritives!
I walked over to the fridge, certain a cheese omelet, like the one Darius made for Nina in "Love Jones" would cure me.
Except I had to make it for myself as my "Darius" had already left for work, melancholy-free, no doubt.
When I got there all I was greeted by was a carton of old cherry tomatoes, 'oh my gosh': "I can't believe it's not butter", and "Presidents Choice" organic maple syrup.
I mean come on.
No mozzarella. No eggs. No medicine for my melancholy.
With the shutting of the fridge door I felt the melancholy strengthen. Perhaps I even shuddered.
It's rare that I get like this, but when I do I dislike it. I was determined to shake it.
Potential Cures Contemplated:
1) Chocolate, but it doesn't exactly mesh with the whole I'm trying to get back into shape and be on the podium at world's next summer plan.
Bummer, because that could have been it.
2) Pedicure, however I'm not due for at least another five days. I can't wait that long for a cure.
Plus I can't justify $25 unless my toes are absolutely jacked and girlfriend has to put her back into getting the cuticles to fall into submission.
3) A movie, except all my friends were working. I have been to the movies alone, but that's always in a sans-melancholy, highly confident state.
I thought to go 'as is' today, would simply be like scratching a chicken pox.
And who does that help?
So that left the only outlet that cures my ills.
Going to the track!
But there was a slight problem, I had gone Sunday to Wednesday. Today is Thursday and it was already proclaimed a rejuvenation day. Which is ironic based on how I felt when I woke up.
Today was designed to be an easy, breezy, beautiful, Perdita-can-park-it-on-the-couch kinda day. Practice isn't resuming until Friday.
What's a melancholic hurdler to do?
I sat on the couch and thought.
I traded my track suit for some Levis' and thought some more.
I stuck my foot in a vat of ice for ten minutes, the usual maintenance protocol, shivering yet pensive.
That's when it hit me: I have the option!
For seven months the one outlet that soothes me, that I can always lose myself in was not there.
Some athletes despise training, it's a necessary evil. For me it is a thing I relish.
It doesn't matter what is going on in my life, for those few hours I am training, I just don't give a care.
Neighbour: "Perdita your house is on fire!"
My response: "I'll get some water, just after I finish these repeat 200m runs"
The same outlet that has caused me heartbreak has also afforded me the highest highs, I don't mind the trade off, hence why I keep coming back.
So to have lost then found it, to focus on having the option and to be grateful for it: this is my cure for melancholy.
And guess what just happened?
"Mini Me" just called, she got out of class at York early, wants to know if I, "Mega Me" want to see a movie, a matinee downtown in an hour!!
LOL, OK gotta rush...
Perdita
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