So, I have something to confess. I slept almost all day yesterday. Maybe it was the red wine, maybe it was the allergies, maybe it was the hormones, but mostly, it's because I'm exhausted, and I haven't been taking proper care of myself.
Nearly two weeks ago, I hurt my calf during a routine Saturday morning run. I didn't have my phone, so I limped nearly three quarters of a mile down Peachtree Battle to a friend's store to call my husband for a ride home.
If you know anything about me, you know that I get depressed and cranky when I can't run. And when I'm depressed and cranky, I don't eat well. I indulge in too much cheese dip, chocolate and red wine. I forget to work out. I don't sleep well. I lack energy and focus.
To top it off, I've been horrible about managing my schedule. I'm overbooked, exhausted, running on empty and have no one to blame but myself.
I usually prepare for the upcoming week on Sunday afternoons--cheery, optimistic and organized.
Four days of endless proposals, meetings, calls, events and late nights later, I collapse in a heap on the sofa, lacking the energy to even return a simple email. I become paralyzed. Disillusioned. Every. Damn. Week.
Something has to give. I can't keep up this pace, or I'll never make it through marathon training this fall or build my business the way I want to. I need to take better care of myself. I need to learn to say no. To trust my gut more. To delegate. To give in to the exhaustion and go to bed at 9pm some nights. To give myself time to breathe and reflect and write and dream. To spend time with my husband. To recharge.
Because this pace is unhealthy, it's not smart, and it's making me crazy.