Optimistic title, no?

Confession: This is not the first draft of this post.

Weird, I know, because normally I operate on the “word vomit with some typos” single draft method when writing my blog posts. But not today. I was trying desperately to feign some version of my normal Friday cheerfulness and obnoxious rambling about how everything is perfect and running is super and puppies are cute and sequins should be everywhere.

Running is super, puppies are cute, and sequins should in fact cover more things than it already does.

But, I couldn’t even fake it today. I’m in a funk, and I didnt’ want to admit it.

After some flailing attempts to write out my feelings about “FRIDAY AND WEEKENDS ARE AWESOME!” and all that, I realized it was bullshit, because I actually don’t feel too pumped about much today, and it was all a lie to write a post acting like I was.

One big “select all” and “delete.” That’s what happened not too long ago, which leaves me here—admitting to both you, and myself, that I’ve been pissy today and didn’t want to admit it.

Why? No reason…which is always worse. When I’m in bad mood, 99% of the time I am either hungry or tired.

I’m like an infant, if you didn’t know that.

However, neither of those are the case. I’m caffeinated, I’m exercised, and generally things are pretty dang good. No reason bad moods suck, especially when I start getting down on myself for being pissy when things could (always) be much worse.

I’ll get over it, and I am sure you don’t want to hear me investigate the cause of my bitchiness any more. And I don’t either, which is why I’m here. Writing is theraputic, but only if you tell the truth. You see, earlier when I was trying to write about my favorite things, it felt tedious and annoying and I couldn’t muster any energy whatsoever to make my fingers type. That’s because my usual zest wasn’t there, and now that I’m actually writing about the way I’m really feeling—well, the word vomit is coming no problem.

Funny how that works, huh? Thinking back to all that writer’s block I experienced in college when writing about something I hated—it was always so difficult to force a paper out.

{But don’t worry expensive liberal arts institutions, that probably never, ever happens to anyone else.}

The truth is, good writing necessitates honesty. When I say “good” I’m not boasting about my blogging abilities—because goodness knows there is no Shakespeare over here. “Good” is more of a subjective term, and I always think that my “good” writing is the kind that has my real, honest-to-goodness voice behind it. That can only be done with brutal and sometimes harsh honesty—even when it means admitting to yourself that writing about random Favorite Things sounds like the worst thing in the world.

Why have I taken this long to tell you about why I suck today and didn’t write a post that probably no one cares much about? I don’t really know. But getting down the way I’m really feeling is always helpful, and I knew that instead of ignoring my blog and letting another day go by without posting—I might as well get some words out there.

One of the biggest reasons I started my blog was to have an outlet. Sure, I wanted to keep myself accountable in terms of training, and I wanted to connect with the online running community. But perhaps more than anything, I wanted and needed a place where I could let out some of the thoughts that go on in my head.

Since I was young, writing things down has always been a big help. I’m lucky I figured this out so young, but it’s something that has definitely taken practice and discipline. To this very day, I have to be very intentional when writing down the things I’m thinking—good or bad. It’s really easy to hide behind things that will distract us from our bad moods. My resort comes in the form of Gossip Girl episodes and bottomless bowls of trail mix, which is about 50% chocolate chips.

In my last post, I advocated for this type of relaxation. But, there’s a difference between relaxation and distraction, and that’s unfortunately what our unwinding habits can turn into. Which, once again, leads me back to why I’m here.

I want to be merry and peppy and favorite-y today, but I’m not.

And it’s okay, because I’d rather be honest than put on an act.

I’ll get over my funk, and I’m glad that I was able to realize that the trials and tribulations of Blair and Serena and all those other beautiful people wasn’t actually relaxing as it was distracting me from the fact that I’m funked out.

*If you’re wondering what the majority of yesterday afternoon and this morning looked like, I think you can guess*

That all might not make sense, and I’m sorry if you’ve wasted your time waiting for some a-ha! lesson. I suppose the “lesson” is that sometimes it’s better to admit your problems than to pretend they aren’t there.

And believe me, I know a bad mood hardly qualifies as a problem. But, it’s a small scale example of something I think a lot of us do frequently. Finding an outlet for whatever it is that’s getting us down is the most important route to take, in my opinion, and for me—that’s here…and running.

Oh, this is a running blog? Have I been whining about nothing for this whole post while you wanted to talk about running?

Yea, I wished the same…and I’m sure soon enough I’ll be back in action, complete with sequins and exclamation points. And I need to get my act together, particularly because on Monday I have some pretty sweet news to share, and I won’t have a choice but to be pumped about it.

So, weekend, I’m going to squeeze every “stop being a bitch” activity out of you as I can…and if all else fails, I’ll rely on the Red Robin meal tonight that I’ve been crafting in my head since 9 am. Coping mechanisms people…I have many.

If you’re still there and feel like helping me find some joy in the world…what are YOU doing this weekend? Are you excited and glittery today, or are you hanging out in Oscar the grouch land with me? What are your bad mood coping mechanisms? What’s your outlet? Should I get the bacon cheeseburger tonight or the bacon cheeseburger? Oh, a spiked Freckled Lemonade you say? Done.