Can't I just cut out the middle man and mainline the endorphines?

Today has been the first day in a long time that I have decided to stay in and be lazy, but not as a by-product of depression. Well, not originally. As the sun begins to lower in the sky, that raw, sinking feeling has begun, and I've realized that it is quite possibly impossible for me to avoid feelings of deep depression when I spend the day alone. It's just not a good thing in the end. This is unfortunate, because I really do value my time alone.

One of the reasons I decided to make today a "me" day was because last night I parked my car at Dad's, knowing that I had nothing planned for today. Normally, throughout the day I would move my car around town to access free two-hour zone parking. Not having to do this is a luxury. Second reason I designated today as a "me" day is because, as aformentioned - no plans. Thirdly, I am incapable of moving without pain, so I figured I might as well take advantage of my immobility and sloth-it-up.

I have been dancing more lately, in anticipation of two upcoming competitions in February, and two in March. Competition season snuck up on me immediately after Christmas break (two weeks of no dancing) and I reminded myself that if I commit to a competition, it's only worth going if I'm going to make my best effort to succeed. This means effort, and effort means pain.

I know, I know, all dancers, runners, swimmers, and so on, go through basic pain. It's all a part of the process. After all, what is that slogan? No pain, no gain? Since I've begun kicking it into high gear, so to speak, I'm reminded of the fact that, well, I'm not so young and resilient any more. People older than me are guffawing, but to try and make it more understandable - competitive Highland Dancing is similar to girl's gymnastics - there's a reason you see no one over 24 doing it publicly. It's hard on the body. Harder than most adult-oriented sports. I had a sports medicine doctor (who was the official doctor for the Canadian figure skating team) who told me that my feet and ankles reminded her of a ballerina's and figure skater's combined (skaters are notorious for having ankle injuries, and ballerinas, well, we've seen pictures of their feet. If you haven't, be sure to do so on an empty stomach). For the record, I was 15 when the physio told me this.

Sunday, I performed for a Robbie Burns function, which was super fun, but there wasn't enough time for me to warm up which (again) is the difference between a 30 year old body and that of someone who's 15. Not warming up is a very bad idea. Vurry Vurry bad. Then Monday and Tuesday I had vigorous lessons. I love it when my dance teacher pushes us almost beyond ability, because I feel like I'm getting my lesson-worth. If I wanted moderate exercise without too much challenge, I'd go to aerobics (for the record, I used to, but quit because it was too boring and easy). Today is my day off dance, and then I'm back at it tomorrow. Why do I do it? Because dancing is my favourite drug. The *only* time I don't feel depressed is when I'm dancing. The only time. I can't get enough of it, and I would do it for hours a day if my body would allow.

Unfortunately, these days, every time I land to the beat of the music on the ball of one foot, I swear my spine is compressing to the point where I'm going to lose an inch in height per month. This morning was the second in a row I had to rely on Advil to get out of bed, and for the record, I am usually very good at tolerating pain without pain killers.

Hence the lazy day. Lazy doesn't necessarily mean unproductive, as I believe I'm incapable of going a day without doing something. Currently I have my laundry going, and I'm 3/4 of the way through a book I started this morning. My dog has gone for two walks, and I've showered and washed my hair. After a long mid-morning nap, I decided that I wasn't going to be in any less pain unless I bit the bullet and moved around. I strapped on my running shoes and went for an hour long jog and power walk, stretching my seizing arches and achilles along the way. It seemed to do the job - I felt a little less rickety, and my mood had significantly elevated after all that fresh sea air and cardio.

Over the past few days, I've come to a few realizations. One is that I can probably keep my mood in check easier if I get some form of hard exercise every day. Something about those endorphins - I can't get enough. The other is that I'm going to have to invest in a large bottle of advil.

So here I am, feeling good about the choices and actions of my day, and perfectly happy doing them by myself. Why then, do I feel so lonely and down? This is why I wish I could bottle those exercise endorphins - I come off of them and feel hungover from the high - wanting more, but too tired and hurting to be able to go back to it... yet. I wish that I could find happiness and satisfaction in all the things I used to, like reading, and knitting, and taking my dog out and yes, even doing things like laundry! I'm quickly realizing, however, that I'm craving an extreme escape from life, all day long, and it can only be found in going all-out. I need to be going 100 mph, because anything else is too slow. After all, then I may have to pause and think.

Hobbling down the stairs to switch my laundry,

PS