I can make it another couple days, right?

I am doing all I can right now not to shove my face into a brown paper bag and breathe deeply. I WANT TO HYPERVENTILATE. My skin is absolutely crawling. It's like being a 5-year-old in anticipation of Christmas! And Santa! And presents! Only this time, there is no wrapping paper or caroling or milk and cookies. But what there is, people, is SWEET FREEDOM.

By this time tomorrow I will be in the home stretch. The final hours of the work day. The LAST work day. From that point, it's just a day or two of moving stress, financial stress and lack-of-running stress, but I just don't know if I can make it to that point.

I have not run an inch since the marathon 11 days ago, and in that time I seem to have gained nine pounds, according to the scale. I get it. It's just a number, la la la. My clothes still fit, I still look the same, but shit. Weight, to me, is a mental game.

It's a mental game to everyone, most times, if not a sickness. (It is not a sickness to me. Purely mental. Swear.)

And so when I see a number on a scale that screams "OMG WTF?" it makes me scream "OMG! WTF?" Immediately, I feel awful. Suddenly I'm bloated, and my pants feel more snug. And wait. Wait a minute. Did I just feel my love handle jiggle?

DAMMIT, WHAT THE HELL?

I can look at myself in the mirror and realize I am not fat. Sure, I could handle a little more musculature here or there, a little less in the thighs, and I'd love to get rid of the dimples on my ass, but really? I weigh that much? You're kidding, right? Because I just ran a marathon, and ended an entire spring season of kick-ass half marathons.

AND THIS IS WHAT I GET?

And now I have to last ONE MORE DAY at this job? And waste any precious running time on moving? And why did I eat those cookies at lunch? And ohmygod, here it comes, the hyperventilation.

Breeeeeathe in... annnnnd release. Or something like that.

Luckily for me, and for anyone in constant contact with me, I fully intend to get back on the running train - regularly - next week. I've already been wrangled in to a Tuesday/Thursday group run (that starts at my favorite coffee shop. ON THE LAKE! Oh, Milwaukee. Oh, I love you. I am coming, I promise).

So that'll work out some of my kinks. And by "kinks," I mean, "damn, you're a crazy bitch."

Erin and I also picked out a 16-week training plan for Marine Corps that starts on July 7. It's pretty intense (In tents. Ha. Ha, ha. Never gets old). But I'm excited to have structure again. And a plan.

And whoever gave me the nine extra pounds I am allegedly carrying around better just go ahead and take it the hell back. Jerk.