Thursday, May 26, 2011
Tapering + PMS= FML
There aren't many things that grate on my nerves. Mylar and helium balloons that linger around my house well after the celebratory occasion. Reaching into the paper clip jar for a paperclip to discover a seemingly endless paperclip chain. Attempting to wrap a gift moments before a party and discovering there isn't any tape in the house. Seriously, why don''t people warn you about these things before you have children? I would've fully savored those days of having tape, batteries or operating flashlights when I needed them. Most of the time, I deal with these little setbacks. I grab a glue stick when I need to wrap a gift. I plunge a pair of scissors into semi-inflated balloons that sneak up on me, deflate and bury them at the bottom of the garbage. Pet peeves are just a part of life. We take them in stride.
Typically I am a "Ain't nothin' gonna break-a my stride, ain't nothing gonna hold me down, whoa, I've got to keep on movin'" type of person. Then that week out of the month hits. No, it's not when I've got my period. Things calm down then. It's the week prior, when my hormones rage and take me, and those lucky enough to be around me, on an emotional roller coaster. I dread this week. It's full of feelings of being wronged, overwhelmed, dumped on, inadequate, misunderstood and ignored which in turn leads to brooding, lashing out, over thinking, withdrawing, or blowing up. Up until this week, I thought that my moodiness reached epic proportions during this time frame. This week I discovered that this is only the tip of the iceberg. Throw a little tapering and pre-race jitters into the mix and things get real exciting! I've decided that this condition needs an acronym of its own: TPMS (tapering premenstrual syndrome). PMS is hell on a good day. TPMS is hell on a bad day.
No, dear readers. I have no tips for coping with this unfortunate condition. Nor are there wise words about how TPMS can make one a stronger, better performing athlete come race day. I don't even have a witty, funny or even crude punchline to tidily wrap up this post. The only solace I take is that this is only a temporary state of being. Eventually the real Trail Smitten Mom will return. Hopefully that day comes before those around me have to be treated for PTSD as result of my TPMS.