Floundering

Clematis Armandii

23.03.2015
Day 242
Rest day, a cycle to the local pool to swim, 30 lengths, inexpertly

In theory, these weeks should be all about focus. It's the last month of the serious training year and I could be luxuriating in the anticipation. From this angle, a marathon PB is not beyond the realms of possibility. I am not injured and I have the chance, in the absence of any meaningful or time-consuming work, to spend more time sleeping, preparing nutritious food from scratch, perfecting my tempo runs, satisfying myself that the training miles are being ticked off dutifully. It could be amusing, pretending to be elite, emulating the elite athlete's lifestyle.
In reality, the stress of not being able to command even a minimum wage from my writing, or indeed secure any kind of regular work to pay the bills, has thrown me off the righteous path, casting a shadow over all aspects of my life. After my swim (during which my goggles failed keep out water, my swimming cap kept working its way off my head and other people, even the geriatrics, all seemed to cut through the water like dolphins while I flailed about exhausting myself) I returned to sit at my desk to fret over a piece I have no inspiration for, occasionally wandering down to the kitchen to fill my face with toast and peanut butter, the comfort food I crave, even while chopping fennel and peppers and carrots for the Monday stir fry. It pains me to waste these strangely empty days, or indeed any sort of day, when I know that after 26 April I shall be floundering even more inelegantly, trying to justify the self-indulgence of the past year.
In Aldi I read a sign that bore a quote from a member of the supermarket's contented team, who said the work is so satisfying that  'the days pass really quickly'. Is that such a good thing, to have the days roll by unremarked, in accelerated worker bee mode? My day passed really quickly and here it is bedtime, but I do not feel like celebrating.