Lately, it seems, my hobbies (that is, the things I do by choice, not because it’s my duty or obligation) boil down to:
I spent the entire weekend in or near my apartment. Saturday was a dull gray day, one of those kinds of days for which they invented the word “dreary”. I was planning on going for a run but it was too cold and whenever I was ready to run (either right out of bed or two hours after lunch) it was raining. I did go for a short 2-3 mile walk, but since the middle part of that walk was spent in the Iron Horse scarfing down a huge lunch I’m not sure that counted as exercise.
Sunday I planned on going for a run, along with cleaning up my apartment and going out and being social, but, well, only one of those got done, and since I’m complaining about doing nothing but sleeping and running I’ll bet you can figure out which one. My run was 7.5 miles, and, knowing that I wasn’t all that energetic, I should have left my watch at home, because I was sure to be disappointed no matter what my time. For the record, I ran the 7.5 miles (with frequent walking-breaks) in 1:24:46, for a pace of 11:18. I know, I know, for longer runs it’s OK to go slower than shorter runs, but, dammit, I’ve done that exact run in much better time and under worse conditions (hot and muggy). Oh, well, I’ll do better next time.
But, yeah, the sleeping. I napped both Saturday and Sunday, and above and beyond the napping slept for at least 12 hours each night. I even ended up sleeping in this morning and not getting in to work until 1:00 PM. Sleep is practically my second hobby.
I’m not even sure it’s depression; more like a general apathy towards anything that’s not sleep. No motivation. I’m not sure what’s keeping me running other than perhaps a psychological inertia.