I woke up at 5:00 this morning to run 8 miles. At this point in marathon training, my body is spent. I’m sore.  I’m tired. I’m ready for my taper. Despite all of that, the run went well. I managed to safely navigate the dark, storm ravaged streets and make it home (I cannot believe how many homes are still without power and the size of the downed trees and branches…that Sunday storm was wicked).

After taking Kade to school, Liv and I spent the morning running errands. My sugar was completely out of whack. I was standing in a check-out line thinking…”my lips feel tingly, I wonder if my sugar is low.” I felt a bead of sweat drip down from the back of my knees and I knew I was in trouble. I reached in to Liv’s snack container and started eating. Once through the line and in the car, I finally got to check…48. Lovely. Passing out in a store with a toddler in tow is not something I want to experience (FYI: I took my sensor off this morning and didn’t have a chance to put a new one in).

We got home, unloaded the ridiculous amount of stuff I bought today (little of which we actually needed), and took off for our walk to pick up Kade. On the way home I felt a little jittery and knew my sugar was low again. As soon as we got in the door, I tested…68.

When you couple an early morning run with fluctuating blood sugars and three tantrums over the course of 3 hours, you get a cranky, exhausted, on-the-verge-of-a-nervous-breakdown mama. Instead of resting after lunch (all of you SAHM’s can stop laughing now), I had the brilliant idea of cleaning up the yard during Liv’s nap. It was full of twigs, tree branches, and dog crap. I ended up throwing in the towel when I discovered the downed tree branches were more like trees and less like branches and I could barely lift them, let alone move them from one end of the yard to the other.

Even the everyday tasks of making dinner, bathtime, and playing on the floor with the kids, have required a concentrated effort on my part. My sugar is once again on it’s way into the basement and I’m getting really tired of not being able to lose a single pound because I have to keep eating to treat lows (maybe it’s because I always reach for the cookies instead of the milk, but that’s not the issue here).

My taper starts on Sunday. Maybe the decreased mileage will help increase my energy level. Maybe my sugars will start to stabilize. Maybe my ass will stop aching (seriously, even sitting hurts). Maybe my children will magically start listening to me, picking up after themselves and asking me what they can do to make my day easier. Maybe, just maybe, someone will find a cure so I can just be a mama who runs (I’m sure that I will still bitch and complain, but it will be substantially less…I promise.)