I trained, I fought, and I performed incredibly well. But I drove the seven and a half hours home and suddenly found myself miserable. Periodic moments of joy interspersed with hours of listlessness, frustration, and anger. I haven’t been able focus.
It already seems weird that I’m a competitive boxer. Me: a 45 year old suburban working mother of three. And I am happy that I fought well, but now I’m also pissed that I lost, wondering if I’ll lose again, wondering how to get another fight, bored to not be training, not hungry now that I can eat anything I want, etcetera.
I satisfied my most painful food jones immediately after the fight (two vodka tonics – thank you, Amy Green – and two Bojangle’s biscuits) and that was the end of my celebration. Now I’m having trouble focusing on my workday. I’m keeping my happy face on, but I finally admitted to friends that I feel like a freak.
What is wrong with me?
Here’s what I know. I’m driven, I’m competitive, and I’m an experience junkie. I obsessively collect experiences, joyride the storm of intensity, then recline in my mental armchair to try and parse what I’ve just been through. But this time I’ve been stumbling in circles, feeling bereft. Over a hobby, for crying out loud.
But my friends are wise.
I haven’t ever met a single one of the women quoted below, but for a while now we have been frequenting each other’s blogs and chatting on Facebook.
Malissa at Girlboxing is also a fighter, and trains at Gleason’s in NYC. She said there were chemicals like adrenaline and dopamine involved, and she also said this:
I often feel the “letdown” at the end of most big projects I work on.
I liken it to some of Elias Canetti’s observations in his book “Crowds and Power.”