I kept going away from the truck. I figured why not - it's not going to get worse than it was. At the most I'd just cry more.
So I headed north another 10 miles. By the time I stopped to turn around I was slightly better. Several friends had texted me word of concern or encouragement - I appreciated it.
I answered those texts and turned around. By then the sun had finally made an appearance and I had a tailwind. Somehow this combination made "shut off brain, murder legs" functional again. I am unsure if walking will be possible tomorrow. I hammered the entire 22 miles back. Hard as I could muster today. What took me 90 minutes to do on the way out took 59:14 on the way back. According to Strava I set four personal records on today's ride. I even went up the bridge at 21.1 mph. Yeah, tomorrow is going to sting a bit, I think.
It seemed to do the job. I finished exhausted, but with a "sadness hangover". Hard to explain. I'll get through the rest of the day instead of climbing into bed and putting the covers over my head, but I'm physically and now mentally exhausted.
I have been doing so well. I don't know why this happens. It seems like PTSD but instead of a battlefield or something it's a hospital bed. It comes out of nowhere, without warning, at any time. And they are happening farther apart, giving me a false sense of, well I guess security for lack of a better word. Shit. I fucking hate this.
It's Uncle Dave's birthday so we are going to check out the Frog Leg Festival in Fellsmere. I'm glad my mood has improved enough to go with and try and have some fun. And yes, I'm going to try one.