I could have sworn I was back on mountain standard.
We’d been off the plane for over forty-eight hours. I’d slept two full nights, crashed hard that first night and then went to bed a bit later (but still like a grown up) the second night. I didn’t even really feel all that tired.
So we went to run club.
Forty-eight hours back in the country and I figured a six klick run wouldn’t be that tough.
I was so wrong.
I’m no doctor and I’m definitely not an expert in sleep, but I like to think of energy like a cup: so long as the cup is not empty, you can get by with your day. If you want to go for a run, that cup doesn’t need to be full or overflowing but it had better have something in it.
My cup was not empty, but jet lag meant that the cup was a lot less full than it would have been otherwise. Half way through what should have been an easy six klicks I was bagged and ready to call it.
Jet lag. Ugh!
I was asleep less than an hour later.
