Missing: One Mojo. Reward: A Mumbled Apology

Have you seen my mojo?

I just had it, but now it's gone. I've retraced my steps, jingled my keys in hopes that it would come scurrying out from under the couch, and even called it from my cell phone to see if it would ring or vibrate or play "Yankee Doodle Dandy," or do something to reveal its hiding place.

Work meetings, volunteer obligations, and other real-life stuff kept me from my lunch workouts most of last week, complicating my search and convincing me that I was wasting valuable training time as I smiled and nodded and acted like a grown-up instead of throwing myself on the floor and pitching a fit about not getting to work out like I really wanted to.

Mid-week, I found some of it next to the treadmill, and a little bit more under my Pilates mat. But I still had this aching, nagging, unfulfilled hole in my psyche that was more than a little pouty when I sent a sideways glance to my lonely gym bag in my office, knowing it would be at least another couple of days before we could head out together and really reconnect. The fact that I couldn't even muster up enough energy to care was proof that my mojo levels were low and falling by the day.

I went through the motions in my morning workouts, dutifully doing my cardio and trying to be enthusiastic about beating my own personal record in barbell squats. But I wasn't into it. I searched the dryer to see if my mojo had gotten statically connected to something. I started to wonder if it had fallen into whatever black hole sucks up random socks.

On Friday I went to the doctor. She listened to my heart, looked in my ears, and tapped on my knees and ankles. She wrote something on her clip board, probably a grocery list or something, and looked up at me. "Classic case of a mojo deficiency," she said with finality. I'm serious. That actually happened. Okay, it didn't. But I was low in Vitamin D, which has been scientifically linked to mojo. Okay, that's not true either.

As I drove home I wondered if maybe instead of looking for my mojo, I should try figuring out why it left. If I fixed that problem, maybe it would show up under my bedroom window with a boom box over its head, silently begging me to take it back, which would be pretty impressive seeing that I live in a one-story house.

Over the weekend, I got a lead that my mojo was off having a pity party, complaining about busting its ass every day and never getting any respect. I peeked my head in and caught the tail end of my mojo venting about about how it gives and gives and gives and what does it get in return? And then I understood: there's been a little too much drill sergeant and not enough camp counselor in my workouts these days. I've been so focused on getting all of my training in that I forgot to smile at myself and enjoy the process.

So this morning I went running in the chilly air and just let the endorphins wash over me. I didn't pay attention to my time, and I didn't check my heart rate. I just ran. In the weight room, I slowed down and really felt my muscles respond to the resistance and push through to become stronger. And as I left and bid everyone a good day, I think I caught a glimpse of my mojo following behind me.

I'm glad we're back together, my mojo and me. I just hope it doesn't hang this over my head for too long; we have work to do.