January Blues

The most depressing time of year? I don't subscribe to that bullshit but PTSD* has a habit of returning along with anniversaries - even when that anniversary isn't noticed, it sneaks up on you.  Every year when I feel this bad I remember that (3years ago now), a vindictive man tried to end my career and if it had not been for some amazing girlfriends** and sport in my life, he might have ended that too.

Today I tried to do sport but instead I sat in my house and read a book.

All day.

At 3pm I finally got up, got dressed and went out for a run.  

It feels like weeks in between any meaningful exercise at the moment - even if it is only days. Every break, every interlude in training feels like a heavy weight of under-performance.  This week is no different.  After 3 rest days, today seemed like a disaster from the start.  Was I tired because I spent all day sat on the sofa? Or was I tired anyway and my choices were between feeling shit this morning, this afternoon or this evening?  I was glad I hadn't committed to a long day out - I could have felt this shite for hours!

It's quite rare I do a ride or run and don't come back feeling better.  "Go out anyway, you'll feel better for it" is almost always true.  When it doesn't come true, believe me, it's a crushing disappointment.

Perhaps I do feel better for it.  I'm proud that I got all the way to where I did - even if I did have to walk most of the way back.  I'm pleased I got out and have something to count for this weekend, this day.

Was it sociable? No. There were plenty of people around but few of them said hello when I did and a few of them resolutely refused to step out of the way like I was a ghost.  Perhaps I was already dead? Or maybe they were ghosts.  My mother complained this week that "Nobody notices 76 year old women".  I reminded her she's been pointing that one out since she was 48 and it's true.

Reflections are clearer than reality

I don't regret my run but still, I don't feel particularly better for it.  I ran like an old lady.  My hips were cooked.  I limped on my left knee despite stretching and massaging it several times.  I slapped my feet on the pavement and had little lift and no drive.  When I couldn't pretend any longer I walked home.

As I walked up the hill I felt nothing.  There certainly wasn't any joy.  A tiny bit of me wanted to cry but I didn't feel enough to cry.  I almost wanted to fall over so I had something to cry about.  I felt partially blinded, blurry around the edges like I was looking through binoculars and my left ear deafened by glue ear made the noises around me blend into one until I couldn't tell if the noises around me were traffic, aeroplanes the river or the sound of my own blood coursing through my veins. 

A runner approaching behind was breathing heavily and I assumed he was going faster than me so I moved over to the side.  I'd got a little cold so I started to run again.  At least I'm fitter than someone and I held his pace at bay for quite some time before reverting to walking whereupon it still took him some time to catch me up.  When he did, he wheezed by me.  Not fast then, just unfit.  Really unfit.  Maybe there's hope for me yet?

The sun didn't "set" the clouds turned rusty pink then back to grey before I could notice and the dim beam of a rubbishy spare head torch did little to lift my mood and only served to remind me that the good head torch is still missing.

Back at the house, getting ready for a shower, one solitary nugget of phlegm rose up from my chest and emitted in a cough to reinforce that I'd done something.  Gross but reassuringly satisfying.

At this point every workout is a small step back to fitness and a reminder that I'm not dead yet and possibly not even doing as badly as I think.

Please mind the slip hazard

*I'm fine, but I need to get this out of my system.

**and everyone who supported me (but my girls were especially helpful)