I ran today. 8.6 fairly insignificant kms yet they felt the
most profound of my life. I wish I were
being over-dramatic.
For the last couple of months my life has been a traumatic
joke. For a while I managed to balance
my work life on a knife edge with remaining sane. Constantly challenging myself to keep looking
after myself at the same time as delivering more and more work with less and
less help. Gradually my own life ebbed
away, leaving a worn out, flustered, annoyed, angry, exhausted shell of a woman
I did not understand or recognise. It was
allowed to happen. Help was offered but
it was the wrong kind of help. And so I
struggled on.
Then last week I accidentally booked into the wrong hotel.
I thought I’d upgrade to a hotel in town but discovered that
living in the middle of a shopping arcade and a housing estate doesn’t give me
any motivation to leave on a bicycle.
Then, tragedy, I forgot my running shoes. The easiest device to use to navigate
yourself out of a ford-focus-and-2.4-children hellhole and I left them at
home.
Getting in from work at 6 to 7pm, eating then working some
more then falling over on the bed only to wake at 2am, get up, do more work and
then go back to bed for an hour-or-so before getting up and doing it all
again. My brain was exhausted but my
body was not.
I drove to the station to pick up managers. I drove to Worksop for a massage. Apart from the lack of time to ride, the
inclination wasn’t there. I’ve had problems
with the bike getting into its gears. On
Thursday night, in place of riding my bike, I lay on the floor next to it and
stared at the ceiling then stared at the bike.
At least if I couldn’t ride it, I could fix it.
Funnily enough, in a moment of calm I at least figured out
what the problem was and fixed it… at least I think I got it. I didn’t get to find out for on Friday, I
drove home. Still no bicycling.
I stopped in a side road to dial into the 4:30 meeting – I at
least gave myself that much of the afternoon off. Apparently it was most inconvenient of me to
dial into the meeting from my motor car. I guess it meant a man had to take
minutes.
I updated my colleagues and promised to finish a piece of
work either this weekend or on Monday.
It wasn’t going to get done on Monday.
I stopped off at the bike shop to buy a bit for my other
bike and tried to make conversation but all I could think was how little I had
ridden my bike and how little time I would have to fix this part to my
bike.
By the time I got home I wanted to cry. I ate my dinner and fell into bed
exhausted. At 2am I was wide awake.
I got up and made the first changes to the document. I worked for 2 hours before going back to bed
at 4:30 and sleeping until 7:30. I got
up more exhausted than when I’d gone to bed but I had to eat. I got the laptop out again and finished the
document and sent it out. I worked on
the bike for the shortest amount of time possible. I didn’t even test ride it. I was supposed to be going out but I really
couldn’t face it. On the other hand I
knew that friends were exactly what I needed right now so I went out. I was exactly right.
The walk to my friends’ house was tough though. I enjoyed every moment of it. Finally one foot was falling in front of the other;
the breeze made me put my gloves on. The
freakishly warm air made me regret wearing my down coat. Bonfires were on the air. Happy families passed us by with children ensconced
in waterproof fleecy onesies with welly boots on their feet. It was the weekend before bonfire night.
I love bonfire night.
I love bonfire night more than Christmas. Normally I know exactly when the free
firework display is on in town. Normally
I have all the plans set out. This year,
I haven’t had time to think of it. This
year Christmas is likely to be ruined the same way.
My friends fed me. I’d
eaten nothing but a pot noodle and some cereal and toast all day. I stared at a fire, chatted, wandered around
the corner to get the best look at the fireworks and spent 15 minutes sitting
on the pavement leaning on a wall and watching the sparkles glide through the
air, enjoying the booms, banks and crackles.
Then I returned to the party for sparklers.
A lovely lady called Rita shared her stories with me and
said sweet things like, “women like you are forging the future, you’re what
will make it better for women who follow” and I nearly cried. Not because she made me feel special (she did
and she’s right) but because I am sad that when I was her age, 25 years ago, I
thought that women like my boss were forging the future, that she would make it
better for women who follow”. Current
status: Things feel a whole lot worse right now.
I didn’t drink a lot – despite buying enough to sink me, I
drank one bottle of beer and a bottle of some lowly alcoholic level. I daren’t drink anymore, it just makes the
sleepless nights worse. So we walked
home, early enough to go racing tomorrow, early enough to be thankful that I
didn’t get shit faced and make a fool of myself / cry / spend the weekend
cursing the waste of time being hungover.
Early enough that we weren’t so tired we got a taxi. Instead we walked our way home through the
glorious winter evening, yawning our way up the hill and fell into bed as soon
as we got in.
This morning I woke up thankful for a full nights’
sleep. From midnight till 7:30 am. Abject bliss.
Clearly exhaustion is the key.
Clearly I cannot live this life without exercise. Still, the bike looked at me and I knew I
needed to work. Here is my balance at
the moment – I do what makes me feel least guilty.
My hair and body smelled of smoke. Despite the light weighted night, I felt like
I’d been clubbing pissed and smoked 20 fags.
Exhaustion from the week sat on me heavy and as soon as TSK asked if I
wanted to go out racing, the answer was honest: No.
Last week I forced myself but I was worried that if I forced
myself this week I would never actually survive another week at work. Starting tired and sore, no. I needed to start this week rested but ahead
of the game. I got my laptop out but I
did promise myself I wouldn’t do too much.
TSK did the right thing and gave me advance warning of lunch
so at 11:45 I negotiated myself one last action and then extracted myself from
work by 12:30. We walked up the hill at
which point my body crashed. Yesterday’s
starvation combined with a small breakfast and all that exercise last night did
not bode well. I was teary again in the café
but thankfully I recognised it as low sugar.
A burger and chips sorted me out.
We walked for miles around and into town. We walked along Frog Walk which follows a
riverside path and I listened to the stream.
A little bird blew through my brain with its song like fresh air and
again I felt alive. I didn’t for one
moment regret my decision for the day. A
nice bit of gentle exercise. I felt I
was giving my body permission to move again.
Nothing that was going to do any damage – physically or mentally – but just
enough. I did some shopping which made me happy. A simple pair of everyday earrings to replace
and odd pair. £20 on a fountain pen
since I’m sick of losing expensive good ones.
Then we walked home.
Still I enjoyed every step. The
temperature got warmer and my coat came off and by the time we got home I was
determined to find myself another space in this day – to earn myself the time
to go for a run. I got changed almost
immediately and went back out.
I ran up first, through the edge of the woods where I could
still just make out enough under-foot to see where I was going without falling
over. The thought of someone trying to
attack me was laughable; they wouldn’t be able to keep their footing. I knew this like the back of my hand.
Up through the allotments where the children streamed down
the hill screaming, “I can smell the bonfire!”
Through the horse yard where I walked carefully to avoid making anyone
jump. Dropping down the bridle path the
light really had gone as I stepped off a stile and snicked my foot between a
rock and the dry stone wall. The head
torch went on. Onto the clifftop run
around the quarry then a short jog along the A57. For once my immediate surroundings were not
the distraction. Up and down the valley
I watched the fireworks cast out into the fog, blotting in the wet sky like
psychiatrist’s patterns in the mist.
Were they telling me I was crazy?
I descended, finally feeling a little cold in the dark air
and without any load on my legs. The
gloves went back on and I rolled my sleeves back down but I was too happy now
to be upset with the cold. I was ecstatic
to have my shoes careering through the crisp leaves as their white backs
glistened back at my headtorch. Suddenly I felt abject joy.
I
stopped to capture my joy in case it fleeted away. It was a
challenge.
Along the bottom of the valley, with kids and families
again. Dogs’ wild eyes reflecting off my
torch light turning the happiest and softest of family Labradors into the Hound
of the Baskervilles, the lumens reflecting off teeth in the smiling, panting
mouths of pups. They all had a fuss off
me.
When I reached the mill pond my legs were beginning to
tire. I realised I wasn’t on the 7k loop
but on the 8-9km loop. My ankles and knees
were aching and I was starting to run with sloppy form. I was worn out. Rather than keep plodding away at the same
bad form, I put in a stint of perfect running.
It was fast but it was “easy”. I’d
been plodding so long that consciously “running well” was introducing all kinds
of new muscle groups and giving my worn bumbling muscles a rest. It didn’t last long. It really didn’t last long but it brought me
to a new state of mind.
I could feel the tangled mess of my brain straightening
itself out into tangible strands. I didn’t
solve any mind blowing problems but suddenly I found peace. My project no longer mattered. I matter.
My deadline is irrelevant compared to my lifeline.
I have done my best.
I have asked for help (and it was denied). I have learned a lot (it has done nothing for
my trust issues!).
By the time I reached the Rivelin Park the free firework
display had begun. Whizz bang. I took the opportunity to do some stretching,
ease my tired legs whilst I watched the fireworks go off somewhere good. Usually the golf club have a “do”… or the
posh people on the park at Crookes. Down
at the bottom of the valley by the allotments, some others were just having a
bonfire of garden stuff. It was tempting
to go and join them but probably not advised in shorts.
My final run was through the park where dog walkers still
streamed out. I remembered how much I
missed going to Scotland, running and walking in the real hills. I made myself some promises to do more fell
races this year. They were good
promises. Ones I will keep. Most importantly I felt like I had rescued
myself from the brink. Abject exhaustion
is an after-effect of my run today. With
a brain already fatigued beyond belief, my body does now actually match – which
is a relief. I will sleep tonight –
potentially for the second time in a row… but even if I do not, I have learned
something massive this week. I have
learned just how broken I can be and still survive and I have learned just how
unacceptable it is to be there… and I have promised myself, more than anything
else, I will never, ever, ever, go there again.
I am still alive.
