Deep breath. I push open the door, my eyes adjust to
the bright daylight but I don't stop to look at anything. I'm in my own
bubble, determined not to see the expressions of people looking at me,
wondering what the hell I'm doing and why my pain contorted face is so red. I
don't look like a runner, I don’t feel like a runner. In fact I'm definitely
not a runner but God damn I'm going to get through this mile. What feels like
hours later I’m back at the door fumbling around for the key whilst trying not
to faint on the street. It’s over, thank god it’s over.
I only came to running a few years ago,
as a last ditch effort to try and get on top of the tiredness. It was an all in
moment, either this was going to work or it would exhaust me and I would be
back to square one.
That winter had been a particularly bad one. I'm not sure why but it's always worse in winter. I wouldn't say I suffer from SAD but bad weather and dark days don't help. Maybe some day we will find out that humans were always meant to hibernate over the winter months, seeing out the cold in our caves. Who knows?
The ostrich tactic wasn't working and carrying on as normal was taking its toll. I was exhausted both mentally and physically. I was struggling with my work and the Christmas festivities and social occasions it brought were just making things worse. I was trying to do what everyone else was doing, eating, drinking, staying out late then working the next day. It was all too much for me. It felt like I was on a treadmill and someone had upped the pace without me looking. At first I didn’t really notice anything but soon I was way out of my comfort zone, feeling like I was at my limit just trying to keep up.
That winter had been a particularly bad one. I'm not sure why but it's always worse in winter. I wouldn't say I suffer from SAD but bad weather and dark days don't help. Maybe some day we will find out that humans were always meant to hibernate over the winter months, seeing out the cold in our caves. Who knows?
The ostrich tactic wasn't working and carrying on as normal was taking its toll. I was exhausted both mentally and physically. I was struggling with my work and the Christmas festivities and social occasions it brought were just making things worse. I was trying to do what everyone else was doing, eating, drinking, staying out late then working the next day. It was all too much for me. It felt like I was on a treadmill and someone had upped the pace without me looking. At first I didn’t really notice anything but soon I was way out of my comfort zone, feeling like I was at my limit just trying to keep up.
There was also something much scarier
that had reared its head. I was starting to feel the onset of depression. I had
never experienced it before. Even when I was at my worst during my teens I had
been able to stay positive and keep my sense of humour. This felt different though,
like I had nothing left. Each night I dreaded going to sleep because it meant I
would wake up quicker. The morning would come and I would look forward to going
to sleep because the day would be over. It was like the tiredness had sucked
everything from me. First it had my energy now it had my feelings, leaving me
with just this black hole of nothingness. I had no energy left to feel happy, I
felt close to a breakdown. I remember saying the words "I think I may be
getting ill again"
Saying that sentence out loud shocked me. It was the first time I had admitted something like that in over 10 years. It wasn't quite the truth, I wasn't getting ill again, the truth was I had never been completely better. I was going through a bad patch, a relapse. But it was the start of me admitting everything was not ok. I had to get rid of the ostrich and a new tactic and coping strategy had to be invented.
Saying that sentence out loud shocked me. It was the first time I had admitted something like that in over 10 years. It wasn't quite the truth, I wasn't getting ill again, the truth was I had never been completely better. I was going through a bad patch, a relapse. But it was the start of me admitting everything was not ok. I had to get rid of the ostrich and a new tactic and coping strategy had to be invented.
I had to run.
It was a big deal getting out of the door
for the first time. Behind it lay a new attitude to life, one that involved
dealing with problems rather than running away from
them (pun definitely intended). What if people saw me? What if I was crap at running, unfit and unable to
go around the block? It would just confirm that I was still ill, a shadow of
the sportsman I had been when I was a kid. These were the issues I had been
trying to avoid all along, it's the ostrich syndrome. By not doing any exercise,
in my head I could still be good at it. Maybe I could just go out and run 10
miles. Not trying to participate in a sport meant I could avoid the bigger
issue of whether I could actually do it. The real scare would be if I tried it
and failed, that would be a difficult mental battle to overcome.
I needed running, I was just frightened
that I couldn't do it, that it wouldn't be the answer and I would continue
sliding back into the clutches of the M.E again.
Desperation had forced my hand. It felt
like running was the only thing I had left, my last resort.
Those first few runs were a tortuous
affair. I wouldn't have even classified myself as a runner. I was a jogger at
best and in reality a plodder. My legs felt like they were made out of lead and
I was sure my chest was about to re-enact that famous scene from Alien. I could
barely get a mile around the park before I would start struggling, sometimes having
to walk back home. Gradually though, street by street, an extra 10th of a mile
here and there, I started being able to go further. The plod was definitely
becoming a consistent jog.
It wasn't some sort of miracle cure, what I was doing was replacing one form of
tiredness with another. My muscles would ache and cramp up, but the stressed,
dirty, heavy and oppressive tiredness would go. It was replaced by something I
hadn't felt since before my teens, the satisfaction of physical fatigue. Mental
strain had for a short while been replaced by aching muscles. My body hurt but
it felt like it was doing what it was designed for, it had meaning again. I
could now go to sleep with the satisfaction I had achieved something. I had
outrun the M.E for another day.
The running was still a struggle though. I would puff and wheeze around the
park, feeling heavy and laboured. It was definitely helping, making me feel
better but dear God it was hard work. Most of my thoughts would be about the
pain it was causing me and how long it would be before I could collapse back
onto the sofa at home again.
The moment it turned from a jog into a run is a vivid memory. I was on my usual
route back home when I suddenly realised I didn't want to get back there any
time soon. The sofa could wait. I felt lighter, moved more efficiently and
wanted to see how far I could go. Three miles became four and eventually I
worked my way up to almost six. In the space of one run everything had changed.
Running was starting to become a passion rather than just a process. It was now
becoming a major part of my life. I was still running because of the way it
helped my M.E but I was now enjoying the feelings it brought me. I was running
because I wanted to run.
The shoes that started it all.
Here is a link to my just giving page, raising money for Action for M.E.
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