Going Cold Turkey

There was so much planned for the holidays, so much running to be done. A feast of parkruns, New Year's races, trail runs, and maybe a sneaky little bit of early marathon training in preparation for London next year. Christmas was going to be oh so good.

T’was the season to go running. I was looking forward to all the usual Christmas stuff, the eating, drinking and seeing family, but mainly christmas was going to be about putting in the miles. The last couple of months had been a bit rubbish in running tems, the holidays were the perfect time to catch up.

Christmas was going to be filled with lots of this

In the end though all those plans got torn up and thrown on the fire with the roast chestnuts. My Christmas running consisted of a couple of painful hobbles around the block. This Christmas I've had to go cold turkey and it wasn't the kind I was expecting, I've hardly run at all and it's been killing me.

It’s my own fault. I’d been feeling a tightness in my achilles for a week but thought I could just run through it, bury my head in the sand and ignore the problem. It had felt worse on the way to parkrun but I had stupidly tried to convince myself a nice quick run should sort it out. At the finish the stabbing pain in my right ankle told me this hadn't worked and I was consigned to a slow trudge back home.

I tried to stay positive, and persuade myself a few days off would probably be a good thing. If I couldn't run then I would just do a load of those boring strengthening exercises, the ones you usually ignore when you are able to run because they are so mind warpingly dull. This was going well until I put my back out, doing something Google described as a Russian twist. (I originally thought it was some sort of cocktail!) Every movement now resulted in pain so I banished myself to the sofa for the afternoon, to scared to move in case I did anything else.

At least the cat seems to enjoy stretching!

I bloody hate being injured, I turn into a grumpy child, angry with the world for not letting me run. It's always someone else's fault, not the fact I should have listened to the warning signs, that maybe I should have taken it a bit easier.

To start with I tried to remain positive but as the days wore on I realised it wasn’t going to be the quick fix I first thought. I seemed determined to rub the misery in, still looking at my Strava, watching all the runs everyone else had been on, resenting the fun they were having and all the festive running that was happening without me.

The frustration grew and I became grumpier and more Grinchlike.

The main event of the holidays was the Nos Galan 5k race on new year's eve. I had wanted to do this for ages. Deep down I knew I couldn’t, that to race it would just be stupid but I just didn’t want to let go. I waited and waited just in case I made some sort of miraculous recovery but the day before I gave in and passed on my spot to a mate. It felt so crap to give up the place and to miss out on the run. Out of everything this winter this was the one thing I had wanted to do. Whilst I knew it was the right decision it didn’t stop that feeling of frustration building up in the pit of my stomach.

The biggest trouble I have with not running is that it’s my main coping tool for my M.E. Without a run and the adrenaline boost it provides me I feel slightly lost and helpless in my fight against the illness. I need that short term boost, that adrenaline fix to help me cope with the short term when I’m feeling tired. Take away my running and you take away my medication, my main weapon against the M.E.

Running gives me that element of control over the illness, with that control, comes peace of mind and a confidence that I can overcome the tiredness. Without running I loose all of this. I am suddenly a passenger again, I feel exposed to the fatigue. I don’t really have any other ways to fight back. When I’m not running I feel like I am standing still waiting for the illness to catch up with me. I start to look over my shoulder almost expecting the tiredness to hit me at some point.

Parkrun Volunteering in the rain

I really needed that runner's high around New Years when the late nights took their toll and left me feeling more shattered than I had been in months. I would have done parkrun on New Year's Day and the adrenaline high would have countered the lack of sleep, it would have been the temporary boost to get me through, the equivalent of a chocolate bar when you need a bit of a sugar boost.

As it was I volunteered at parkrun, missed out on the high and broke a little bit when I got back home. The smallest of tasks became impossible, all I was good for was sofa sitting film watching and book reading, then bed. Volunteering was good fun, It felt like I hadn’t completely missed out, but there was the frustration of seeing other people run, doing the thing I desperately wanted to be doing.

What I really wanted to be doing though was running with this lot

The biggest challenge of not running is probably a mental one. Running is the barometer of how well I am doing, it is the thing that keeps me sane, the thing that I believe stops me being ill. If I can go for a run everything is ok. Without it and the accompanying adrenaline rush I feel like I slip back into an older version of me, one where the M.E is in control.

The fog returns. My mind is filled with doubt and worry and I start to fear that I may not be as recovered as I first thought. It's stupid I know but as soon as I stop all this doubt seems to take over. Even if I am only out for a short time my mind starts torturing me with worst case scenarios. What if I can't run for months? How will I then cope with being ill? How will I cope with life?

I just have to keep telling myself these thoughts are stupid, this doubt is a construct of the darker side of my mind.

I must remain positive

So on New Year's Eve I signed up to the Snowdonia marathon, one of the toughest in the country. The idea of this challenge, of pushing myself yet again and seeing if I could move on from my first marathon last year gave me something to look forward to, something to be positive about. My back is now better and whilst my achilles is still giving me trouble, I can start on those mind numbing stretches and strengthening exercises in front of the last of the Christmas TV. It's not quite the start to the year I had planned but you have to start somewhere.

This years challenge

My New Years running may not be happening just yet, for now I'm going to ignore my Strava and concentrate on other things. Hopefully soon I can finally join the masses pounding the pavements working off all that cold turkey. My 2017 running adventure starts in mid January, I can’t wait.