Doctor, doctor, I can’t sit down!

Doctor, doctor, I can’t sit down! I think I’ve got ADHD…

… No, Rachel. You’re just neurotic.

Let’s begin with a flashback to my ill-conceived legal career and a good old fashioned caveat: there is no intention whatsoever on my part to make light of the ADHD condition, its symptoms or its sufferers. The same goes for neurosis. I may – or may not – have traces of both. If I were a food product requiring labelling as being ‘free from’ on the Gluten Free supermarket shelf, I fear that I wouldn’t make the grade. I would simply be unable to declare myself to be entirely ‘free from’ either, or both. And so, I would be placed back on the regular shelf with all the other shit full of MSG, wheat, lactose, fructose, traces of brazil nuts and bee pollen. Think Mr Kipling’s Fondant Fancies. They were never fussed about neon icing and E-numbers back in the 80s, were they?

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It’s me in cake form.

Either way, and whatever shelf I’m placed on in Tesco’s – I can’t sit still. I can’t – and won’t – ‘REST’. I HATE THE WORD. I have an allergy to the word itself which would rival most nut allergies on the planet: my head feels woozy and begins to throb; I start to sweat and my HR increases at the mere thought of doing… fuck all. I can’t do it. I’ve tried. *I was even convinced that my tongue swelled up, but that was just a pseudo symptom: my coffee was too hot.

And recently I’ve been doing a little experiment. In a literal sense, I am ‘back running again’ (although that in itself requires another caveat, which we won’t explore just now.) My experiment was this:

I wanted to find out how much ‘rest’ do I really give myself? How much ‘recovery time’ do my legs honestly get?

The facts are these:

Ever since my extended period of non-running from the first part of this year, I have had many weeks of NO weekly mileage, and now quite a few weeks of ridiculously LOW weekly mileage. According to Strava, I’m currently averaging 8 miles of running a week. Down from an average of 50 miles a week in 2015, so a bit of a drop, then. Surely this would help my legs to recover? Hmmmm.

 I’ve also been upping my cross-training activities, including:

  • Interval sessions on the static bike in the gym (a necessary evil)
  • Riding my bike (badly)
  • Attending yoga class 2-3 times per week (lengthening, stretching, and strengthening whilst assisting with my traces of neurosis)
  • Aqua jogging (well, it lasted a few weeks)
  • Walking (Sounds innocent enough, doesn’t it? We’ll come back to this…)

So, this should surely be the recipe for a miraculous recovery, resulting in legs so fresh I could skip over stiles in buttercup-spattered fields with the (minimal) effort of the nimblest spring lamb, or Ben Mounsey.

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That’s me in the middle.

Has that happened? No. It hasn’t.

WHY?

This, dear readers, is what my experiment has been designed to try and find out. Why are my legs simply not responding, given all the above straight-from-the-Captain-Sensible-book-of-recovery advisable steps?

THE ANSWER?

BECAUSE I CAN’T SIT DOWN.

I bought a Fitbit Alta HR and I wore it for one week. In that week – from Monday 15th May to Sunday 21st May – I walked a total of 75,668 steps (that’s 38.08 miles) without taking into account ANY of the other ‘cross training’ activities OR the fact that we’d done a 16-mile off road hilly walk with over 3,000 feet of climbing the day before this weekly experiment began.

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So, no shit, Sherlock. My legs are not akin to those of the sprightly spring lamb, or to the human/mountain goat cross species that is Mr Mounsey.

Here is what a NON-Rest diary looks like:

Monday 15th May

Speed walk up to the supermarket from work in my lunch hour to pick up 2 x variety packs of Magnums for my boss. I also buy a large bag of ice, so said Magnums don’t melt on the 3-mile round trip back to the office. My rucksack weighs a tonne, and I’m already on tired legs from hiking 16 hard miles the day before. But how could I resist? It’s nice out, and only up the road, and it’s a breath of fresh air, and a break from my desk, and…

Total: 9,095 steps

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I daren’t even imagine how many ‘steps’ this required. Enough to melt a Fitbit Alta HR, I would imagine.

Tuesday 16th May

Walk/jog back home from school drop off… But why go the most direct route home? It’s lovely out, beautiful on the moors, and only adds a couple of extra miles onto the journey. I’ll still be back in time for yoga. What’s the harm in that?

Total: 11,791 steps

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But honestly, how could I resist?

Wednesday 17th May

God knows how I managed it, but I somehow clock up 12,309 steps for the day traipsing up and down the stairs at work from my desk to the kettle and back… 50 times (*oh, on closer analysis of the data, it appears that the 5-mile balls-out run after work was logged here, so this is running and not walking, it would appear. Slight cheat, but you get the point.)

Total: 12,309 steps

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Before, during, and after.

Thursday 18th May

I must have ants in my pants. Or ADHD. Or Neurosis (most likely.)

Walk (the long way) back home from school drop off, and then – after actually sitting down and doing some work – a walk down into town. I could drive there in half the time, or possibly a quarter, but why would I? I get wolf-whistled on the way in, which temporarily makes me feel like I’m clinging onto my youth, and we see an old gentleman in town from years gone by, who asks my Mum, ‘Is your girl [pointing to me] at school, now?’ I am thrilled and immediately dismiss any possibility of dementia, Alzheimer’s, or a sight-degenerative condition that may have caused him to be SO far off the mark. He was undoubtedly fully compos mentis, with perfect vision. I had a brightly coloured baseball cap on: maybe that was it?

Total: 16,972 steps

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Well, would you have missed being out in this?

 

Friday 19th May

Ahh, at last. I have a rest day. Phew! But it’s not absolute rest. There’s yoga. Only I don’t walk / run / cycle / hop or pogo-stick there. I drive there, like any other sane, normal person would do. And I feel lazy. Why? I have no idea.

Total: 4,790 steps (and I feel like a sloth because my Fitbit tells me that I haven’t reached my aspirational ‘daily target’.

Oh, fuck off, Fitbit.

So, you get the gist. Since my experimental week, I’ve realised that I honestly, literally, can’t sit down. I need to move; I am compelled to feel my heart beating in my chest and my muscle fibres twitching, because the alternative frightens me. It’s sedentary and silent; it’s a feeling of non-aliveness that I can remember so vividly from all those years ago when I didn’t know how it felt to move; when my daily step count was a return trip to the fridge for yet another oversize portion of Viennetta, and then back to slump in front of my telly to try and guess the price of a 1994 top-of-the-range caravette and a fully refurbed kitchen (inc. white goods) in The Price is Right.

I never knew how it felt, back then, to feel truly alive. But I do now, and I can’t let that go. Not ever – even if my legs are screaming at me for a rest.

It’s hard to have lived at both ends of the scale, but I have to believe that I can make my way tentatively back along to the middle, where I can still feel the joy of movement and of being alive, and also revel in the beauty of rest and recovery. It feels like I’m being asked to walk along a very high tightrope – it’s easy standing at either end, but wobbly and vulnerable in the middle.

Just don’t look down.

*At this point I’ve been sitting down for far too long. I’m off for a walk…

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Laters…

 

 

 

 

An Injured Runner’s Non-Running Diary … Rest Days ROCK!!

Fri 24th Feb – Rest Days ROCK!!

Today is a ‘rest day’ in the traditional sense. I have no structured activities planned, and instead have an entire day to spend with Mini Me. And I’m excited about it.

I make our days together as active as possible. I’m heading over to her Dad’s on the train early this morning, and taking her for breakfast in our favourite Hebden Bridge café. We love walking together. Even little jaunts from his house to the café, then on to the train station. We love the fresh air and the feeling of movement. Her little legs have been used to walking perhaps further than is entirely normal ever since she was three, when I would power-walk up the hill to collect her from pre-school, and we would amble the mile and a half back down, sometimes stopping on a bench to have a sandwich or read part of a story book. Her legs grew strong, and three years later she can now walk for miles without fuss or fanfare (not to mention Junior Parkrun – we’re on #31 and heading towards her Ultra Marathon Band :-D)

We chat in the café as she waits patiently for her fruit toast. One of her front teeth came out whilst she was at her Grandma’s. She looks like a cross between an angel and Steptoe. She grins at me, poking her tongue through the new gap. ‘I can fit a straw through this, Mum!’ she giggles to herself.

My beautifully prepared flat white has a heart shape in the foam, and I smile as every cell in my body floods with warmth. I feel happy… REST DAYS ROCK!!

Ahh, that’s great, Rach. It’s lovely and sweet and every other sycophantic sentiment felt by most mothers most of the time, but what’s any of this got to do with running / not running?

I hear you. And it’s a funny, because it feels as though now running has been forced to shrink back to fill a smaller place in my heart, there is more room for other joys to come flooding back in. I’m noticing that my enjoyment and appreciation of other things, people, and experiences is growing. I’m feeling grateful for them – and I’m feeling happier. My days are filled with other lovely things that my head and my heart now have the space to appreciate. I’ve found this happening a lot over the last month. Tiny, insignificant things I’m beginning to notice. Perhaps before, I was either focusing on my ‘next’ run/race, or still pondering the last one. Maybe I was caught in the ‘What’s happening on Strava’ bandwagon instead of enjoying a simple walk with my Angelic Steptoe. But all these things are coming to me, and I feel them as strongly as the taste of ground coffee beans in my flat white. Why has it taken this for me to see it?

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We enjoy our train journey and have a mini adventure getting home. I’m having a quick flick through The Metro whilst she sucks on a foam banana penny sweet at Hebden Bridge station. I’m not one for reading my stars, but I glance at mine for today. ‘An activity that had seemed stable may not be. Having poured energy into a key goal, you could feel your efforts might come to nothing but it may simply be time for a rethink as new options could unlock a fresh door for you.’ CRIKEY. Bloody hell! I take a picture of the small paragraph and send it through to Gav. ‘You’re not reading your stars, are you! HA HA HA’ is his reply.

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Hmmm… I ponder for a moment: I wonder if the message is there. It could have been WRITTEN for me; about me. Running was my activity that seemed stable; the #vlm2017 WAS my key goal. Both of those have now gone to shit, so maybe I need to rethink my options? Maybe I already am? I get Gav’s point about the horoscopes, though. ‘You may or may not come into money, and a relative may or may not let you down…’ THAT’S MOST PEOPLE, MOST DAYS!

I put the paper down and remind myself that Russell Grant isn’t in fact the next Messiah.

Anyway, me & Tills have a full day planned, including bike rides, farm shops & baking.

Rest days ROCK!!

 *** 

Tues 28th FebThe Magic of Yoga

I’m not sure if my mind is adapting to not running, or my body is enjoying the change (I would say ‘rest’ but that isn’t strictly true), or a bit of both, but something inside me appears to have given up the fight. Not in terms of not wanting to run (I always will), but perhaps simply not wanting to run right now. As if my body knows it’s not meant to be doing that. Perhaps the change of routine is suiting me, and I’m enjoying the newness of my cross-training activities, and both my body and my mind are now convinced that, Hey, you’re right! There ARE other things we can do! And these things feel good, challenging and interesting! I’m beginning to believe that is the case. Something is feeling far more positive and beneficial in my new regime than it was before – perhaps even prior to the ‘leg issue’. Had my running become stale? Was my body tired of it long before my mind realised, and joined in the party? Did I simply ignore the signs? (I know I’ve done this – arguably quite successfully – many, many times.) Anyway, I’m on a new course – following a new route map, and it feels good. Well, TODAY it feels good, anyway.

 I go and wait upstairs about ten minutes before my yoga class, and take my usual spot on the virtually floor-level windowsill overlooking the canal. I feel happy. One of Lianne’s regulars turns up and comes to sit with me. I find myself more open to a bit of mindless chatter than normal, and we discuss how a change of routine is sometimes exactly what we need.

‘I honestly don’t think I’m missing running just now,’ I tell beautiful curly-haired lady. But am I instead telling myself? ‘I’m really enjoying doing some cross training and getting back into yoga,’ I continue. She tells me that things became a bit stale for her, and that she’d become too regimented about the classes she goes to. ‘I’m enjoying mixing it up a bit, too,’ she replies, smiling. I feel happy that I’m in a more sociable mood. What has lifted my spirits? Would I feel like this if I’d been out running – or trying to – today? I can’t help but think not. I’d have felt dejected, heavy-legged and burdensome. Instead, I feel free and light and – well – happy!

Another one of Lianne’s regulars turns up and joins in our pre-class banter. She’s a fitness addict herself, and I know that she completely understands my running. I’ve seen more of her just recently with attending almost every yoga class that I can shoehorn into my diary. It’s been nice to have some human interaction. It’s good for me, and – I’m even enjoying the occasional banal chit chat.

The curly-haired lady interjects our conversation. We somehow get onto the subject of weddings. ‘Did I hear somewhere that you’re running a marathon for your honeymoon?’ she asks. It takes me back a little, and my ego feels slightly flattered, but then she qualifies it. ‘I just overheard you chatting with one of the other ladies – Debbie – I think it was, last week. Maybe that’s where I heard it?’ I tell her about our (ambitious) plans to run the very first Tanzanian marathon in October for our honeymoon. ‘That’s if I’m even ABLE to run, by then.’ I gulp as I struggle to comprehend my statement. HOW will I get there, from where I am, right now?

During the yoga class, I feel strong. I know I feel strong. My body works hard holding the poses, it straightens itself up and lengthens otherwise limp, unused muscles. This is EXACTLY what my body needs! I think to myself. I feel the moves filling me with strength as I breathe in, and then back out again with focus. I’m getting used to the effort. The moves are as easy or as hard as you make them. I try hard (no shit). I think about the areas I’m working. I feel the contraction in the muscles in my upper back. Prior to this current circumstance, when was the last time I even gave a shit about my back, or my core strength? I look at my arms in the mirror as I work to hold them taught and long, pushing my fingertips away from my body. I can see definition. SINCE WHEN! Really, since WHEN do I even HAVE any muscles in my arms? But now, I do. And I love the feeling.

On the downsize, I am still mithered by my runners’ legs. My hamstrings are so overdeveloped that I struggle to straighten them for certain moves. They shake like a shitting dog when I push them into a ‘flatter’ line. I look around the room. 9/10 of the class aren’t having such difficulties. This is a by-product of the years of hammering mileage. Stretching wasn’t for me. I knew better. Hmmmm. Lianne looks over and gives me a wry smile after the worst of the hamstring tracks. I lie back on my mat and sigh with the effort I’ve put in to even attempt the moves. It has exhausted me. And she knows it.

The relaxation at the end of the class comes like a cold beer after a hard day. It is soothing, relaxing, and makes me convinced – if I wasn’t already – that this class is sent to touch the parts that others just can’t reach. I always say ‘thankyou’ in my relaxation. I don’t try to – it just comes naturally. I am always thankful to be there, and to have that moment. It feels like a gift. Every time.

Thanks, Lianne,’ I say, once we’re all back in the room and no longer in our zen-like state. I never leave without thanking her, but I’m not sure she understands how grateful I am to her. She is like a serene, spiritual, Amazonian warrior who has descended on Sowerby Bridge to make it a happier place. I am so thankful that she’s been plopped here, with us.

Thank you, thank you ,thank you.

 [LATER] I still feel entirely light-hearted, and it’s now 4pm. Normally, I’m a right grumpy bastard by now. Yoga must actually work miracles. It’s official.

To be continued…