Friday, 26 February 2016

Bring it, redux.


Good grief, I've only really gone and done it now.

Back when I said 'bring it', I didn't mean for the IT to be 'significant health adversity that will chew up my training plan like a dog with a slipper'. But lo and behold I asked for some form of 'it' and I have been delivered IT, slap bang over the head. A virtual ice bucket challenge full of IT. And lookielou, here am I stood on the cusp of March, and it seems February was a complete wash. Like standing in the middle of a torrential downpour wash. Like the scalding, scrubfest shower after an OCR wash. Like removing all the slop off your kid's mug after a face painting session wash. An entire month down the drain with the spiders and the soap scum, never to be seen or heard from again.

But at least the days are getting brighter, longer, sunnier...there's that mental thing again. Accentuating the positive, holding on to my purpose, my goal, that hasn't left. What's left is the time in which I have to prepare. Enter plan RRR4752. Or some such. Nothing is stationary. Even when we are too ill to move very much, somehow we keep on moving.

Mentally, we keep on moving. 23 days washed off the legs but the mental workout hasn't faltered. Real belief doesn't suffer illness.

So I had that bone rattling cough for three weeks, that cough which turned out to be a chest infection which clung over two courses of antibiotics. That cough which then revealed a longstanding minor asthma wouldyoubelieveit which was preventing it from going the way of the dodo. Wacky is as wacky does and there I am in my mid forties newly diagnosed with a condition most folks know about when they're kids. Where did I draw the short straw that says when I start running for fun and fitness, I discover just a touch of asthma. When I quit smoking nine years ago I ended up with (just a touch of) borderline T2 Diabetes. Rewind the clock, live sedentary and eat rubbish, smoke a pack a day and I was strong like bull. Am I in the Matrix? I don't know, the last steak I ate was pretty fricking delicious. It didn't taste like pink slop at all. There may not be a spoon but there sure has been a problematic cough.

Back to the lost month. Last time I ran was the 3rd. Twenty-three days ago. I'm training for a marathon taking place in less than 60 days and I haven't run in 23 days. Phooooooooo. (Cough.)

In the midst of all that coughing malarkey I ventured out for a walk, you know, 'trying to keep fitness up' and I had to stop after a mile and a half and SIT DOWN ON A PARK BENCH to catch my breath. A walk. An alarming walk. I faltered that day. I questioned all of it that day. Then I stood up and kept on walking.

But I haven't given up. I've counted days, I've re-planned, re-jigged, visualized, mapped out and checked how much time I need. Then I got the latest meds.

And pinch me now, here on day 4 of steroids and inhalers, whoa nelly I finally felt up to getting to the gym for some strength training yesterday. I won't go into how weak I'm feeling but holy crap, the illness has really affected me. Ok, just keep moving. Today I woke up with less cough but (are you serious) a ridiculously dry mouth and snotty head from Rukai sharing his cold with me.

Never mind. Never mind. Key words: less cough. Just keep moving.

Today I needed to go the mere five minutes up to the shops and back knowing I'd be carrying two full shoppers and I eyeballed the car. Then I reminded myself there are fewer than 60 days. I've not run in 23. Hells no, on your feet dear. Go. Now.

I got out and back with just a few chesty tickles. And wouldn't you know it, I may have just mentally crossed that finish line there and then. Bring IT. Bring it. I am not going to give up.

So after a month of IT, I think this is progress. I expect the meds to keep hammering away.
I expect I will get back on the road when I get back on the road.
I expect I will make it to the start line.
I expect I will finish.

Slow and steady finishes the race. Slow and steady is already my pace.

Bring. It.

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