Relax…then run

Hurrah! I have a week off work! A whole, blissful, unplanned week off! I love my job (think I might have mentioned it a few times) but oh boy am I ready for a break. Last break was at Christmas and that was awesome. Full of Christmas trees and a few mince pies and having a loaf around with The Boy. And then we went back to work and the daily grind began again. I forgot to take some time for myself on a daily basis and ended up giving and giving and giving…you get the idea. My job essentially is making sure everyone in the building has what they need and want, whether that is a room set up, more power, less heat, more toilet roll or arranging for a full on fun fair in the car park (yes, this happened). Such is the life of  a Facilities Manager – we manage the facilities and the expectations of them. And I LOVE it! I love being able to help people. I love arranging things and getting to be professional and coordinated. I also love (although not as much) problem solving and seeing the outcome go the way everyone wants. I am that person – the one who has to look after others.

Hands up! Who here is happy? Oh good, everyone!

However I have a problem. Well, I have many problems, but I have one in particular. I forget to do things for me. I give so much that when I come home, I’m a shell. I’m talked out, verbally “over-touched” and my energy levels are somewhere in the gutter. My default way of dealing with this is to retreat. Into a book, Facebook, Instagram, the interwebz in general. Poor Boy gets a bit ignored and neglected. I feel like shit and my mood starts to slip. I get even more engrossed in my job so I don’t feel so bad and therefore am even more shattered and then? BANG! I am tipped over the edge one night by a comment or a conversation and everything spills out. My meds are currently working on my moods, helping stabilise them and keep me fairly balanced. They can only do so much though and I forget that I have to help myself as much as the meds are helping me. Occasionally I need reminding. I’m really, really lucky that The Boy is incredibly perceptive, thoughtful and kind and can see when I’m slipping. Tuesday night and I had descended into a wailing heap on the sofa. Everything came tumbling out: the tiredness, the feelings that I’m giving so much all the time, that I miss having the energy to do something I like. He listened and rubbed my back, wiped my tears and stopped me from getting hysterical and then, hiccupping I was able to express what I wanted again.

I wanted to feel like more than just a Facilities Manager. I wanted to be a whole person, eating normally and not for comfort, doing a normal week at work and having time to do something that I used to love: running. I know that for the next couple of months at least, work will continue to be very busy and I will be doing extra hours. It is just the nature of the job – and I knew this when I took the job. My eating habits aka portion control and impulse control had gone a bit bonkers. I am a stress/comfort eater like many women I know. I like food in all its variety but I am rubbish when it comes to controlling food, hence I’ve put weight on that I worked so hard to lose. But more than this, I had stopped doing anything to balance my food intake and my head. Mostly though, I had to admit I missed running for the head space it gave me. I love the sound of footfall, of the increase and then maintenance of my breathing, of feeling my legs work hard to carry me round.

It’s not me, it’s you.

So, this week I started running again. Leggings on, trainers on, hair up. It hurt. It hurt so much. And I loved it (when the endorphins kicked in and the pain wore off). I started the couch to 5k app again and just toddled. I am not fast and never have been. But the thrill of running kicked in again – I didn’t care that I wobble more than I used to, or that I am not as quick as I used to be. I didn’t care that my arse is huge or my legs are hurting for a couple of days after a run. I am ok with the fact that I have to use my inhaler on occasion to help my breathing. I don’t care that my face is bright red or that I’m dripping with sweat after only 2 miles.

I know pigs don’t sweat. And I don’t actually want to be a fox…I just want to look a bit better…and fitter.

What I am caring about is me. I have set myself a goal to achieve. Nothing like my challenge of 2012 of running 100 race miles. I haven’t got to raise any money. I have nothing to prove to anyone. My goal is to be able to run 5k, 3 times a week. I would like to be able to run 5k in approximately 30 minutes, or as near to 30 minutes as possible . When I get there, I’ll set my next goal. I think it will be extending to 10k. But we shall see. For now though, I’m just being me again. The me that runs. Hurrah!

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