It is the hollow month of March now sweeping in

March is sweeping out, actually. But I don’t write the lyrics, I just pilfer them for blog titles. When I wrote my round up of February, I ended by saying it would be a big month. It was, but in ways I never expected.

I started the month by turning 27 on the 2nd. Birthdays are ace; I don’t usually like mine much but this year I was truly happy and calm on it for the first time in a few years. The problem with birthdays is that there’s a lot of eat/drink/be merry which doesn’t leave much time for running. Ho hum, I don’t pretend to be a paragon of virtue, running or otherwise. The night before my birthday, I went out for (many) drinks and some dinner with a friend. Wine, whisky and I think 12798908_10154028832863307_1160822745085107067_n.jpgthere was a meat board at some point. The next day was my birthday and so I went out and did it all again, having dim sum and large amounts of prosecco with some of my nearest and dearest in London and a super time was had by all. London gets so lonely at times and it really helps to have memories like this, knowing that people are around. I’ve been more cautious about drinking the past few months; I’m aware of the effect that both being drunk, and being hungover has on my anxiety levels so I’m really glad that I had a few days of having fun and not worrying about repercussions, and there being no repercussions.

That week was a write off for running for obvious reasons. On the Saturday I was back at home for birthday CcxmmPxWwAApKhkcelebrations with the parents, and dragged myself down to Lee-on-the-Solent parkrun. Yay! Parkrun! Yay! The seaside! I wasn’t trying to push it too hard with only a week left until the Bath Half but ended up with a time of 28:04 which while not a PB isn’t too shabby a time for me. I also pleasingly managed almost perfect splits. As pacing has been a bugbear for me, this was huge for me and I was on a real high, feeling like my running was finally progressing. My heart rate had been reasonably good, the whole run hadn’t felt too bad until I started my sprint finish too early; I think if I hadn’t mistimed that it would have easily been in the 27:5xs. Everything was good.

Then everything went wrong. So wrong.

On the Monday, I lost my job. I won’t rehash it all here but it was unexpected and dramatic. I phoned my mama and asked her to come to London, I phoned recruiters en route to the train station, I phoned a couple of friends to try and stay level while I awaited my mama’s arrival. Packed some bags. Came home to the coast for sea air and home cooking and awaited my inevitable meltdown. Except it never happened. Tears and panic attacks have come so easily, over the tiniest inconsequential things but in a real crisis, it seems I cope. I was stressed and sad but I coped. That’s worth knowing. If I can get through this, then that strength is also there to be utilised in my sillier moments.

I had grand plans for rest and running. This was going to be my highest mileage month ever! (Un)fortunately, the phone started ringing very quickly and my first two weeks at home were actually spent on trains to/from London, attending interviews. Thankfully, I received an offer a mere nine working days after losing my job.

The Bath Half came at the end of my first week of unemployment. 10169185_10154070677308307_5339933511251828_nIn hindsight, I suspect the stress I was under probably played its part in it being a bad race for me. I thought I was just thrown off track by the unexpectedly nice conditions but looking back at the data from my Garmin, it seems to have been the start of some heart rate issues that I’ve been having ever since. I had no motivation to run after Bath; disheartened by a truly miserable race and a lack of routine without work meant a lot of napping and Netflix. When I did get back out there after 10 days or so without a proper run, my heart and lungs felt like they would explode. I chalked it up as a bad run and tried again a few days later but to no avail. My heart rate was way up near its max despite running significantly slower than my usual 5k pace. I rested some more, kept an eye on my resting heart rate and stared mournfully at the data. Following those bad runs my resting heart rate was high 70s/low 80s for a couple of days before returning to its normal level of high 50s/low 60s. I’ll see how things are when I get back to work and having routine and a normal life – impossible to know if this problem is physical or mental as the two are so closely linked for me.

The other run of note this month was at Southwark Parkrun. I know, those babes again. If you’re ever in south London, Southwark is a particularly wonderful parkrun and I can’t recommend it enough. This month, they very graciously agreed for a team from Mind to come and film me (tail)running as part of an upcoming campaign about exercise and mental health. Expect a more detailed post when the campaign launches. I had a delightful morning leisurely running at the back of the pack while a cameraman on inline skates whizzed past me before I stood in the park repeatedly waiting for helicopters to pass over and spoke about why parkrun is a great way to get into sport and its many benefits. I also got to meet the very lovely Louise and her boyfriend Ryan who experienced my near-evangelical ranting about why parkrun is the best but hey, we follow each other on Twitter now so I can’t have seemed too mad. Or maybe they enjoy madness. Thank you so much to the ever-wonderful team at Southwark for agreeing to the filming, and especially their event director Mike who was instrumental in making it happen. You are all stars. Finished product coming soon; expect repeated wails of “am I really that ginger?” (yes), “am  I really that pale?” (also yes), and “do I really make those faces when I run/speak?” (another yes).

April. The return to the London. A new job, again. Cheering as part of Team Mind at the London Marathon. (N.B. If you’re running the London Marathon, I’ll be the ginger one wearing a VERY fetching Mind t-shirt at Mile 25 at Embankment, send me your race number, I’ll track you and then high 5 you because you’ll be so close to finishing). Lighter evenings. Putting my life back together again.

 

Are you satisfied with an average life?

I’m having a quarter-life crisis. Again. We shouldn’t worry, I’ve been having a quarter-life crisis approximately every 6 months for the past 5 years. This is not a symptom of anxiety, this is exacerbated by anxiety. Important distinction there – the way I feel is legitimate, the extremes I feel it to is not.

These crises are triggered by any milestones in life, personal or annual. At the moment, I’m not long into a new job, Valentine’s Day has just passed, and I’m about to turn 27. Triple whammy. All these things make me evaluate where I am with my life. I don’t think I’m where I want to be but at the same time, I’m not sure where it is that I want to be so I can’t plan how to get there.

I’m a Senior Business Development Executive at a law firm. This broadly means that I support lawyers in winning new business as well as advising them on how to maintain and strengthen their client relationships. I can’t pretend this is what I’ve dreamt of doing all my life. I’m good at it and I’ve progressed quickly but is this the dream? Shouldn’t there be something…more? Possibly not. I’m not a special snowflake and probably need to find happiness in mediocrity. It’s not that I had particularly grand aspirations. It’s that I’m 26 years old and I still have no ideas about what to be when I grow up.

I had vague aspirations to write. I suppose this counts to some extent. If you want to be a writer, write. My job involves writing (although arguably I did not mean that I wanted to write about why the firm I work for should be selected to give property law advice) and I like that. I’m not quite ignoring that dream, I’m just not realising it either.

Friends are settling into careers rather than jobs. Getting married. Having babies. I have a job I’m not entirely certain about and the rest of my life is equally fluid. I could jack it all in tomorrow and run away to Mexico if the whim struck me. There are days when I love that freedom and days when I despise the lack of things anchoring me while everyone else builds a life. It is of course foolish to compare yourself to others, the lives we portray are to an extent always curated. My ex used to complain that other couples didn’t have our problems. I used to point out that to other people, we didn’t have our problems. So yes, there are the days of desperately envying your gorgeous newborn children and wonderful relationships. But I also appreciate you’re up at 3am for a middle of the night feed while I’m either out dancing or fast asleep and in that instance, I’m happy with my lot.

It’s not wanting what other people have now, not really, it’s the crushing fear of not knowing what’s coming next. I’ve always had this impatient rampant perfectionism, a truly crushing need to be perfect and brilliant at everything and for that to be immediate. The better I naturally am at something, the greater the meltdown when I eventually (and inevitably) hit a challenge. I thought that running would temper the perfectionism. Old friends will confirm that I’m not a natural athlete, school was spent dodging PE lessons and I probably couldn’t run a mile until I was 25. An activity I would be forced to work at (and hard!) to improve was supposed to help me finally realise that not being brilliant immediately was fine, still worth it. I now don’t think too much of running 10 miles on a Sunday as part of my final efforts for Bath Half in March. Still, it all needs to be better and it needs to be now and that is unrealistic. Every bad run is, to me, a punishing failure.

There will always be bad days and they are frustrating and disheartening to everyone. Their effect on me is just too extreme. Today I ran 10 miles. I’ve barely run in 2 weeks (I think I racked up a grand total of about 6km in 14 days – my month in review post should be brief next week!) following a lingering bout of lurgy. Fitness is slightly down. Confidence is dented. I am still recovering. The conditions weren’t great with high winds on the coast so huge portions felt like a battle. I should be overwhelmingly pleased that I managed that distance. It was slow, a little painful but it’s more than I was really expecting to achieve given recent circumstances. But still, I came home and cried because it’s never enough and the more I achieve with my running, the harder it’s becoming for me to accept my current limitations. I need to be faster, to be running further, every bit of training needs to bring with it improvement.

That’s the worry. That nothing is ever enough for me. That I will never be satisfied because there’s always more out there. Most runners experience it to a degree, that need to take a few seconds more off each PB. To take your long run a mile further than ever before. I just don’t find much happiness from achieving those goals because there’s the immediate replacement with harder/better/faster/stronger. Then apply that to every single aspect of my life. If I could only learn to rein this way of thinking in, even the tiniest bit, it would probably flip and become one of my better qualities. There’s a lot of drive and a reasonable amount of ambition firing all this panic and it’s got me a lot of places in life.

It’s okay to feel a bit lost at 26, I know that. So what that I have a job that isn’t what I dreamt of and I now have a couple of very serious but catastrophically failed relationships behind me? So does almost everybody else. This isn’t full-blown panic, but it’s constant gnawing unease that is grating away and consuming a lot of my thoughts. There isn’t much to be done for it. Write more. Run more. Stop leaving jobs and purposefully destroying relationships because I’m worried they’re not quite right. Treat my friends better. Got to stop worrying about everything to the letter.

Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.