I’ve always been quite honest and open here. So I have a confession to make:
Last week, for the first time in a long time, I stood in front of my mirror, cried and said “why can’t I be thin?” And no, it was not a fat day.
I’ve been out of the game since August, in reality. No clear runs at training in a long time. My body, and apparently my mind are very, very tired.
I should be clear: “Thin” was never EVER the goal. FIT and STRONG were the goals. I wanted to lose some weight. But thin wasn’t the desired outcome. It’s only become a goal in my head because I’m weak at the moment. Weak and vulnerable therefore The Objectives have been clouded by set backs.
What is probably most pathetic, is that the scales haven’t moved. NOT ONE BIT. This is a miracle to be quite honest. I actually weigh less than I did at Aberfeldy. But I can just *tell* that all my muscle tone has, with as much grace as a wobbly plate of jelly, become less toned and “squishy looking”. It could be A LOT worse. And frankly I’m amazed that it isn’t. But it’s enough for my low self esteem to pick up on and fixate upon.
A while ago, a wise chap I know told me that after the tri, I’d finish 2015 in the best shape of my life.
This is probably true. But 8 weeks of back injury followed by a chest infection that ruined Christmas dinner, Hogmanay and a cold so violent I’m still snotty after 2 weeks, say different.
By now, the plan WAS to be base-ready for VLM and Etape training.
The plan is now OH FUCK WHAT AM I GOING TO DO.
Of course, I’ll be fine. I’ll survive. The last time I started marathon prep I was 80% mini cheddar. I’m much stronger now. My immune system isn’t but my body is. And that counts for something! I always forget I’m actually nails.
I know that the crying while naked thing has come from the fact that I’ve had a total body dismorphia relapse as a result of rest and no training and more chocolate than necessary. “Don’t be silly, you look fine” I hear you say. Well just you live in my chaotic head for a week. Then you’ll understand why unfollowing 30 “thinspiration” accounts on Instagram was a brave and sensible plan. There is a part of me that will never be satisfied with the person staring back at me from the mirror.
Ultimately, social media has become my worst enemy.
There we have it then. January 2016. I am in hiding. Tentative steps are being taken on my new training plan. Coach guiding me and reassuring me that I’ll be in shape for London.
I’m looking forward to getting back into my routine and seeing improvements. With any luck, my demons will be put to rest once more to lurk in the shadows until they catch me off guard the next time I’m low.
I am also looking forward to whenever it stops raining, the floods subside and I might actually get to run on the trail and hear the crunch of gravel under my shiny new Asics instead of the splash and squish of muddy fucking puddles.