When we went into the first lockdown, I was already ill in bed with Covid. It totally knocked me for six. I was ill for a month. Okay for a few days. Ill for a couple of weeks. Okay for a week. And then it really began. It developed into pneumonia that took some shifting.
When I finally got out of bed I looked out of the window at the chairs a few metres away on our patio and I knew I couldn’t make it that far …
I did get better, apart from having become almost deaf in my left ear. However, I’ve been experiencing “spoon-life” ever since. I had to measure out what I could do with the amount of energy I had; if I needed things from the fridge or a cupboard, I’d get all I needed in one go, an extra trip across the kitchen would cut down what I was capable of that day. I look after my kids, but they’re teens and they stepped up and did more. When I worked, I’d spend the next day or two in bed. And every 6-8 weeks my energy would vanish and I’d spend a week or so in bed.
So that was two and a half years.
Then I slipped a disc – because my strength had vanished, I couldn’t exercise and I was generally weak. Even at the start of this year I couldn’t walk for half an hour. That absence of energy cannot be pushed through. I saw a physio for my back – and the rotator cuff I’d pinged too. My core is getting stronger. Building up over six months, I walked more and then gently trotted 60 metres down the garden. Next day I repeated this. Within a week or so I was doing very gentle laps of the garden several times a day.
I know this has been the same for so many of you: but that first run – C25K, run 1 was MASSIVE for me. I was literally high, because I had hope again. Today is a birthday rest-day (though I’m working tonight). Tomorrow is Week 6, run 3…