(except for my ongoing Broadband problems)
It is difficult to explain how good I feel. It feels so good it is scary. I am petrified it might go away. I feel that good, I think I might be normal.
Many people think I am incurably unable to get up, out and in of a morning. Not actually true. I am very poor at going to bed. On both Monday and Tuesday nights I went to bed much much later than I ought to have done and, of course, got less sleep than I should. Not very long ago, two consecutive nights with too little sleep would have left me barely able to get through the working day. But not this week. Yesterday and today I did slightly more than a full day without ever feeling tired. Last night I cooked a meal from scratch and did some tidying, as well as write two - very pleasantly - laborious blogposts.
I took my swimming kit into work today. By six o'clock I was undecided as to whether I actually wanted to go swimming. I opened my desk-pedestal and saw that there was no room to store my swim-stuff. When I left the office I realised I had just missed an 88 from outside, so walked to the next bus-stop. If I caught an 88 that would take me to Clapham Common to pick up another bus to take me home, avoiding Brixton Rec. The first bus that came was a C10 to Pimlico Station, so I decided that as the simplest way home was via Brixton, I might as well go swimming.
There are two things that put me off going swimming. One is the journey. But I would still have to journey home, so that's silly. The second is the getting dressed and undressed. Coldly and analytically that is 'wasted time'. One of my character defects is allowing irrelevancies and peripheries deter me from doing something essentially positive.
Within 45 minutes of leaving the office I was in the water. I am not, by any stretch, a strong swimmer. I am, actually, a natural water babe. I can happily swim under water, eyes open, no goggles. I can happily do quite a medley of strokes:
- doggy paddle;
- front-crawl-with-a-float (that is to make me use my legs rather than relying on my arms too much);
- lazy-backstroke (lie on back and kick legs; occasionally use arms);
- proper backstroke (when I can be bothered);
- sort-of-front-crawl (head down, three strokes, up-and-breathe, head down, repeat, breathing at each side alternatively) - considering I got my 25metres badge in this in 1978 I think I am doing damn well to be able to do probably 18 metres without breaking rhythm!
You get the picture!
I stayed 20 minutes in the water. Remember, I am early middle-aged, overweight, heavy smoking, unfit and recovering/ed from several years of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. That's ten lengths, taking it easy, resting when I feel like it, ploughing up and down at my own pace, increasing the heart rate, getting elegantly sweaty.
And I wonder, is it enough?
I'm not knackered, tired, achy. All positive. I can feel my muscles strengthening...yes, I know that swimming is a cardio, not resistance, exercise, but my starting point was low. Also, I think I my natural body-type is muscular (albeit wrapped in a protective layer of fat); I suspect I am more muscular than many women who are exponentially fitter than me. Even my fat tummy now has muscular definition.
I sat on the bus on the way home (so much quieter, what a difference an hour makes) and reflected on this startling development. I feel like I did years ago when a hard day's auditing was followed by a work out, a long evening on Council stuff, and often a session in a pub, and I just went on and on. I have been puzzled for years how I managed to do it, full of wonder at the energy of other people. I am beginning to believe that I can do it. Energy is plentiful.
And yet, I am so scared because the constant danger with CFS is 'overdoing it'. That massive step forward is destroyed by a violent lurch back. I don't ever want to be like that again.Half of me wants to push myself, to demonstrate to myself and others that it's over, I'm cured, I'm normal again. But I have to conquer that psychological barrier of fear that I try and kid myself is sensible caution.
