Some days I clock up 10,000 steps by 10am, according to my new toy smartwatch. Though I think its definition of steps is generous. Still, rushing around at 90 miles an hour has been my modus operandi for as long as I can remember and last week it caught up with me.
Yes readers, I was felled by a virus. Not a dangerous virus, but combined with stress and lack of sleep, the effect was quite scary. For a couple of days last week I thought I was going to collapse. Then lulled into a false sense of security by a good night’s sleep I took part in Saturday morning’s 5 kilometre Parkrun, pushed myself to the limit on a freezing cold morning, was the third female to finish and ended up in the GP surgery on Monday evening after also spring cleaning the house and car before the arrival of visitors.
The GP prescribed rest with a rueful smile, knowing that rest is not really possible when you are a lone parent carer. But something had to give.
I’ve slowed down. I’ve stopped obsessively exercising for now, and I’m trying to move more slowly, and think more slowly: finishing one train of thought before rushing on to the next one. I’m even doing a bit of mindfulness. It’s not as annoying as I feared. And slowly I seem to be improving.
So if I’m not around so much, that’s why. Of course I might decide I like slow living, but somehow I suspect I will back to my normal racing pace before too long!