Lockdown Guilt and Imposter Syndrome

As previously stated in my last blog: at the beginning of June I had a bit of a wobble. When I state a bit, I lied... I actually had quite a big one. Unusual for me. I haven’t felt that low in quite a few years and it was particularly disconcerting not to feel like I was going to pull out of it anytime soon. Perspective is everything and despite the fact that really, my situation isn’t really that bad; the wobble was very much needed. Quite rightly so, nothing of what I’m living had I signed up to: I’m living in another country with no support (I have the odd friend, but my existence here isn’t particularly the most social in the beginning, let alone after lockdown started! My own choice as I’m quite the introvert but also, my good friends are actually stuck in other countries waiting to return to Egypt!)  My husband is stuck in the back end of the Middle East with no way of returning, my parents confined to their house back in the UK and me stuck in between. For a few weeks even the animals were beginning to test my patience. I’ve taken on a lot with Cervantes, my street cat project. (I’ll write about his story another time.. let’s just say it’s not been particularly easy and he’s very time consuming.)

A few people at the time had suggested that I get one of the repatriation flights back, but they seem to miss the point that El Gouna is my home. This isn’t a holiday, this has been my home and my life for over four years - I cannot just jump ship back to the UK without consequences. My life here, my cats and my dog would still exist. It’s amazing how easily people just assume that I am still just on a giant holiday here. I guess perhaps you don’t really “get” it until you visit and realise that this is life. My life. 

I got through the wobble, obviously. I still credit the kayak as one of the things that grounded me. However, now I’m almost experiencing the opposite - Lockdown Guilt, with a pinch of enjoyment? I’m still stuck. Dan is still stuck until god know’s when, each month we promise ourselves and hope that the outcome will change and yet it seems to change for the worse at the moment. We were meant to have spent June together. Instead we just sit here and every day count the hours, chat about day to day annoyances with not much to report back on. I miss him something chronic, but I’m a lot more at ease with it now. Don’t get me wrong.. I hate every damn moment of it, but I can’t change it, all I can do it sit and support and try and keep positive. He has his own issues - mostly revolving stupidity of others, and major fallout thanks to being in a ridiculously poor country rifled in Corona, but that’s another story and not mine to tell. (I’d love to though, his anecdotes keep me in stitches for hours). 

I’ve started to revel in being here, doing my own thing and from that I’ve started to feel guilty. I don’t know if it’s the Endorphins or having a purpose, but my feelings have bucked up a lot. I’ve got deeply into exercise the past few weeks. The Twitter posse, mostly the running community have been a bit of a lifeline on top of the kayaking. Mel, Myrna, Paul, Chris, Darren et al... you’ve all been a major help to me. Your positivity, guidance (and jokes!)  have really kept me focused into challenging myself which is normally what I shy away from. I’ve somehow managed to do a full 180 degree turn, and using that misery against something positive. Now I just need to keep it up. I also have the added bonus that my brother, Neil is now a running addict. (Words I thought that I would NEVER write). He’s lost a tonne of weight, got fit and we have a promise of a half marathon together in 2021. Neil and I are particularly close and I’m beyond excited to be able to share this with him, I’m quite simply over the moon actually. I then in turn feel guilty for actually feeling positive in such a shoddy time - I know it’s all situational and people are suffering and then there’s me trotting along just happy to be doing the bits that I’m doing. The introspective, anxious mind will never just simply let me enjoy a moment, will it?

I joined something called Run Around the World - It’s a split team effort to try and “virtually” Run around the world over the whole of July. I chose Team North, (choices were the obvious East, West, South) the only time that I’ll ever be a Northerner but pretty much all of my friends were in this group already so it made sense. I’ve been running on a treadmill pretty much ever since. I also shall complete the Race to the Stones Marathon today. 42km in 6 days...not bad for a wannabe runner. 

I call myself a wannabe runner, as I definitely have a touch of Imposter Syndrome, I don’t “feel” like a runner. I’m not entirely sure what I’m meant to feel like to actually BE a runner. I feel like someone dabbling in it... but I guess at some point that will change and I’ll feel like I’m actually doing it as a choice and not as not as a force to push myself ( but isn’t that what running is about?) I feel a little daunted by the twitter running community, everyone seems too have amazing race photos, cracking heart and breathing rates and personal bests that I could only ever dream of, but I guess that comes with time. They’ve never been anything but kind and inclusive despite the fact I’m so ridiculously new to all of this. I just have moments of blind panic that I’m not really anything vs these running giants and I’m wasting people’s time. 

I’m running in constant heat either outside (rarely now it’s Summer) or inside at the gym (the air con is only on 25c!) so I’m hoping that this will bring me in good stead as and when the temperatures drop and I can pick up my pace a bit. I guess also, after all the years of being sick and constant illness I’ve never really thought I’d fall into the category of being an athelete of sorts. I don’t feel good enough to be that, despite the fact it’s obvious that somehow I’m finally able to push myself to run 10km, with the aim of much, much more. I always feel like I’m in the recovery stage, not out the other side - always expecting the next fall. I know you could argue that attitude can set me back, but after over 20 years of suffering you kind of just expect it. A psychologist somewhere could probably make wonders out of my mind set, but instead, for now, my musings are put down on my blog instead.

Maybe when I can finally enter proper races, in person and join Park Run back in the UK I might feel a little differently. It also probably doesn’t help that I’ve pretty much run out of running kit. I’m down to two pairs of shorts and one running top. Even my sports bras are beginning to give up the ghost. So if you see any selfies/ photos of me wearing a pink running top, I promise it gets washed every single day! I’m hopefully due a family visit in August, of which I’ve already ordered a tonne of new kit to their house to bring with them.

Anyway,  it’s now 5am and the sun is coming up. It was one of those mornings where sleep was lost on me. Time to get out, walk the dog and then go kill the rest of that marathon. Come on Summer, I’m ready for you so that we can start back to the new normal again. Chop chop.