It’s been three months since the marathon challenge ended – and it’d be a lie to say things have been rosy.
Maybe it was the elation of finishing the first marathon – or the relief – but since finishing in Derry I’ve become a slob. I’ve done little exercise, no matter what I tell myself, barely any running, and piled on well over a stone and a half.
And the worrying, scary thing is, I just don’t seem capable of sorting myself out.
Here comes the world’s smallest violin.
I’m at the stage again where I’m embarrassed of myself. I’m embarrassed of my fat body and regularly think people are laughing at me in the street – regardless of any evidence of it or not. I’m embarrassed to see myself in the mirror, or to get changed at the gym. I tell myself that I’ll go to the gym everyday, but instead tire myself out eating crap each evening, spending endless hours on the PlayStation wasting my life, finding excuses not to go out and exercise at 5am like I used to each day.
The daft thing is I’ve done races. I did the Great North Run recently and the Dublin Rock n Roll half marathon – both with no training – meaning I couldn’t really enjoy the days as I should have as I was basically dying the whole way around – struggling to do even the basics that I used to find easy. It was only April that I ran an uninterrupted 21 miles at the Manchester marathon. I had to have a walk break after two and a bit in Dublin and both races took me at least 20 minutes longer than they should have.
This isn’t designed as a fiery “this stops now” post. I wish it was one. I’m trying, slowly but surely, to get back into it all. Going to sign up for next year’s Manchester marathon and a Tough Mudder to try to motivate me to get my shit together. I know I can do it. I just can’t figure out how.
I’m stuck in a strange place. I spend my time with my missus and little boy – my two favourite people in the whole world – but living hundreds of miles away from friends and family, with no actual friends to speak of where I live casts a shadow of loneliness over day-to-day life.
I’m certain that the majority of this would go away if I could just find a new job. Mine makes me utterly miserable and robs me of almost all family time. Me and the missus basically take turns at being out of the house due to work – or end up doing it at home – stretching working days way past 12 hours on a regular basis.
Thing is, can you ever just walk away from a job with nothing lined up when you’ve rent, daycare and daily costs to deal with? Or go work somewhere else, where the starting wage will be significantly less than what you currently earn? It’s a lesser of two evils situation, but it’s going to have to come to a head soon. It can’t go on like this.
I just want one week where I can enjoy my family. Enjoy being with them and not fucking working or worrying about working. One week where my head isn’t consumed with the thoughts of being skint when I should be sleeping. Seven days of not being encompassed by a depressing panic that I’m not a good enough dad. Or partner.
They say that the key to a healthy body is a healthy mind. Or maybe it’s the other way around.
Perhaps if I could make a start on one – the other may start playing catch-up.
I don’t know why I wrote this. Maybe it was just my way of admitting that I’m struggling. I’m not sure I actually want anyone to see it… It’s good to talk? Maybe so.