My teenage punishments have now become my adult goals. Not leaving the house. Going to bed early after not getting to go to a party.
Our kids used to have a bedtime. Now they just tuck me in and continue doing whatever they want.
Biggest is currently living her best Fresher’s Week life, doing all the things that would make me shudder.
I’m at home cosying down and welcoming autumn like a long-lost friend. Soup is back on the cooker, woolly jumpers are aired and let’s dust off the slow cookers to get the stovies on the go.
While summer 2021 has been lovely, my attempt at a “hot girl summer” is over and it is now time for sad donkey autumn. Or is it?
I’ve signed up for a trial. I never sign up for anything anymore if I can help it but on the third anniversary of my cancer diagnosis, I felt it was time. It’s called SafeFit.
Run by our amazing NHS, it pairs cancer patients, like me, with a personal trainer.
Questionnaires completed, surveys filled out and consent given. No going back now.
Without wishing to make excuses, it’s quite difficult to find someone to guide cancer patients properly, to consider the aches and pains involved.
From tired to exhausted and beyond
Or mental health issues that follow like a faithful black dog or the occasional debilitating fatigue.
There are degrees of tiredness to be experienced throughout life and having treatment can really push those to the limit. You have tired. Really tired. Exhausted. So exhausted my eyes might fall out. Living Corpse. And finally, I believe I’ve moved into a land where everything is utterly hilarious and I can’t feel my own limbs but that’s fine because I’ll just float like a mashed potato angel.
There are some days where I can experience all six of these in the space of 24 hours. Even when one pays for a PT, there is always guilt attached with not completing goals set, regardless of having an iron-clad reason for not participating.
The potato angel
How am I going to explain the potato angel status? Fingers crossed they’ve been chosen for their sympathetic manner as well as any Sgt Major tendencies.
So here I am. Hovering over the email from my newly-paired personal trainer. I’m sure she’s very lovely. But I’m also sure she’s heard it all before. Just not yet from me.
By signing up for this trial, I’m hoping that my respect and gratitude for the NHS will encourage me to partake, along with the obvious benefits for my health.
I haven’t opened the message yet. I’m too worried about what she’ll ask me.
Have I ever completed a marathon? Erm, does Netflix count? Tell me about your ideal day – 14 hours of sleep and a buffet breakfast.
Hobbies? Favourite foods?
Any hobbies? I’m a mother, so if I have any free time at all I will go and LIE DOWN.
Favourite foods? Seeing as I long for the 1990s when nobody had heard of kale, and bread was still good for you, I’m not convinced she’s going to approve.
Thanks to social media, I get to see all the people I used to cheat death with every weekend now all grown up into such brilliant adults and it is inspiring.
From unimpressed to blown away
Once I hit a certain age, I became permanently unimpressed by a lot of stuff. However, some stuff still blows my tiny mind.
One of my university friends has just completed a 113-mile cycle round the Lake District. A former work colleague is about to undertake the London Marathon.
A high school friend and her companions have just cycled from John o’ Groats to Land’s End, raising more than £15k for Save the Children. Wow, just wow.
My body’s engine light is on
Especially impressive when I’m pathetically proud I managed a full eight hours at work today. With the help of the staff. And with a lot of sitting down.
Considering chocolate and Irn-Bru have been a support system for my whole life, it’s no wonder really.
I feel like my body’s “check engine” light has been on and I’m still driving it like: “Nah, it’ll be fine!”
In conclusion, if I don’t make time for my wellness, I’ll be forced to make time for my illness.