I had my first race of 2016 booked for this morning. The alarm was set, and early to bed I went. I woke up, dressed in my running gear and put my travelling clothes on top. I packed my bag with my running jacket, snacks and water. I looked up my route on city mapper…shit, it’s long and in a place I don’t know.
I’ll go anyway. I really want to go.
I put on my coat, grab my wallet, scarf for afterwards, everything and bam! Oh Hi brick wall of anxiety 20 ft high, with no rope, no steps no nothing to climb over it with. I start welling up, wanting to cry. I can’t do it.
It’s not the race, or the fitness gear. It’s not that people will be watching me run and clapping me along at the back of the race, or that my jiggly bits will wobble or my thighs look fatter than they once did even though all of these things are bothering me. It’s travel. I struggle with travel. I struggle with new places. I struggle with going to new places, and I struggle with travelling.
It helps if I have someone to travel with but no one was available to come with me this morning, and I can’t go through life expecting people to escort me everywhere, but unfortunately, sometimes I need that.
However, it is not all bad. I went for a run. I did my 5k I just didn’t get a goody bag, medal or t-shirt for doing it but I have a pretty awesome race in central London in areas I know at the end of the month to look forward to so all is not lost.
I’m trying to be positive as I can about this situation. I’m trying really hard. I think, considering I wanted to overdose and strangle myself to death the other day I’m not doing too bad. For that, I will reward myself with a coffee date with a friend.