Hopes and dreams
Bike riding. It kinda goes down the toilet, round the u-bend, and then does an Olympic-style twisty-turny, somersaulty, magnificent little nose dive into the sewer of life, where it bobs around high-fiving all the other traits and aspects of your life you may have felt forced to flush after getting ME/POTS – like hobbies, career, relationships, self-esteem, purpose, hopes and dreams.
However, since becoming chronically ill over 8 years ago, there have been some hopes and dreams I simply haven’t been able to let go of. Aside from becoming a mum (the biggest dream), many of my hopes have been exercise related.
You see, I was such a gym junkie before getting sick; I was one of those weirdos you hear about who was hitting the gym at 5.30am most mornings to get a decent workout in before the long commute to my job. I loved both weight training and cardio … but mostly cardio. I always loved the endorphin buzz from sweating like a mofo whilst getting my heart rate up as high as I could handle without making myself puke.
… which is pretty ironic really, considering all I have to do now to achieve this – thanks to my POTS – is a little light housework.
Biking: bruised but buzzing
Anyways, about a year or two before getting signed off sick for the next 8 years … I bought a bike. A fancy and rather expensive mountain bike at that. I hadn’t ridden a bike with any regularity since I was about 12, but I was excited to get started again – in my usual ‘go hard or go home’ manner, of course.
Side note – this was in the days before I met Pete. Actually, now that I come to think of it, I was on a date when I rediscovered my love of bike riding. The guy in question thought it would be nice to go to the Peak District for a romantic cycle in the woods. Except, me being me, I turned it into a hardcore workout and perhaps let my competitive gym-junkie side overshadow the sweet, lovely, girl-next-door this particular date may have been hoping I would be. (Screw that! Pedal harder, fucker … PEDAAAAAL!!!)
Anyways, fair to say, we didn’t see each other again. I wasn’t particularly phased; plenty more fish and all that jazz. But what I did care about, was buying myself a mountain bike and getting out in the woods with my equally enthusiastic and just-as-clueless-as-me friend on some excellent biking trails. So, that’s what we did. We cycled – and fell over a lot – along some stunning mountain biking trails in the Yorkshire Dales. We were bruised but absolutely buzzing; biking was definitely our ‘thing.’
… That is, until my friend sadly moved away for work.
This left me on the lookout for a new bike buddy – and prospective future husband – when along came Pete. Two for the price of one. Score!
Only …
Only – and I’d like to think there’s no correlation here … I got sick soon after meeting Pete. My condition deteriorated rapidly and before I knew it, we were moving in together sooner than planned because I could no longer look after myself. And my poor bike was left to gather dust in our shed indefinitely, while the life I once loved did likewise – albeit in the comfort of my bed, rather than the shed.
My ME/POTS ended up being Severe for 3 years, during which time I was mostly housebound and bedridden. During this time, I really struggled with the thought of getting rid of things from my old life: mostly, clothes that had become too small as my body expanded due to inactivity, exercise equipment (resistance bands, swiss ball, dumbbells, that sort of thing) … and then – my precious bike.
I remember my mum coming over to help vacuum pack my too-small clothes to make space for my bigger, comfier ones. I sobbed my heart out in my stretchy leggings and frumpy jumper as all my favourite skinny jeans, dresses, pretty tops – and even more devastatingly – my favourite Lululemon gym clothes, were all bagged up and had the air sucked out of them … while I watched on, having the remains of a life I used to love so much and the fond memories each outfit held, get sucked out of me.
And that was that: my pretty clothes and Lululemons lived in the attic, and my bike lived in the shed – for more years than I could ever have imagined when I first got sick. Never to see the light of day again.
… Or so I thought.
Progress
I had my first bike ride in almost 9 years recently; it was truly EPIC! Granted, I just pootled along the canal for 4 miles, met Pete and O for lunch, and then pootled home again (okay, I pushed myself harder on the way home – old habits die hard – and was totally wiped out when I got there, and had PEM to deal with afterwards … but I’ll just gloss over that bit for the purpose of this celebration).
I felt kinda wobbly at first. My confidence was definitely fragile and I had to play around with the gears to remind myself how they work. But soon enough, I was well on my way, grinning like a dog with its head out of the car window.
I’m thrilled to say, in recent years, things have changed a LOT for me. My health has improved dramatically, albeit I’m far from cured. My weight dropped low enough to let the air back into my beloved vacuum clothes in the attic. And then it went back up again. And everything in between. And that’s okay. I’ve learned to place more value on the air around me, ditch the frumpy jumpers and buy myself nice clothes again … in a bigger size. (Not to be negative about the frumpy jumpers. They’re very comfy and I still wear them. Just not every day).
I bought new workout clothes too, and got a solid year out of them before packing them away in a drawer because my health dipped too much to continue going to the gym. I have made many attempts at the couch to 5k – but thanks to my ME, I still remain MUCH closer to the couch than I am ever to the 5k … usually with quite a few months off in between attempts while my body recovers. And I’m okay with that; I will continue to try – and fail – for as long as my body will let me.
And now … I’ve finally dusted off my beautiful bike.
Gratitude, fluctuations and acceptance
I am beyond grateful for everything I am able to do again – no matter how sporadic and short-lived. And I know my ability to ride my bike will fluctuate the same way everything else has. I’ll have good days/weeks/months/years and bad days/weeks/months/years. And that’s okay.
Honestly, I hadn’t realised how much I’ve missed my bike; I’m so happy I hoarded it in the shed all these years, refusing to even consider selling it. I’d forgotten how freeing it feels to just pedal and see where it takes me, as I navigate the bumps in the trail with the same clueless confidence and blatant uncertainty that I navigate the continuous bumps in my health.
Oh, and finally … I’d also forgotten how completely violated my undercarriage feels after a bike ride. OUCH! 😜
Have you been hoarding anything from your old life that you can’t bear to part with?
