Or it’s meant to be.
It’s a Saturday morning, and I should be getting ready or on my way to some form of MTB adventure because that’s what Saturdays are for.
But I’m not. I’m in my dressing gown. Crying.
It’s the first time I’ve had a proper cry since February 2016, when I started taking antidepressants. It seems like the last few months have taken their toll.
At the end of November I came down with some kind of a sickness bug where I constantly felt nauseous and could barely eat anything. I managed to get a bit of my strength back and had a steady ride at Sherwood Pines during the Christmas break. In January we went on a great snowboarding holiday. In February I was diagnosed with Parry Romberg syndrome. In March I had a bout of sinutisits, followed by an amazing splitboarding holiday. I came back from that holiday hoping to use the fitness I had gained to get back into cycling. Unfortunately it didn’t work and I had the worst exhausted phase I can remember. So April was spent trying to get lots of sleep, eat healthily and do gentle exercise. I got another bout of sinusitis and then my van broke down.
So here I am, half a stone heavier, unfit, lost my bike-confidence and trying to just get out of bed.
I posted up in a Facebook group I’m part of (MTB chix and trails) and asked what other people had done in similar situations, and got such amazing supportive responses. But then that got too much for me and I haven’t been back on Facebook or twitter since.
Sometimes having a slightly faulty brain is hard.