Did I tell you guys I’ve completely lost my fucking mind? Oh yeah, so I’ve completely lost my fucking mind. It all began a few weeks back when I had to go to hospital, thinking I was having a stroke while watching The Great British Bake-Off. Lost the power of speech. Vision went zigzaggy. Ambulance came.
Nurses just thought I was a twat. I could tell. They did the standard tests and concluded I probably wasn’t dying. So what the fuck was this shit? Ah, fuck it, I thought, and stopped drinking Pepsi Max. I was drinking several litres of Pepsi Max a day, that was when I wasn’t drinking espresso and when I wasn’t drinking either of those I was drinking instant coffee. When I wasn’t drinking anything I was out running and sweating. I’m no doctor but too much caffeine seemed like a likely suspect.
Gave up caffeine and this shit was still happening. Just out the blue I’d suddenly feel like I was dying. This I did not need.
I’d been running like a twat for months and months. As fast as I could every single day. I figured it might be that, so had a day off running but that didn’t make a difference so I went back to running. Gave up wine, that didn’t help. It’s fucked.
Went to see the doctor. The one who was sympathetic about my sore leg that time. She reckoned I was just being a twat. Getting all stressed to fuck and prescribed beta-blockers.
Thing is I do not get stressed. I don’t get anxious. Why not? Because I am always stressed to fuck. I don’t get it, I am it. Everything makes me anxious and always has done. I deal with that shit. I couldn’t be more stressed. Suck it up, soldier. So, fair enough I’m going fucking mental but something’s causing it. Something’s gone fucked up. Something medical, not a bit of stress.
To be honest I’m pretty sure I know what it is. It’s too much fucking running. The internet says it takes two weeks to three months to recover from chronic overtraining. So to that end imma take a week off running. One whole week. Seven days. I’ve read about it on the internet. You overtrain and your hormones get fucked up. Sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous stuff. Adrenaline and the like.
The weather’s fucking amazing though so not running for a few days is going to be a helluva lot tougher than giving up wine or food. It makes sense though. I was running everyday and everyday I was running hard. I’d do a race and then do a hard run the next day. I’ve been running okay. I mean, I wasn’t running as fast as I thought I should be – and that’s a sign – but then I knew I was running too much. I thought I’d know when I was clinically over-trained by my legs falling off, not by my brain breaking. Not my brain. My lovely brain.
Oh yeah, the doctor said I had high cholesterol. No surprise there. I’ve only eaten eggs and pork fat and chicken skin for four years. And peanut butter.
Because I give my urine to Enrique because he’s a drug addict I told him he’d have to just eat porridge for three weeks. He pulled his quizzical face but I shouted at him because stress and he took some instant porridge off the shelf. Don’t know if he ate it. If I can’t run for five days then others are going to suffer too, mark me well.
So it’s been 20 hours since my last run. I went twice around the reservoir. I passed a school group on my first lap and then when I passed them the second time the teacher said I got around quick. I told her I was my brother and we all laughed. Then I found a budgie. It was on the path and I thought it was injured and lost. It seemed quite tame and after a few minutes I managed to catch it. It bit me and flew away full of vigour. The little blue fucker.
I feel fine today but I’m still going to have three days off running. You improve when you recover. No recovery and no improvement and complete mental breakdown. It’s not worth it. Not really, not when you think about it.
It’s Thursday today. I’ll probably go for a gentle jog on Saturday. Just along the front. Seven minute mile. Get out in the sun. The sun’s good for you, it’s full of vitamin D, one of the best vitamins. I’m probably lacking vitamin D.