Storm in a Wine Glass

I am having a stinker. My mood is diabolical. Restless, irritable and resentful. Poor Hubby is a saint for enduring standing in the heavy rain under my thundercloud one minute and ready to hold me tight the next. Gosh, the poor man.

Last night, trapped in this shitty mood and struggling to perk up, I used one of my go-to tools and went for a run. I didn’t feel like it, had a bit of a stomach ache and heading out felt like torture. I’ve also just bought new running shoes and even though they’re the super comfortable, awesome brand, model and size as my last pair, it’s probably not a good idea to do a long run when you first strap them on, I ended up doing a 9k loop. I just knew I needed the goodness of exercise and desperately wanted those endorphins to set me straight(er).

***Random recommendation for those of you who adore running, by the way – Hoka is an amazing running shoe! They come in all the usual descriptions with different models for road, trail, etc. They’re by the guys behind Solomon and they know what they’re doing. Designed to gently put you into the right gait and posture, they are deceptively chunky (at odds with the school of thought promoting light, barely-there shoes that promote barefoot running) but the soles are super soft and springy and they’ve made a HUGE difference and I’ll never switch brands now. I have the Hoka One One Bondi model, extra wide for my hobbit feet. They are awesome. The trainers, that is, not my big feet. My big feet are a pain in the neck and I also have bunions that are tricky. Oh, and hairy toes. Old crone feet, really. ***

Whilst my long run didn’t and hasn’t forced me back into positive, enthusiastic Anna, it did its job: it made me work at my happiness when all I wanted to do was sulk and be stationary, it forced me out of my own head and it made me feel good because I took action and resisted the instinct to be an angry slob. I guess this is my way of working a program. Perhaps I know now that giving in to instincts that tell me to run away and hide away is the wrong thing to do and that I have to run towards my fears and discomfort and face them. It ALWAYS turns out better when I do. Every goddamn time.

So with a playlist consisting of a wild concoction including everything from Motley Crue to Chaka Khan, I chugged along the 7k loop and coming up to the 5k mark where I’d usually head up the high street, I continued on towards the university which added up to 9k by the time I wobbled in through the gates to our drive way. That feels fucking good and I feel good just thinking about it now. I did something good. It was hard work but I did it. I would not have felt this good if I’d decided not to go. Running is a godsend for me, probably my most indispensable wellbeing method. Genuinely. I don’t run fast, it’s a slow and steady jog and I’ll never be an athlete, but it does so much good. It also allows me to eat like a truck driver without feeling too guilty. Balance. It’s all about balance, this recovery gig.

Hubby is working from home and has a tonne of calls so I’m going to head over to the Swedish shop and get some baking supplies, then make a huge batch of cinnamon rolls. That’s my plan for today. Job hunting and cinnamon roll baking.

I’m still in a shitty, sulky, stinky, rubbish, fuck-off mood, but that’s life and I’m going to roll with it. Imagine, just for a brief moment, if I were to drink on this mood. FUCKINELL that’d make it SO. MUCH. WORSE. I’d go from moody to full-on depressed and furious along with a dumbed-down mind and feeling physically like death and unable to move. See? It could always be worse! It would always get worse if I were to drink.

The sun will come out, tomorrow, bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow, there’ll be sun…..

And today…

Today I’m not going to drink.