Training and demons

Training has begun! I had the dreaded weigh-in and measurements on Sunday and it was as bad as I thought. I have a lot to do to get in shape for the trek:

Day 1 - travel from London to Amman (the capital of Jordan), then to the Dead Sea.

Day 2 - walking for roughly 2.5 hours (4-5 km)

Day 3 - walking for roughly 8 hours (16 km)

Day 4 - walking for roughly 8 hours (18 km)

Day 5 - walking for roughly 6.5 hours (10 km)

Day 6 - walking for roughly 6 hours ( 6km)

Days 7-8 - sightseeing at Petra and Wadi Rum with a farewell dinner before heading home.

Dream Challenges has provided a training plan which they recommend you start six months before the trek. How wonderful - I hear you cry. Yes, it is rather wonderful but it looks pretty intense and I think you need to be fairly fit before starting it.

I am middle-aged, fat, and very unfit. For the last two years I have used food as a crutch. I have a lot to achieve if I'm going to be ready for the trek. So it's walking, healthy eating (Dr Michael Mosely's recipes are a joy: fast, easy and restaurant stylee - it doesn't feel like training at all!), and meditation. I've devised a plan that's not so drastic that I'll fail. For once in my life, I'm taking things slowly and I'm hoping this new approach will work.

But I didn't plan for the demons.

I keep the demons away by building a brick wall in my head (this is an excellent skill in case we are invaded by aliens, like the Midwich Cuckoos). I keep my mind busy all the time, which keeps the wall up (clever, eh?). I sleep in fits and starts which I think is because I'm keeping an eye on that wall. If cracks start to appear, I can get the virtual Polyfilla out and plaster right over them. Sometimes it doesn't work and the demons get out and those nights are filled with terrors.

And sometimes during the day I become complacent. I don't notice the cracks. I don't see the demons seeping through until it's too late. The wall is breached. The bricks fly out and knock me flat. Late yesterday evening I hadn't been watchful enough and the pain was just too much. A friend picked up my vibe, my almost imperceptible SOS blinking into the darkness, and she held me (virtually) until I couldn't cry any more and the fear had subsided. I am so grateful to her. Finally I was able to sleep.

This morning I feel as though I've been in a boxing ring. I'm battered but still standing. I don't know where the demons are, I can't face sorting out the bricks. I'm picking my way carefully. It'll be like that for the next couple of days.

Usually I would resort to comforting-eating and a day on the sofa. Today, the demons aren't going to trick me into that. I'm meeting a friend later for a socially distanced walk. I'm going to have my planned spiced-plums for breakfast and pesto lentils for dinner. They won't win, not today.

Now the sun has risen, I can think logically about why the wall broke. In three weeks' time it'll be two years since Tim died. I've come a long way in two years. I sometimes still mistake strangers for him, sometimes still think it's him when the phone rings. But I no longer expect him to walk through the door. I'm coming to accept that this is what my life is now. It's dinners for one. It's quiet. Not so much laughter. No-one to tell me to be careful when I leave the house. No more I love yous.

I remember what Kate, the Celebrant at Tim's funeral said, that grief is the price we pay for love. It makes it a bit easier to deal with somehow. The grief-bashing equates to how much I miss him. He's left a huge hole in my heart. Sometimes it shrinks a bit. Sometimes it gapes wide open.

And I look at the little sea-shell he brought me from Yanbu in Saudi Arabia. And I think how I'll keep it with me on the trek in Jordan. And somehow those demons don't seem so bad after all.