This week started with a lot of good intentions, and as these have somehow all unravelled into bits on the floor, I'm struggling to not beat myself up about what almost seems to be a 'wasted' week.
Monday morning at work began with a healthy to-do list. Over the recent weeks I've felt myself becoming quite unproductive, and this list was my new start, an attempt to grasp back some of the enthusiasm I've felt over the past year since I started working.
Then there was running, yoga and strength training. I'm working on a more balanced exercise routine, adding weights, squats and core work into the mix to try and reach a level of all-round fitness. With a half marathon next weekend, I was looking forward to really getting into this, doing strength work in the mornings and enjoying runs in the local woods after work.
And finally, there was the good intention to be still and do not a lot. To read and write, to sit and listen to music. To sit and sip tea for the simple pleasure of sitting and sipping tea.
And then I got ill! And the whole thing has collapsed into a bleary, sickly heap. The way that illness grabs and takes hold, forcing you to take what you can from the day and forget the rest, has meant that these good intentions have fallen through completely! Time off work means scrapping the to-do list and working with a must-do list, catching up on trillions of emails and making sure that no one is let down. Sickness has left me empty, quite literally, struggling for the strength to even walk up the stairs or down the road. In turn I have been nibbling through anything and everything my body is pleading for - this so happens to be chips and beans, chocolate biscuits, and porridge with copious amounts of honey. Vegetables are sitting soggy in the fridge, waiting patiently for their turn in the kitchen: maybe tonight is the night.
But still, I'm trying (and only semi-failing) to not be too hard on myself. Until this week I hadn't been sick in 12 years, and it's possible that my body is calling out for something much more important than top marks in my job, or stronger core muscles (though my core muscles could in fact have benefited...we don't need to go there). Without questionning staying at home in my dirge of germs, I was able to lie quietly and enjoy real and whole restfulness. Eating what I fancied when I fancied it, sitting on the couch every few hours for a change of scenery, listening to radio documentaries and reading much-treasured children's stories; this was wholly a practise in being kind to myself. I managed to be still and not do a lot, while also starting work on a new knitting project. Maybe this week hasn't been quite as unsuccessful as I had imagined.