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As he upped the abuse, my health deteriorated.
Not only did I lose my fitness, but I became ill. Then, after he went, I had full blown symptoms of PTSD. I felt I would never recover or get back to physical strength.
I began slowly, caring for my body. I went to the spa, sitting trying to breathe slowly to control my anxiety, the bubbles softly gurgling around me. I couldn’t entertain anything more strenuous at that point.
I then upgraded to the gym, trying out new exercise machines. I finished off with a hot shower at the end, buying myself lovely shower gel to make me feel a bit pampered. I could feel my strength slowly coming back.
Eventually, I broke into running again. I used to run, so I thought I would find it easy, that my muscles had memory, as had happened before after a lapse; but I must have been unwell, because I found it tough. Still, I kept going. Week after week, and into months. Sometimes I only felt up to a short run; other times I ran further. I never berated myself for not running longer: I knew it would take time.
Then a friend started running with me once a week, around my solo runs. She has pushed me to work a bit harder.
Today, I went out with her for a run. When it came to running up two major hills, I expected my friend – as usual- to keep running, whereas I would need to walk it, the gradient being too steep.
But today, I surprised her and myself by keeping on going and running up both hills without stopping.
It was a major achievement for me. I suffered greatly, in a physical sense, from the abuse. My run today symbolised me having returned from ill-health and weakness to actual physical strength.
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