Get a grip, Love

If I had told you three weeks ago how I was feeling before embarking on what can only be described as a trip of a lifetime, not long after thinking, “what the hell is wrong with you?”, you would have quickly told me where to stick it and sent me and my ungrateful arse across the Pond sooner.

But my goodness did I feel like I had jumped into a previous life again with emotion and anxiety at an all-time high that I practically turned into a ticking time bomb of explosive crying. I’m pretty sure a non-crunchy Pink Lady apple was what tipped me over the edge in the end.

Now I’d never claim to be as hard as nails because realistically I’d probably still cry at The Notebook but even so, as my previous post suggests, I remain quite adamantly a positive, glass half-full kind of gal.

However, when you’re plucked from a content routine of exercise and food, the two things that still remain the most volatile factors to my emotions, and thrown into what will be an unknown routine for ten days (yet knowing health and exercise is likely going to take an almighty hit), chances are you’re going to struggle. Particularly since that place was the United States which rumour has it, suffers from some pretty serious dietary epidemics. I’d practically already put on the weight while crossing the Atlantic – the giant bar of Toblerone didn’t help.

As a previous anorexia sufferer, I have once been absolutely dictated by routine. So much so, that I once a few years ago, broke down in the middle of Euston station, desperate to remove myself from the train taking me to Birmingham that was going to carry me away from routine for just 24 hours. A pitiful sight, not least for the poor TfL bloke that thought I just couldn’t find the correct platform and sent me on my way sniffling to platform 8.

So clearly, how I was feeling in the weeks leading up to my USA trip, the first “long-haul”, out of comfort zone trip since positive recovery, there were still traits of this personality in me I wasn’t fully aware still existed. I was petrified of not being able to exercise and eat a certain way as to what I’m used to, to the point where I had convinced myself that everything had already changed before I had even left the airport. All of a sudden 10 days was feeling like it was turning into 10 weeks and I had even allowed it to completely envelop other areas of my life, too.

Now this all sounds very dramatic, I get it. I’m a healthy individual, lucky enough to have the time and lucky enough to afford the expense of a trip around New York and California and here I am creating drama over what goes so beyond first world problems. But sometimes when old emotions bring themselves to the surface again, it almost feels like your mind reacts ten times worse because it remembers what it felt like before.

Now home and back to reality, I can revel in the fact that I (unsurprisingly) survived. Yes, I took the longest stint away from running than I have done for about 6 years and yes, I really did enjoy way too many Taco’s and Doughnuts and peanut butter M&Ms, but am I an elephant now? Well I don’t think so. But did I have an incredible time? Hell f***ing yes.

The emotions were in my eyes justified, but I have learned so much about the ways in which to deal with them all ready for the next time.

So, where to next?!


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