Team Little Legs is up and running again, but only just
Please be warned, this is going to be a long depressing read. Firstly, an apology, I have been gone a long time, nearly five months it would seem. This post will go some way to explaining my absence, and it will be tough writing, and possibly for some close to me, tough reading. For that I apologise, but it will be a one off, then hopefully, I will go back to prattling on about cakes, running, sore feet and Tommy's.
So five months ago the blogs and Team Little Leg facebook page updates stopped, why? because I stopped basically. In October I had begun to suspect that the post natal depression I had suffered with my previous two daughters was returning, this was confirmed when whilst watching Skyfall at the cinema, I decided that I was under surveillance, and locked Emily and myself in a toilet for thirty minutes. Thankfully I confided in my husband, and saw my GP that day, and was referred to urgent psychiatric care. I was started on medication and managed to struggle on for a while, but things weren't right, I wasn't eating, I wasn't sleeping and was finding it harder and harder to train. I isolated myself from my friends and family and the Christmas fair almost fell apart. Thankfully it was a success and it would seem that it had been the thing keeping me going, making me so exhausted that my body had to sleep, and ensuring that I stayed in contact with other people. But once it was over, I crashed. Sleep stopped altogether, I began to have wild idea's, became unbelievably paranoid, completely devoid of feeling. I wanted nothing to do with my friends, my family or my husband and children. I didn't wash, didn't go out and had no motivation. The happy, confident friendly and motivated Rachel slowly slipped away and left behind a shadow of a women who was less use than a chocolate fireguard. All I could do was crochet and stare at the walls. All this however paled into insignificance compared to the suicidal thoughts which utterly dominated my mind. It was simple, I was a failure, a bad person, and everybody would be better off with me out of the picture. I rationalised it with the cold reasoning that a doctor would, I even managed to convince myself that it wouldn't be too bad for Chris and the girls, my parents, siblings and friends. I picked a method, a date and put my finances in order. Then two things happened. My brilliant psychiatric team recognised that I was seriously at risk, and realised that my lowest ebs and darkest thoughts came in the early hours of the morning, when I lay awake unable to sleep. They gave me a stark choice, sleeping pills or admission for my own protection, basically if I didn't sleep, they wanted me to be with them. I agreed to start sleeping tablets and after a couple of days, there was a slight difference, and I began to feel a little better. Then the final saving grace came, Caroline told me she was pregnant. Now as you will remember all my fund raising was in memory of Caroline's lost little boy, and I was so delighted that they were now pregnant again. Then I did some mental maths, my date for ending it all came before Caroline was past the 12 week "safe" stage, and would the shock of me ending my life (I wasn't naive enough to think that people wouldn't be upset, this worried me a great deal) cause a miscarriage, I simply couldn't take that risk. It would seem that although my depressed mind was willing to destroy the lives of my children, my husband, my family and my close friends, it drew the line at ending a life that hadn't even begun yet. So I decided to put everything back, and the more I slept, the more I rested and the more medication I took, the more exercise and crocheting I did, I began to recover. Although I was and still am depressed, I began to feel normal again, I began to feel and more importantly think like me again, and I really didn't want to go anywhere. I love my life, I love my husband, my children, I adore my family and enjoy my job. I wanted to be here to enjoy it. I slowly began to do more and crochet less and I began to run again.
So less depressed, more energy, but there was a problem. During the lowest point of my depression I missed a lot of training. I looked at my training schedule and realised I was seven weeks behind. So what did I do, did I follow all the running magazines and the London Marathons training guides advice and build up again slowly after my gap, increasing weekly mileage by no more than 10% and taking care to stretch to avoid injury, or did I jump straight back in and attempt to run 30 miles a week straight off. Unfortunately I did the latter, and after five weeks of running I started to get a pain in my right foot. Things progressed and I eventually sought medical advice, and had my worse fears confirmed. Three weeks ago an xray of my right foot showed bone healing indicative of a stress fracture, a very common injury in people who increase their mileage too quickly. I had to make a decision, did I carry on to the marathon, and risk further injury, or did I pull out and carry my place over to next year. So yesterday I went to the London Marathon, but only as a spectator. I was heartbroken, and although I know I made the right decision, my foot is only just healed and the reduction in mileage that allowed my foot to heal meant that I was no where near ready, I still feel like a failure, and that hurts.
But its not all doom and gloom, lets end on a high note shall we. Tommy's have carried my entry over to next year, with no additional fund raising. Even without the sponsorship I have raised over £1,500 and I am so proud of that. My fracture has healed well and yesterday I ran for 40 mins without pain. I am having a few sessions with a fab personal trainer, who is helping me stretch and build up muscle strength to stop future fractures. Finally I am sure this is what you want to know. Caroline is now 29 weeks pregnant, with a little girl. I cant describe how chocked up I feel when I see her ever growing bump. Maybe its because I know how hard they have worked, the pain they have gone through and the pain they are risking again to get to this point, or maybe its because I know that that little girl played a part in me still being here. Thanks Little Miss Savage.
So here we go again, one year till marathon day...wish me luck!!!
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