Physical wellbeing = emotional wellbeing!

I’ve been ‘blog-shamed’. Last night my husband asked whether I had written a post in May, as he thought he’d missed one. Immediately on the defensive, I muttered something about having nothing to say, and then spent all night tossing and turning, wondering why.

So ashamed...

The truth is that a family bereavement and an ongoing knee injury resulted in the month of May being a funny old time in the Land of the Blue Rinse. Both emotional and physical pain have left me feeling disconnected, out of kilter and completely discombobulated. (Love that word - try using it in a sentence!) I fully intend to write about our family’s loss at a later date, but in truth it’s my physical incapacity that has impacted in ways that have surprised even me. I have blogged about my body being ‘Fit for Purpose’, but in the past two months this hasn't been the case. I’ve been completely incapacitated at times, needed crutches and serious painkillers and barely left the house.

Surprisingly painful to use!

Needless to say, tennis is not possible, and, although things are slowly improving, I’m still awaiting an accurate diagnosis and suitable treatment. 
The aspect of all of this that has surprised me the most is the effect this has had on my mental well-being and emotional state. Not only have I stopped doing the things I am unable to do, I haven’t done anything that I can still do. Instead of using my time reading, sewing, blogging, I have retreated into watching rubbish telly, playing Candy Crush and obsessively reading about how sh*t Donald Trump is. Not healthy, really not healthy. I have shied away from meeting up with friends, put on weight and have felt demotivated about just about everything. Not Neighbours though, still love Neighbours! 

So bad, it's good!

The point is that physical activity and mental health are inextricably linked. I love thrashing about on a tennis court, whether I win or lose. 

Oh how I miss holding you...

It’s the one form of exercise that engages me completely and I would happily play every day if I could. Digging in the garden gives me a sense of strength and youthfulness (!) and I always feel as if I really deserve the reward of a bath  and a g&t afterwards. A walk with my husband or friends relaxes and reinvigorates me. I sleep better and worry less. 

All of these things have been unavailable to me of late, and I’ve really felt it. Hence, no blogging - I couldn't see the point. Hopefully this is a relatively short-lived   episode, and I will return to a level of fitness that allows me to return to the things I love which, in turn, will lead to a more general sense of wellbeing. All being well, normal service will be resumed as soon as possible!

Stupid knackered leg!

I appreciate that, in the grand scheme of things my wellbeing is not that important to anyone except my family and friends, which is why part of me feels this post is absurd. No-one caught up in events in Manchester or London gives a flying f*ck about what I think. On the other hand, if we stop doing what we do, on even the smallest level then the terrorist haters win and, demotivated or not, I don't think we should let that happen.

If you're going to be a Loser...

Many years ago, when I separated from from my first husband, I decided to do two things (well three, if you count limiting myself to crying into my pillow so the children didn't see me upset) and they were to start watching Norwich City again and to play tennis.

My Mum's old racquet - genuine vintage!

I have always loved tennis - both watching it and playing it. It’s in my blood - my parents used to play when they were courting, and I used my Mum’s racquet when I first started playing. It was kept in a racquet press which bore the legend, handwritten in pencil, ‘14th June 1937, Love from Arthur x’ Probably one of the first presents my Dad ever bought for my Mum.

14th June 1937, Love from Arthur x

I would spend hours hitting a ball against the back wall, driving my family mad with the repetitive thud and, when I went to High School I discovered a modicum of talent for the game. I was completely enamoured of the whole thing especially the silly white dresses. 

I was eleven years old, and also an avid Bunty reader, and loved the cut out dolls on the last page. Imagine my delight when ‘Bunty plays tennis’ appeared. I persuaded my Mum to make me one of the outfits - a natty shorts / dress combo that must have been really tricky to manufacture. I loved it, but there was one major drawback. Clearly Bunty never actually played tennis, because the minute I extended my body to serve, the shorts gave me an excruciating wedgie - not conducive to concentrating on the game! 

The World's most impractical tennis outfit!

I never could bring myself to tell my lovely Mum all those years ago, and just wore my PE kit to play in from then on. My claim to fame was that I was House Tennis Captain when my house shared the House Tennis Cup, and I can honestly still remember the shot I played that won the crucial match - even our PE teacher applauded!

Fast forward thirty years and on my own with two children, I decided it was time to get out there again. My local council was advertising a ‘ladies tennis group’ at the clifftop courts so I went along. The first week I didn't even get out of the car, I felt that anxious, but my love of tennis helped me overcome my fears and the second week I joined in. When the funding ended for the clifftop group, we moved to the local tennis club, where about eight of us continued to play regularly on Monday evenings and Thursday mornings. As my job became ever more demanding I got further and further out of the loop until…I retired! The very day after I finished work I rejoined the club and now play twice, sometimes three times week. 

Treated myself to more modern equipment!

There now four or five of us who play, all of a certain age and of varying strengths and abilities - one of us is brilliant at drop shots, one at lobbing opponents, one at running down every shot thrown at her and my return of serve is pretty good. We are all united by one thing, however - inconsistency! For every exquisite passing shot, at least ten are wide, for every searing overhead smash, I should think ninety percent find the wrong side of the net and for every perfect lob, the woman who never gives up will find a way to get them back running around the court like a demented terrier. 

We are undisputed queens of the unforced error! That being said, we have so much fun and are so hardy that we turn up unabashed each week, even if the courts are frozen or there’s a gale force wind, knowing that at least we will have something to blame for our poor performance - we do, however, eschew the little white dresses in favour of thermals these days! The other thing that unites us is our ridiculous British politeness. Whilst we might be rejoicing inside for the stunning drop shot we’ve just played, we always apologise for making the opposition run in vain! No fist pumping or high fives for us, just a discrete grin to our partner.

I know tennis isn't everyone’s idea of fun, but for me it is completely joyful - I don't even need to reward myself with a hot chocolate when I get home - a hot shower is all I need! And if you’re going to be a loser, you may as well do it in good company and the fresh air!

I did something spontaneous...and didn't combust!

It’s been a while since my last post - who knew retirement could be so relentlessly busy! The main reason is because I lost my blogging space while we redecorated the kitchen. Anyhow…

I'm a worry gut...

Anyone who knows me appreciates that I am probably the world's least spontaneous person. The closest I come is an impulse purchase of a cuddly jumper if I am out in cold weather. That said, I usually get home and decide to return it because I'm not cold any more!

I have a need to plan, making sure I have dotted ‘i’s and crossed 't’s.  This affords me many opportunities to worry, stress and wish I wasn't doing the thing that I planned in the first place. This mindset applies equally to holidays, big purchases or, in that former life of mine, lesson ideas.

Last Monday evening I had a message from a friend asking if I wanted her two spare tickets for the ATP Tennis Finals the following Wednesday. Now during the summer I had fleetingly thought that I would love to go to the ATP Finals, but didn't do anything about it. Now, faced with this unexpected opportunity, I immediately replied... ‘Sorry, a bit too short notice for me.’ What my friend said next kept me awake half that night.

Food for thought!

I tossed and turned worrying that I would be missing out, and okay, I could go next year, but what if I died in the mean time (I know…that’s how I roll!) I was still awake at 4am, stressing about the fact that my need to plan ahead was preventing me from doing something that I would undoubtedly love - what planning did it need? Go, enjoy, return! 

Having given myself a severe talking to, when I woke up, I immediately messaged my friend asking if she still had the tickets. One brief encounter at Asda later, I had the tickets in my hot little hand, and the strangest thing happened. I wasn't stressed or worried, I was actually excited and looking forward to seeing a professional tennis match for the first time in my life.

Apparently so spontaneous, no time to shave!

So we went off on our great adventure, and had a brilliant day - first tennis match and it was Andy Murray no less. 

Let's go Andy, let's go!

The atmosphere was fab and I was so excited I spent an inordinate amount of money on a T shirt - just to prove I was there! 

Bragging rights t-shirt!

But the best thing was that feeling of disbelief that we were in the O2, watching something amazing when, two days earlier, we had no idea we would be there. And I proved to myself that I can be spontaneous and that, if you’re going to worry, you may as well worry about doing something rather than worry about not doing something and missing out. 

For most people, this wouldn't have been a big thing, but for me it has been huge. Watch out world - I might be coming for you!! 

Getting my Ducks in a Row...

Having a career that is all consuming, mentally, physically and emotionally leaves very little space in life for anything else. When I made the decision that I was going to retire at the end of the school year in which I reached 60, I didn't really give this fact much thought. Other people did though. 

Everyone asked, ‘What are your plans?’; ‘What are you going to do?’ Initially I responded with a snort of derision and the comment,’I’ve been doing stuff every day of my working life, now I’m going to do nothing!’ 

Inside, though, I knew that even in my most inert sitting mode, I would eventually need something to challenge and motivate me. So I started to assemble hobbies. 

For Christmas last year I requested, and received a shiny new sewing machine. A camera followed for my birthday. I reacquainted myself with people from my old tennis club, and dusted down my running shoes. I also treated myself to a new bike, with a stylish helmet and my friends and colleagues presented me with some new gardening equipment when I left work. A positive smorgasbord of activities!

(It should be noted at this point that I haven't included reading in this list: reading is not a hobby, it is as important to me as eating and sleeping. I have a stack of books by my bed, and have a panic attack if there is not at least one new one to start when I’ve completed the current ‘read’. The novelty will be having time to read during the day!)

Watching the Olympics has distracted me from my new hobbies, but reading my friend and fellow blogger’s Wish List Wednesday (http://www.thesaltedtail.com) reminded me of a book that my daughter bought me to inspire me to make some of my own clothes.

With renewed inspiration, I chose the easiest looking item in the book and bought myself some fabric! So far, I have transferred the pattern onto tissue paper (a mission in itself) and am now awaiting delivery of my new left-handed scissors so I can progress further. I may, or may not write about the outcome at a later date, depending on what that outcome turns out to be - stylish gingham top, or lots of fabric to make gingham bunting. Watch this space!