A week or so ago I wrote about taking Pilates classes as a way to build strength, stamina and stability to support my running. I'd booked six weeks of classes on Mondays and a one to one session later in the week on Thursdays. I was really looking forward to it, I've taken Pilates classes in the past and really enjoyed them.
One of the streets on my latest run where the little patch of earth at the base of each tree is planted with flowers by the householders. Every one of them is a miniature garden.
I set off on Monday morning with plenty of time to park the car and walk to the studio. Other women arrived, we chatted about the beautiful day and the Botanic Garden and muddy walks around Great Glen, a nearby and very pretty village. It felt good.
The class was horrible. I had already had faint alarms bells from a text the trainer had sent me and I was going to speak to her about it when we met for our one-to-one. This text and my response to it turned out to be prescient. I don't know if this happens in activities designed for men, or activities where a large proportion of men participate, but sometimes, in women's activities, especially around health and well-being (and that other bête-noire, "dieting"), there's an underlying value base which is about shaming. It's very subtle - a casual text or comment - but it's there and it's very damning. It's accompanied by an approach to physical activity (or eating) which is about punishing your body (and, by extension, yourself).
As a young woman, aware that something had happened when one of these remarks was made, but unable to disentangle what was going on, and suppressing my response, I would become depressed. Nowadays, I feel angry, and that's how I felt in this class. Although it used some techniques from Pilates, it was otherwise a soul-destroying going-through-the-motions exercise class where the tutor looked as bored and disengaged as I felt. I struggled with the compulsion to get up and walk out, but I kept my cool until the end of the class, when the tutor dropped another, casual, shaming comment. My classmates tittered anxiously.
The class was over in an hour, and I'd survived, but the effects lasted for longer and I was exhausted for much of the rest of the week. I kept weeping, the kind of weeping you have when you have lost someone, floods of tears that come of their own volition, whatever you are doing, coursing down your face, seemingly endless. I was confused, grieving in some way, angry, tired and, at the same time, aware that the discomfort around my lower back and right hip had gone. l wondered where I was on The Change Curve.
Source: Insights A model for thinking about change.
It looked like I was ricocheting between stages one to three. "Listen," it says, "listen, do not advise or fix. Support." So I did. I stopped worrying, let it be, took some time out. I cancelled my Pilates arrangement, looked up the yoga classes that I used to go to and got on with trying some of the deep stretches that had helped my hip so much as part of the pre-hab sessions.
I missed my Sunday morning run with Easter visitors and other distractions, but in the afternoon, the Wk 7 Training Programme plopped into my feed and prompted me to go out and have a go at increasing distance. As I was trying a new route, I was walking, but walking as fast as I could to see how long it took me to cover the distance. I thought I had set my new walkmeter, but it only caught the first four seconds! I didn't walk as far as today, about 3.5km, and I managed the distance easily. I felt scrunched up, though, and didn't really find the flow that I enjoy when I am truly moving in the moment.
Yay, starting to get the hang of the walkmeter!
Today, I went out again with three ambitions: to get the hang of the walkmeter, practice technique and walk as fast as I could. I walked just under 4km, the fastest time was 8:50 mpk or just under 4.5 mph - almost running! I had a couple of enforced stops at pedestrian crossings across the busy ring road. I hadn't planned to stop and take any photographs, but there was one shot (below) that I had to capture, so another voluntary stop during the route. I've learned how to turn the walkmeter on and off during these stops, so I can get a more accurate reading in the future.
The flooding has shown up the remnants of strip farming in Knighton Park. Strip farming was well established by the 11th century when Knighton was recorded in the Domesday Book.
I managed the distance easily, I would guess slower than yesterday and I was more breathless, but managed the last .75 km at a good pace laden with beer and wine for our visitors tonight after a stop at the off licence on the way home. I was much happier about technique today, much better focus on pace and engaging core muscles for much of the walk. Tomorrow, I am working in London, so a rest day, probably a good idea as my thighs are definitely feeling the effects of yesterday and today. I'm home Wednesday and Thursday, and depending how I feel I'm going to try some running cycles for part of the run, but anyway, will walk the 3.2km target. I'm keeping up with the plyometrics and deep stretches, and yoga classes start on Friday.
It's been a tough week, I wouldn't have said that I hated life but it hasn't been easy. I've learned to be more picky about who I choose to work with, but even then, I've learned some new deep stretches which are helping. I would say I've been resilient about dealing with a setback, taking time and then getting back out there. The Running Project helps, that little nudge, following other runners, focusing on the potential.