Into the Tough Miles, Digging Deep in A Slowly-Opening World

There’s a point during a running race when the discomfort comes. If you’re working hard, really pushing yourself to run as quick a time as you can, this discomfort doesn’t come anywhere near the end. It comes much earlier, leaving a third or even half of the race left to run while you’re ‘hanging-on’, trying not to collapse! When I start to sense my body starting to get near this state, my mind starts to falter too. Only the hot blood of racing, and the shameful feeling which comes with knowing I’ve given up, keeps me going. There’s also the knowledge that I’ve done it all before, that I’ve managed to keep pushing through when everything screams at me to ease off, to stop even.

I’ve just hit the pain point in the lockdown, these past few days. It was bound to happen. Any excitement and novelty in the early situation has long evaporated. For me the PM’s recent TV national address acted as a depressor, and I struggled for motivation to do much of anything in the following days. Boris’s words made clear what I already knew, that I’d be unable to do any racing or even run in large groups for months. We all of us need something in the future to pull us forwards, and I look forward to these gatherings of like-minded folks, all rushing off around a course somewhere, pushing their energies into something entirely positive. As we headed for Spain for the winter I ran alone for the time we were away, I’ve not raced for four months, and I miss it.

We’re both still out running and trying to keep our fitness levels up. We pick routes with wider paths, making it easier to pass people out walking, running or cycling. Each time we’re out we make a sort of mental assessment of the world, whether there seems to be more people out than usual, whether a business has re-opened, a hand car wash here, a garden centre there. It seems uncanny how often we now cross paths with people we know. On a walk yesterday we saw seven people we know, awkwardly trying to chat with them from a distance, unsure of the legality of even talking to two other people across a street. These unplanned events sometimes serve to wobble my emotions. Not seeing people is tough, but seeing them under such odd circumstances, where we have to treat each other as dangers, is hard too.

We’ve had a walk up to the van now we’re allow unlimited exercise, checking the batteries are all charged (they are, it’s been sunny), looking through the cupboards for any food we accidentally left (all empty of grub), grabbing the remaining cans of 0.0% ale we bought in Spain and shifting the vehicle back a wee way to get the weight onto another part of the tyres. After leaving the handbrake on in Nerja for a month one of the drums got hot when we drove away, so we’ve left the van in gear with wheels chocked and handbrake off. The water cassette toilet, tanks, taps and water heater are all drained and the fridge is open (including the freezer compartment) so that’s it now, Zagan’s mothballed and SORNed, waiting for the UK campsites to re-open. When that might be, no-one seems to know for sure, although maybe only 7 or 8 weeks from now.

The big news around here is the local chippy is due to re-open tomorrow! A sign went up about 10 days ago and we’ve been getting excited ever since. It’s only about 300 yards from the Cooler, and it’s a lovely little shop. The queue will be long up the street I think once they get the fish frying again, and they’ll lift a lot of spirits, a symbolic win as well as a gastronomic one. We’ve mainly been cooking for ourselves, as normal, but have splashed out each week on a takeaway from the Italian and Indian restaurants on the street, they need all the help they can get right now. It also strikes me how much we all use small treats and future plans to draw us through life, and just how much I’m missing many of them.

My parents have passed 10 weeks in isolation now, without going insane, quite an achievement! It’s surprising what the human mind can handle once it has sufficient motivation to fuel it. We’ve settled into a routine where I run over there on a Thursday (they’re only 3 miles away) and pick up their shopping list and car. Ju does the shopping, less-than-enjoyable experience that it is, and I drop it off and run back. I have the best part in this arrangement by far. I get to briefly see mum and dad too, from a distance obviously, which means a lot to me. Ju’s folks are still shopping for themselves but are spending almost all of their time at home, and are thankfully both in good health. We only see them through a phone screen at the moment, but again the situation will hopefully ease off in future and we’ll be able to pull on masks, sit in their garden and chat with them from a distance too.

The news has shifted from the apocalyptic to the mere fear-inducing, woo hoo! I’d imagined that once we finally ‘passed the peak’ there would be a more sparks of optimism starting to fly, but it seems we’re collectively denying ourselves much hope. Our focus remains on the negative, the possibility of second waves, the dangers in re-opening. Perhaps that’s the way it must be to help keep us all under control for a few months longer? I’m unsure what to feel. I see news across the world about borders re-opening, socially-distanced sport to resume, outdoor eateries serving food and drinks again, motorhomes being able to use the aires network in France and so on and I wonder whether I should be feeling happier than I am?

It feels like we’re getting into that last third of the race, where the pain really kicks in and I need to focus my energies to stay the course. But I also know this isn’t a race in the sense that I have no choice but to run it, and we’ll never simply cross a finish line and be able to relax, just like that, one last gasp step and it’s all over. This is a different kind of challenge and therein lies the real difficulty for me: knowing there is no obvious end to it all, but instead a long, drawn-out sea of grey areas to navigate as we all try to make sense of our own personal changing worlds.

Cheers, Jay

P.S. We’ve been keeping busy during lockdown and The Motorhome Touring Handbook, Motorhome France, OurTour Downloaded and Motorhome Morocco are all now available as part of Amazon’s Kindle Unlimited. At the moment Kindle Unlimited is available for free for 2 months, allowing you to read all of our books plus over a million others.