When each day became a gift.
August 23rd 2018, Age 23
My alarms gentle buzz slowly brings me out of my slumber. It is still dark, 5:41am. Without opening my eyes I hit snooze and do my 9 minute breathing meditation. When the buzzing begins again, I slowly rise, roll out of the altitude tent I am sleeping under, and stretch. Let the day begin.
Deep in my peak training phase for the World Mountain Running Championships, I have a new level of fatigue running through my muscles. But this fatigue feels good, like I am adapting and getting stronger. I take a moment to take stock of where I am tight or sore, then get into my routine. Cold shower, yoga, foam roll, then out for a 60 minute walk with Maya. At 8am I eat my usual breakfast of homemade muesli and almond milk. The bags I packed last night are already by the door ready to go, and I add my prepared lunch to them before launching out the door at 8:30am. Everything I do is timed to the minute at the moment, and I love it.
I cycle the 75 minutes it takes to get to uni and arrive just in time for my 10am physics tutorial. As I eat a snack, we work through today's problems on Laplace's Law. After that it is straight to the gym for a 90 minute strength session; box jumping, lunging and hopping until my legs shake and I am covered in sweat. 12:45 is lunch time and this is the time I do nothing but sit and enjoy my food, mindfully taking in the nutrients I need to continue my day, empty of all other worries or feelings.
Next up comes a two hour biology practical, in which we are performing gel electrophoresis as we study gene transformations. Throughout the practical I am completely in the moment, engaging my mind to its full potential and enjoying the feeling that brings. In class, I become a sponge whose thirst for knowledge is without end.
By the time that finishes at 3:30pm, I am fading, so it is back to my favourite spot on the grass for a 30 minute nap. Napping is something I only recently became able to do, out of necessity to keep myself going with training and study without breaking down mentally or physically. Post nap, I start to get nervous. The session Tim (my coach) has given me tonight is the hardest one I have ever seen him put in my program, and I am honestly not sure I could even do it while fresh, let alone at the end of a long uni day and after strength training. But it is still two hours until I need to be there, so I head to the library to study for another 60 minutes first.
At 5:30, I cycle from uni to the gym where I have been doing my altitude training. World Champs will finish at a height of 2500m above sea level, so I am doing everything I can to be prepared. That means two to three sessions a week cooped up on a treadmill in an altitude chamber, but I love/hate the mental battle that brings with it.
My session starts at 6pm. The room is set to around 3000m above sea level and the heater has been cranking so it is about 30 degrees celsius. I check my program one last time, making sure what I have been mulling over in my head is in fact what I am being asked to do. It is a pyramid session, starting with 10 minutes at 4:17/km, then progressing slowly up 3:30/km in varying intervals, before slowly going back down the pyramid until a 5 minute cool down at 4:17/km. I liken it to slowly walking into a fire until you can't bear it anymore, then instead of running back out, you turn around and walk just as slowly to the relief or fresh air.
During the session, all I have to stare at is the old treadmills screen that shows dots moving around a virtual track, indicating how many laps you would have done had you been outside. As the pain increases, I have only myself to rely on to turn the pace up at the correct times, knowing full well that no one would be the wiser if I was to back it off a little or turn it down sooner. But I know that only cheats me. I imagine the Australian singlet I will soon be wearing, and how that has been a dream of mine for as long as I can remember. I want to represent my country with pride, and that means giving my all to the preparation as well. Every time it gets to the point where I am sure I cannot keep going, I count my steps up to 100. If by then it still is unbearable, I start again. In this session I counted my steps almost the entire way.
The heat and stagnant air in the room stifles me as I gasp for more air, but I continue, reminding myself how nights in hospital lying in bed with my head screaming at me were still harder than this. That I can choose to feel pain or to name it something else. That I have gotten through so many things I never thought I could so maybe I can get through this too.
Finally, I make it past the hardest part of the workout. The treadmill is back on 4:17/km, although it feels much faster on my tired legs. 60 minutes ticks over and with an overwhelming sense of relief I slow to a walk for ten minutes. If I was to actually stop moving, I fear I might pass out. To try and lessen the horrible feelings that can come after an altitude session and pushing to the limit, I sit in the chamber for 20 minutes after. Intrigued and wanting to squeeze every bit of confidence out of what I have just done, I crunch the numbers in my phone before reporting back to coach.
Total: 15.2km in 60 mins. 38 laps of a track. In the middle parts of the workout where the speeds were fastest, I hit an 18:25 5km split, a 38:19 10km split, and a 59:15 15km. 12 months ago my PB's over those distances in races weren't even that fast; let alone at 30 degrees celsius, 3000m altitude, at night, alone, on a treadmill. I lie back and shut my eyes, trying to take in the moment of again realising that after all the doubts and fears going into this session, I am again more capable that I realised. The only reason I now know that, is because I threw caution to the wind and had a crack. A tear comes to my eyes as the exhausted relief sets in, and I make the connection that right now, in my day to day being and doing, I am genuinely living the life my 8 year old self dreamed of.
Cycling home, I have only one thought running through my mind. I wonder what else I can do. What else everyone around me can do; if only we push aside our doubts and fears, and try.
So far on this journey, I have outlined many of the hardest times in my life. By no means is it comprehensive, just a snippet of what has made up my journey. I don't want anyone to forget though, that through it all there were some amazing highs that although fleeting, kept me going. Sometimes, it was a month of stability between hospital visits where I was able to go out with friends, work, and enjoy life's simplicity. Other times it was adventures and trips where the high points rivalled the low points in the extreme feeling they evoked. Putting any even slightly good experience close to my darkest days made somewhat ordinary events seem truly magical.
From 2012-2018, yes I suffered Binge Eating Disorder, Anorexia Nervosa, Depression, Anxiety, Dissociative Disorder and Psychosis, as I have outlined. But throughout all that, I also worked in retail, as a full time waitress, a swimming instructor, a nanny, a PT, a cleaner, and a receptionist. I got my AustSwim license, studied Certificate 3 and 4 in Personal Training, did an advanced certificate in nutritional counselling, completed my nursing Diploma and started a Bachelor of Biomedicine at Melbourne Uni. I spent a summer getting my A License (the lowest - still a newbie) in Skydiving, and spent an entire month by myself volunteering as a nurse in Kenya.I also lucked into a coach and running community that started to help me rewrite my story and achieve the sporting goals I have always dreamed of, becoming a national champion in mountain running.
That is possibly the blessing that comes from having such truly tragic and dark days. It makes you appreciate every single good day for the magic it holds, and enables you to make use of every single moment. Everytime I came out of the fog, I approached whatever new way of life I had to adopt with awe and wonder. Driving a car became a blessing and a freedom. Being able to choose what I ate, when I ate and how I ate became a peaceful relief. Going to the bathroom unsupervised, having enough energy to shower myself, or walking out my front door without a parent or family member beside me became achievements and huge signs of progress that were openly celebrated. In short, my entire view of the world, what each moment means, and what I am capable of, all changed.
Now, I choose every day to foster that sense of awe and wonder. I continue to go about life with a deep sense of curiosity rather than fear, and feel every moment for exactly what it is, no matter whether that is unbearable painful or incredible joy. I endeavour to be a student of life, making the most of every lesson I have learned and every one still to come.
Still We Rise.