Breaking down to heal

Posted on July 7, 2024 by Bo

I can’t remember why I stopped blogging…

It wasn’t because of the “busyness” of life. If you scroll through my social media feeds, you’ll see that I had lots of time for content creation.

But sharing on Instagram doesn’t have the same sense of intimacy as a blog post. My blog is mine. I don’t share the space with others and I’m not competing with algorithm updates. My stories belong to me.

My last blog entry was 4 years ago, just as the world was changing post COVID. I think in a way, we’re all still dealing with some parts of decisions that we made during that time.

I’m still running.

But if I thought I’d learnt all the lessons that running could ever teach me, I was mistaken.

I had both knees operated on during 2022 and couldn’t walk, nevermind run. It exposed just how big a role running played in my life.

When I couldn’t run, I saw less of KK. Even though we don’t run together, it dominates our lives.

When I couldn’t run, there were no more weekly track sessions or running friends to bond with. I felt lonely.

When I didn’t run, my mental health suffered. I felt weak. And unfit. And old.

And then I broke my foot and my 8th Two Oceans half marathon was put on hold.

That’s when not being able to run taught me my biggest lesson of all.

I started my blog in 2010 when I missed the 3 hour cutoff at my 2nd Two Oceans half marathon. In those days, my running speed was all that mattered. My runs focused on finishing my 21km races in under 3 hours!

I became obsessed with my pace and any race run at slower than 8mins per km felt like a failure to me.

The more I ran, the more I hated it. I changed coaches twice, thinking that the training would make a difference. I was disappointed in myself and didn’t even notice the kilometers clocking up.

But I had to break both knees and a foot to realise how much it hurt when my “slow” running was taken away from me.

What gap is left in your life when something or someone is removed?

Spending time at home made me yearn for the track sessions, the friendships, the feeling of achievement when I crossed that finish line.

I wasn’t missing the competitiveness or PBs at all. That wasn’t important. I was missing me.

Bron, the slow runner. Bron, the plain and simple average runner. Oh how I missed how running made me feel.

Strong. Fit. Capable.

To feel exhausted and pleasure at the same time.

To experience good and bad days and to keep going.

When you focus on the wrong things, it’s easy to get distracted. It feels like that with my blog.

I had forgotten why I had started blogging in the first place.

I started blogging to share the lessons that running teaches me about life.

I watch newbie runners and see their obsession with PBs and pace. I smile.

I watch experienced runners get disappointed with their performances. It happens.

Everyone is in a different season when it comes to running. Some are in seasons of abundance.

Others are stuck disappointed and disillusioned.

It’s taken a few years to dust off my blog and that’s okay. There’s no set time when you’re expected to work through your own personal seasons.

But hopefully when you get through them you gain clarity and can move on.

I know I’m ready to.

Journaling and running, for no one else but myself.

Yours in running, walking and loving all the rewards it brings me.

Bron xxx

My 5 weeks counting down to Christmas

Posted on December 18, 2018 by Bo

It’s been long…

It’s nearing x5 weeks since KK left for a business trip to Perth. Five weeks is the longest we’ve been apart.

It’s happened only once before when he worked on a project up in Tanzania. When he returned, I scored a pair of tanzanite earrings and decided we needed a dog, which explains how Annie came into our lives.

But this round has been tough.

The pool pump gave in on Sunday night. After weeks of nursing the clear blue water, fishing out leaves with the net, brushing the walls, keeping the water levels up, emptying the little basket (which at first I couldn’t find), the pump suddenly broke.

Water streamed into the neighbours yard and down my cheeks. It was the Christmas cherry on the top.

I’ve been bravely tackling issues on my own.

Opening up a business bank account and reading all the small print. KK is good at this.
Ensuring the washing is done each week and taking out the rubbish bin on Mondays. These are KK’s chores which I kept forgetting to do. Washing piles up quicker than I thought.
Taking Emma to the Vet and finding out that she has a heart murmur.
Putting up all the Christmas decorations around the house. It sounded like a good idea when I started.
Seeing new clients for my new business and not having him to sense check my sales pitch beforehand.

While the above list may sound petty, I realised just how much KK does around the house. How much I rely on him.

I take him for granted.

Lying on the couch. I’ve done a lot of this. Crochet, movies, books. It was fun the first few weeks.

Then there are other little things that I’ve noticed:

I didn’t know where KK keeps all our important documents, such as my green ID book which I needed to open up the bank account.
I don’t have a side gate key so couldn’t take the dustbin out on dustbin day.
I thought the store was going to swallow me up. There is so much crap in there! What the hell are we keeping?
I’ve never done a backwash of the swimming pool. Ever! In fact, one thing I’ve learnt is that I know very little about pool maintenance.
When we had load shedding, I discovered (in the dark) that the little camping light next to my bed doesn’t work.
If I go for an afternoon run, there isn’t anyone checking to make sure I get back safely. (I do message my mom but I think it freaks her out waiting for my return).

He couldn’t come home soon enough, especially since I haven’t had a good nights sleep in weeks.

The whole “cooking for one” is a constant reminder that I’m alone. I’ve developed nasty cabin fever. And it’s actually not fun suntanning next to the pool by myself.

I’ve been eating way too many pizzas. Damn Woolies has these on special. I added the bacon in case you’re wondering. And yes, I burnt it.

I have a greater sense of gratitude for all he does and how he looks after me at home. I also have new found respect for people who live on their own. I talk to myself now. Do you?

I did have some help putting up the decorations. Thanks Emma!

I miss the company. I miss the routine. I miss KK. I want things back to normal.

But it’s been a good five weeks to teach me that things will go wrong, but I can handle it. It’s taught me to pick up the phone (actually WhatsApp) and ask for help. And most of all, I’ve learnt to be a little independent and trust myself for a change.

The biggest Christmas present will be fetching him from the airport on the weekend! I cannot wait!

Even if you know me well, you don’t know this…

Posted on July 1, 2014 by Bo

Polony. If there’s anything that makes me remember where I’ve come from in life, it’s that big fat pink roll of enterprise polony.

Even if you think you know me well, you don’t know that when I was growing up, life was a struggle. I was always scared. I was always waiting for something bad to happen. I used to curl up in a ball sitting on the back wall in the garden and rock. Just rock. It was comforting.

Unlike my life of luxury now, we never had cans of coke in the fridge. We didn’t have bags of chips in the cupboard. Underfloor heating was unheard of. I didn’t even know that toilet paper came in two ply.

We once lived behind the parking lot of the Checkers in Primrose on the East Rand. But we had polony.

Fried in margarine. Thinly sliced with cheese. Or just cut up into big blocks. Happiness.

Growing up, our daily chore was to clean the house every day after school. Once that was done, we’d have to make supper so that my mom would be able to pop in quickly, eat and head back to work a double shift to earn extra money. In my mind, this was the norm. It bothered me more that as a child of divorce I was stuck cleaning than the fact that my mom was absent. But we had polony so life was good. We were doing okay, right?

My mom remarried and moved away. Whenever we visit her, there’s polony in her fridge. Comfort.

Inside I’m still that scared, insecure girl. I still wait for bad things to happen. Beneath my happy smile is a frown of disappointment when so many people let me down. What exhausts me most is trying so damn hard. I keep trying…

To this day, I still eat polony.

(Disclaimer: I realize my blog post for the @Writersbootcmp is late but I wasn’t sure if I’ll be able to keep it up. This topic intrigued me. And I was craving polony.)

Is being alone making me lonely?

Posted on December 3, 2012 by Bo

KK is away on a business trip. You’d think I’d be used to it by now but I’ve realised that I’m not. Since I met KK, he has gone away on many business trips. Some of them have been short ones, some of them as long as 5 weeks. I usually arrange dinner dates with all my besties, I plan my PVR schedule and try get in long phone calls with my sister and my mom. But the plans all sound more exciting than reality. Because if I have to be honest with myself, I actually hate being alone.

Is there a difference between being alone and lonely? Surprisingly, the dictionary defines lonely like this:

lone•ly [lohn-lee] – adjective, lone•li•er, lone•li•est. affected with, characterized by, or causing a depressing feeling of being alone; lonesome.

Ironically, being alone is definitely making me feel incredibly ~~depressed~~ lonely. Yes I have loads of friends and colleagues around me. But it’s not the same, especially when I am so used to being with KK all the time. I can’t sleep during the week. I don’t feel like watching TV. I avoid going out. I tend to sleep my weekend away. I go into total hibernation until he returns.

I think it’s been bugging me a lot more lately because I’ve realised that with us not having any children, without KK, I truly am alone. I’ve never really been alone. After I moved out of home, I always had someone in my life and met KK 15 years ago. He’s all I’ve got. So when he does go away, I am fooling myself in to believing I love the ‘free’ time. I hate it.