Wellbeing is a blue rinse away

A couple of days ago I started writing a blog post about butter.

Yep. Butter.

It’s probably not a huge surprise – given my lengthy absence from this blog – that I’ve been suffering from a severe case of writers block. I couldn’t even muster a witty email until very recently (some may comment that I still can’t….).

Now I still plan to post that riveting analysis of the second best part of a cow. So you still get to look forward to that with unjustified enthusiasm.

But it’s going to have to wait.

A couple of hours ago I got a hair cut.

I’m one of those lucky people whose hairdresser also doubles as both counsellor and very dear friend. This is not a deal that Matthew really had much of a say in, but he’s been a very good sport and has kindly refrained from changing his number on me.

Anyway, he cuts a damn good head of hair. So much so that I feel a little like Don King hustling his talent (currently sporting the same haircut… coincidence?…).

Damn I'm good looking

Damn I’m good looking

So I’m sitting in the chair with my newly bleached, then blue rinsed, then shorn, then mohawked hair and I started to feel a feeling I’ve been missing in recent weeks… Enthusiasm.

It’s no big secret that I am Gollum’s grumpy cousin in Winter. Some demon takes over me that turns me into a giant pain in the ass. No amount of dairy-free, sugar-free, 85% cocoa mocklate can get me out of my slump (it seriously calls for the good stuff).

As Matthew has known me for quite sometime, and being the well adjusted human man that he is, he has developed a coping mechanism for my visits – wine.

So I’m sitting there with my grumpy cat face on and as my haircut is taking shape, my face is transforming into something I haven’t seen for a while. I think people call it a smile.

Lilac is the new blue rinse

Lilac is the new blue rinse

It dawned of me all of a sudden that wellbeing for me, is getting my creative groove on. I didn’t need those 30 hours of therapy after all! All I needed was a haircut and a blue rinse!

Creativity and in turn wellbeing comes in many, many different forms – baking, painting, singing, working, gardening, running, writing, speaking, a bit of pampering – whatever. For me, it’s doing something out of the ordinary.

And a good, colorful haircut was just what I needed to move my slump. 

Consider this a public service announcement. This is my list of ten things to get your creative juices flowing and increase your wellbeing:

  1. Get a haircut. You don’t have to go all out. Get a trim. Spruce yourself up. 
  2. Eat chocolate. The REAL stuff. As good as healthy chocolate can be. There is no substitute for cocoa and sugar. Strike me down. I said it.
  3. Write. Something. Anything. It could be your name over and over again if that’s what it takes (not judging), but writing helps.
  4. Be nice to people. I have a theory – Work hard, have fun, be nice to people. Genius!
  5. Pet a dog. If you have a crippling fear of dogs, you can substitute ‘dog’ for parakeet, kitten or miniature pony. It’s really not important.
  6. Donate to charity. Time or money, it doesn’t matter. Nothing is as good for your wellbeing as positively contributing to the wellbeing of someone else.
  7. Hug someone. Science tells us that babies benefit from close human contact. If it works for babies than chances are it works for big people.
  8. Breathe in fresh air. Even though it’s cold, and even though the couch is tempting, crisp oxygen will rejuvenate you whether you realise it or not.
  9. Finish something. This is vague. And that’s intentional. I am the grand starter of many things, finisher of none. But finishing stuff gives you immense satisfaction. Don’t judge me for quitting the crochet blanket/onesie.
  10. Be kind… to yourself. Your grump will pass and you’ll run out of recorded programmes on MySky and life will resume as normal. Breathe in. Now breathe out. And chill out.

If you want a number 11. I would highly recommend giving Hot Bikram Yoga a try. It’s not for everyone, but nothing says “get over yourself” like sweating profusely in a room that smells like mince meat with a bunch of half naked contortionists.

That’s all folks. Until next time. Enjoy the ride x

Advertisements

What a pain in the ass

A couple of weekends ago, I finished my first 10km race. That’s 10 whole kilometres of non-stop running. 10,000 metres of burning thighs. An average of 8,500 steps of sweaty eyebrows.

image

Now I'd like pancakes.

Understandably, I was pretty thrilled. Even more so because this time last year, if you’d suggested to me I would be running 10km I would’ve laughed, then cried and then ate another piece of bacon dipped in nutella.

I really enjoy running. This usually surprises people because running is
such a solitary sport and I am not… ahem… a solitary person.

Yet, something about running on a lonely road at dusk, with no end in sight, and your concentration on nothing more than putting one foot in of the other, is really appealing to me.

Maybe it’s because I really like the sound of my own voice and so I have ample time to talk to myself. Who knows.

A couple of years back when my dog Chuck was a wriggling ball of endless enthusiasm and energy (now she’s found smackos. We’re good), we used to take her out running. She was all paws and tongue and she generally didn’t care where we were going as long as she was glued to your legs.

On one occasion, her enthusiasm got the better of both of us.

I won’t say exactly who is to blame because it’s uncharitable to blame a cute two year old pug, but she stopped right in front of me and I fell.

I remember the exact moment my disc crunched my sciatic nerve. I remember the exact moment that lightening bolts of pain shot down my leg and into my toes. I remember the exact moment I said a lot of swear words that would embarrass even the most unsavory of characters.

And there went my plans of running a half marathon. Just like that. In the hyperextension of a knee.

Over the next few years I tried every therapy available to satisfy the chronic, often excrutiating and constant pain running through my leg:

Tramadol = Nothing says “hire me!” Like throwing up on the first day of your temp job. Hello hallucinations.

Physiotherapy = That gel is cold and I’m paying you how much, to do what?

Bowen Therapy = Still not entirely sure what this does but I think its working?

Chiropractor = Should my spin be pointing in that direction?

Acupressure = Should I be bruising like that?

Acupuncture = Have I mentioned I don’t like needles?

Orthapedic surgeon = You’re telling me I just have to “learn to live with it”?!!

image

Yes, that IS an ice pack on my ass.

None of this worked for me. And for the past few years I learned to cope and accept that I would never run in the way that I wanted to.

When I changed my lifestyle though, I changed my attitude.

For too long I’d been satisfied that pain would be the master of me and I was sick of it.

So this year I started running again.

I started small. The odd kilometer here and there. A hill walk punctuated by a burst of runnning. Some vertical hikes up the sides of mountains.

Then one day I went for a run and realised that at 7.5km I was at the longest distance I had ever run!!!!

And that Saturday, I ran my first 10km.

Sure, it turned out that the run was part of some medical conference and it didn’t appear it was open to the public (“who’s enjoying the conference?!??!” Ummm what?). Sure, it meant getting up at 5.30 in the morning on a Saturday. Ew. Sure, I came last.

But I did it. And I felt unstoppable.

It sounds bizarre, but I talk to my pain. I treat it like a member of my extended family. I can’t choose it. And it may always be there. Sometimes it overstays its welcome. And sometimes I need a glass of wine and a panadol to help me through it.

But now I know that I’m the boss and it doesn’t have to own me… Well now I can train for that half marathon aye.

Enjoy the ride x