After the Rain

I’ve always considered myself a pretty positive person.

Even when things are difficult, I tend to look for the lesson, the silver lining, the next step. I’m usually the person reminding myself that things could be worse, that there is always something to be grateful for, and that tomorrow is another day.

But the last few weeks have been really hard.

And I think it’s important to say that out loud.

Because sometimes, even when you are normally positive, you just have hard days.

This has been hard

The fatigue has been relentless.

Not just “I’m a bit tired today” tired.

The kind of fatigue where, even when I haven’t trained, my body feels like it has. My muscles ache. My brain feels foggy. Simple things can feel like they require far more effort than they should.

But life doesn’t stop because you’re tired.

I still have to go to work. I’m still Mum. I’m still a wife.

All the normal things continue, regardless of how much energy you have in the tank. And when the tank is running low, you have to become much more intentional about where you spend what little energy you have.

And then there’s the athlete in me.

The part of me that wants to train. The part that looks at the calendar and sees a marathon getting closer. The part that is used to having a goal, a training plan and something to work towards.

Except right now, my body isn't really interested in any of that.

And that has been hard to accept.

I've struggled mentally too

I’ve been frustrated.

I’ve been disappointed.

I’ve cried.

I’ve looked at my body and struggled with the changes that have happened over the last few months.

The weight gain has affected me more than I would like to admit. When you've spent years being active, training consistently and feeling strong in your body, it can be difficult when suddenly it doesn't feel like the body you recognise.

There have definitely been moments where I've thought:

Why is this happening to me?

When am I going to feel like myself again?

Will I ever get back to where I was?

I don't have all of those answers yet.

And sometimes, that's uncomfortable.

It’s okay not to be okay

I think there can be a pressure, particularly on social media, to always find the positive.

To turn every difficult experience into a lesson.

To be grateful. To be strong. To keep going.

And while I absolutely believe in all of those things, I’ve realised that being positive doesn't mean you have to feel positive every day.

You can be hopeful and still have a really difficult day.

You can be grateful and still feel frustrated.

You can believe things will get better and still wonder when that will actually happen.

You can be strong and still cry.

And that's okay.

Maybe being positive isn't about pretending everything is okay.

Maybe it's about knowing that one hard day doesn't define the whole story.

Looking for the light

So at the moment, I'm trying to give myself permission to have the hard days.

Rather than fighting them, I'm trying to acknowledge them.

If I'm exhausted, I'm resting.

If I'm frustrated, I'm allowing myself to feel frustrated.

If I need to step back from training, I'm trying not to make that mean that I've failed.

And I’m reminding myself that this is a season.

It isn't forever.

There are still things I can control.

I can nourish my body. I can take my medication and give it the best chance to do its job. I can prioritise sleep. I can move when my body is ready. I can spend time with the people I love. I can notice the small moments that make me smile.

And perhaps most importantly, I can choose hope.

Not because I know exactly what is going to happen.

But because I don't.

And when you can't control the outcome, sometimes hope is a choice.

And then there's the marathon

Today, I’m flying to Sydney.

On Sunday, I’ll stand on the start line of the Sydney Marathon.

If you had asked me earlier this year how I would be feeling in the days leading into this race, I certainly wouldn't have described this.

I would have come out of a great training block, feeling good. I would have been thinking about pace, race strategy and whether I could improve on my previous performance.

Instead, I’ve barely been able to train.

And honestly, I have no idea what my body will be capable of on Sunday.

That uncertainty is difficult for someone who normally likes to have a plan.

But perhaps this is another lesson in letting go.

I don't need to know exactly how this story ends.

I just need to take the next step.

And if my body tells me that the next step needs to be rest, then rest is the next step.

If it tells me to slow down, I’ll slow down.

If it tells me that finishing is enough, then finishing will be enough.

Because this marathon is no longer about the time on the clock.

It’s about getting to that start line with the body I have today — not the body I had when I imagined this race.

And then seeing what happens.

After the rain

There is a saying that after the rain comes a rainbow.

I’ve always liked that idea, but perhaps I’m understanding it a little differently now.

The rainbow doesn't mean the rain didn't happen.

It doesn't make the rain less difficult.

It simply reminds us that the rain isn't the whole story.

And maybe that's what I need to remember right now.

This difficult season isn't the whole story.

The fatigue isn't the whole story.

The weight gain isn't the whole story.

The days when I don't recognise myself aren't the whole story.

And Sunday isn't the whole story either.

So if you're having a hard day at the moment, I want you to know that it's okay.

You don't have to turn it into a positive.

You don't have to find the lesson immediately.

You don't have to be strong every minute of every day.

Feel it.

Rest.

Take the pressure off.

And then, when you're ready, look for the little bit of light.

Because even when you can't see it yet, the rain won't last forever.

And somewhere beyond it, there is always the possibility of a rainbow.

For now, I'm taking it one day at a time.

I'm flying to Sydney.

I'm going to stand on that start line.

And whatever Sunday brings, I’m going to remind myself that just getting there is already part of the story.