Surfing
Two girls were heading south to the beach after Vipassana so I went with them. It turned out both had been marketing managers -the Dutch girl for Nike and the Turkish girl for Microsoft. They quit their jobs suddenly, one to become a yoga instructor and the other was free wheeling it.
They had separate hotels booked and so I ended up in the surfing town, Welligama with the Turkish girl, Neji. She wanted to go surfing in the afternoon. It felt a bit soon to be so active, but for some reason I didn't want to say no and surfing sounded fun, so I was game. The hotel was by the beach and it was a beautiful paradise of white sand, fishing boats and lush tropical vegetation that made you feel like you're in "Honey I Shrunk the Kids", because all the plants look like enormous shrubs.
We had two instructors who showed us some of the theory on the sand and took us into the water. I'm not so active these days and waiting for a wave, I felt like a beached whale on the board. I wondered if I would be able to even get up onto the board. It's really hard to get your feet up into the right position to balance, but I felt so happy that I could do it and glide through the water to the shore.
But it was to be five minutes of active bliss in exchange for almost a week of pain.
I woke up at 3:30am with my heart racing and my body in a state of distress. A natural reaction is to panic slightly, but this multiplies the stress so you have to try breathing techniques or get into child's pose (yoga). If I'd thought my body might let me get away with surfing, I could think again.
In London I've got used to how to spend units of energy on sitting at a computer, walking to the station and eating dinner with friends, but now I have to relearn units of energy in terms of tuktuks, honking and new kinds of physical activity.
Other travelers seem more dangerous to me now. They drink, smoke, have endless energy for all activities, talking and carrying heavy bags and not one of them knows me... I am too weak willed in company.
The situation only grew worse as it endured. I could barely make it up the stairs to breakfast the next day, and the following day I was so exhausted packing my things to move to the new hotel where two friends would be joining me. The new guesthouse was a good find right on the beach, but lying in bed in the afternoon, even the sound of the waves crashing against the sand was aggressive and overwhelming. Where could I find real rest? The kind of rest without mosquitos biting you or sunburn, strange sounds or having to forage for food. I started looking at flights home.
I had allowed myself a 2 week break in between the meditation and the ashram in Kerela to see some of Sri Lanka, but now I realised I'd tremendously overestimated what I would be able to manage. In my enthusiasm to get out of London I'd forgotten how challenging and exhausting holidays are.
I had thought that a new, sunny, environment would do me good, but the full irony of going on an adventure to get less exhausted hit in the form of hellish physical manifestations. Nothing can make you homesick faster than being unwell and bedbound.
Thankfully, at this moment, two friends turned up and could administer a restorative hug - Imran is on holiday from the UK and Isaac came for the weekend from where he is working in Chennai, India. I managed to recouperate somewhat on a shaded sun lounger while they went surfing.
Eventually I reached baseline, more or less (it's taken 5 days for me to regain my sense of humour). Everyone with chronic fatigue has a sort of baseline level, where if you keep within certain boundaries, you should feel relatively OK. But push it too far, and you can fall off the precipice and end up almost invisibly paraplegic - quite literally losing the ability to grip or walk - in a fashion that baffles even those closest to you... and the often unexpected metamorphosis does nothing to help your nerves either. That is why many people with M.E. develop an anxiety disorder.
I was forced to reassess things. Even the meditation had ended up being quite an extreme experience. Plus, another error was that I had thought what I needed was a gentle routine. But in fact, routine is the enemy. It means something other than your body's indications is controlling your activity, and you invariably wind up weary. This throws into question my planned ashram experience in India too. But I'll deal with that hurdle when I get to it. A backup option could be to do a home stay and hope a nice Indian family can cook gluten free chapattis and dhal.
The biggest challenge for me, really, is to not do anything challenging.
The above disclosure is admittedly hard to talk about, but I've only just come to realise that by hiding it from others, you become good at hiding it from yourself, and for a condition that requires management with finesse, this is counterproductive.
What next? Well, I must build myself a fortress and live within the limitations of its walls, and if I can trust myself to do that much, I can journey on (for now).
They had separate hotels booked and so I ended up in the surfing town, Welligama with the Turkish girl, Neji. She wanted to go surfing in the afternoon. It felt a bit soon to be so active, but for some reason I didn't want to say no and surfing sounded fun, so I was game. The hotel was by the beach and it was a beautiful paradise of white sand, fishing boats and lush tropical vegetation that made you feel like you're in "Honey I Shrunk the Kids", because all the plants look like enormous shrubs.
We had two instructors who showed us some of the theory on the sand and took us into the water. I'm not so active these days and waiting for a wave, I felt like a beached whale on the board. I wondered if I would be able to even get up onto the board. It's really hard to get your feet up into the right position to balance, but I felt so happy that I could do it and glide through the water to the shore.
But it was to be five minutes of active bliss in exchange for almost a week of pain.
I woke up at 3:30am with my heart racing and my body in a state of distress. A natural reaction is to panic slightly, but this multiplies the stress so you have to try breathing techniques or get into child's pose (yoga). If I'd thought my body might let me get away with surfing, I could think again.
In London I've got used to how to spend units of energy on sitting at a computer, walking to the station and eating dinner with friends, but now I have to relearn units of energy in terms of tuktuks, honking and new kinds of physical activity.
Other travelers seem more dangerous to me now. They drink, smoke, have endless energy for all activities, talking and carrying heavy bags and not one of them knows me... I am too weak willed in company.
The situation only grew worse as it endured. I could barely make it up the stairs to breakfast the next day, and the following day I was so exhausted packing my things to move to the new hotel where two friends would be joining me. The new guesthouse was a good find right on the beach, but lying in bed in the afternoon, even the sound of the waves crashing against the sand was aggressive and overwhelming. Where could I find real rest? The kind of rest without mosquitos biting you or sunburn, strange sounds or having to forage for food. I started looking at flights home.
I had allowed myself a 2 week break in between the meditation and the ashram in Kerela to see some of Sri Lanka, but now I realised I'd tremendously overestimated what I would be able to manage. In my enthusiasm to get out of London I'd forgotten how challenging and exhausting holidays are.
I had thought that a new, sunny, environment would do me good, but the full irony of going on an adventure to get less exhausted hit in the form of hellish physical manifestations. Nothing can make you homesick faster than being unwell and bedbound.
Thankfully, at this moment, two friends turned up and could administer a restorative hug - Imran is on holiday from the UK and Isaac came for the weekend from where he is working in Chennai, India. I managed to recouperate somewhat on a shaded sun lounger while they went surfing.
Eventually I reached baseline, more or less (it's taken 5 days for me to regain my sense of humour). Everyone with chronic fatigue has a sort of baseline level, where if you keep within certain boundaries, you should feel relatively OK. But push it too far, and you can fall off the precipice and end up almost invisibly paraplegic - quite literally losing the ability to grip or walk - in a fashion that baffles even those closest to you... and the often unexpected metamorphosis does nothing to help your nerves either. That is why many people with M.E. develop an anxiety disorder.
I was forced to reassess things. Even the meditation had ended up being quite an extreme experience. Plus, another error was that I had thought what I needed was a gentle routine. But in fact, routine is the enemy. It means something other than your body's indications is controlling your activity, and you invariably wind up weary. This throws into question my planned ashram experience in India too. But I'll deal with that hurdle when I get to it. A backup option could be to do a home stay and hope a nice Indian family can cook gluten free chapattis and dhal.
The biggest challenge for me, really, is to not do anything challenging.
The above disclosure is admittedly hard to talk about, but I've only just come to realise that by hiding it from others, you become good at hiding it from yourself, and for a condition that requires management with finesse, this is counterproductive.
What next? Well, I must build myself a fortress and live within the limitations of its walls, and if I can trust myself to do that much, I can journey on (for now).
So courageous. Thank you for sharing and for being real. No more pushing x
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