Grieving is an Empty Room and an Empty Day

This is Oscar, and on Monday I had him put down. Oscar was 21, and as people who know me will know, he has been a complete arse of a cat for the last 8 years.

Put something on the floor, and he'd piss on it. Shoes, bags, clothes, whatever. He was confined downstairs for that very reason - nothing was safe. In the last few years even putting things on a table was no guarantee - he managed to balance on top of a Vicar of Dibley box set to wee over my sister's Christmas present one year. And of course, there was the famous incident that really needed a cat-shaming photo:

But I've had him since he was a kitten. As my sister likes to point out, 'he lasted longer than your marriage.' He was like a beloved relative that becomes infirm - you don't just abandon them because they piss (and poo, towards the end) everywhere. Even if that means you end up with a litter tray in your living room, right next to the door. Nice.

His passing wasn't a shock - I'd been worried he wouldn't make it to Christmas, and had prepared Son for that fact. But he carried on, despite his thinness. Then last weekend I realised he was really poorly - his breathing was laboured and his paws were swollen. I was half minded to call the vet to put him down then, but Son really didn't want me to, so I didn't. Instead, we had one last weekend, where all he wanted to do was sit with me. This was not the usual Oscar - normally given the choice between me and Son, Son will win every time, because I'm the baddie who shouts at Oscar when he wees on the cooker (for example).

He couldn't jump up onto the sofa so I was having to lift him up. He couldn't support himself on his back legs when he was pooing, so he would lie in the litter tray and get a pooey arse that I tried to clean, but never quite managed. 

On Sunday night, as I lay in bed, I heard him crying. So I spent the night with him. When I left the living room even to go to the loo, he would cry again. 

Monday morning Son said goodbye to him. I took the day off work and called the vet. An hour before the vet arrived, he got off the sofa and drank and ate - up to then I'd been bringing him his water and food, so I wondered if he was somehow recovering. But when the vet arrived, she said no, he was a dying cat. His heart stopped before she finished the injection. 

It was a lovely death really. I was stroking his head, the nurse was rubbing his chin, and he was purring. Then he was gone, bar a bit of twitching, which is apparently just the nervous system dying.

When they had taken him away, I just broke down. I had no idea I would feel that way - I was worse than when my Dad died. 

And now, I just feel so empty all the time. The next day, I really felt like 'what's the point' when I woke up - even though I have a Son, and a great life.I could cry at any moment. 

Every day is just one huge litany of reminders he is gone, from the minute I go into the living room (don't have to push the litter tray out of the way as I open the door) to last thing at night, when I don't have to feed him and drag the litter tray behind the door from the other side of it.

For the first time, I am alone at the weekend when Son goes to his Dad's. The weekends, that was when Oscar would sit with me. I would put the heating on for him, even though I didn't need it, because he was an old chap, and he felt the cold.

I woke up this morning to snow, and I began to rush down to tell Oscar - but of course, he isn't here. Although sometimes it feels like he is - I feel as though he is sitting next to me, or is waiting for his food. 

When Dad died, I found I had a lot of extra time on my hands, because visiting him had taken up so much of my time for a year. With Oscar gone, so has the entire routine of my day, for the last 21 years. No body fluids to clean up, no food to put down, no one to chat to, no one to argue with (we often had our disagreements)

When he was twitching, after being put to sleep, the vet said, 'don't worry, it's just his body remembers what to do and it's going through the motions. It happens a lot with old cats especially, their bodies have so much memory.' I feel like that - he was here for so long that even now I still expect to go through the motions of caring for him daily. The grief feels so raw because there are constant reminders that those actions are pointless now.

I feel like I'm being an idiot because he was 'just a cat'. But he really wasn't. He was my Baby Cat, a constant companion, the only 'person' I would talk to for days at a time, sometimes. He was always there. Without me realising it he had become an intrinsic part of my routine and my life - and my life feels as empty as his chair now he is gone.

RIP Oscar Cat. You git.

Insanity: Max30

Insanity Max30 - Month 1

I've loved Insanity since the first workout I did - the adrenalin rush, Shaun T's motivation, the feeling of achievement - there's no other workout programme that has come near to it. The only downside was that when following the programme I lost strength, especially in my upper body, and put on weight, and it has never shifted. TBH, I haven't made any great attempt at shifting it, I've been too focussed on performance, and to that end I had moved on to a programme of my own devising where I mixed up Insanity with P90X, TapouT and Jillian Michaels, with longer workouts at the weekends that were two or three hours of Davina, or power walking or yoga or a mixture. 

The one problem with my own schedule (and any that include the workouts I've mentioned) is that you need to give about an hour to them. This meant I was quite excited when Shaun T's Focus T25 came out. That excitement didn't last long. I didn't like the music, and more importantly the workouts, whilst not too difficult in themselves, were so fast-moving that for some reason they were really hard on my feet. I have arthritis in my feet and hands, and Focus T25 really flared that up, although I don't think it helped that I had just done the Moonwalk. The modifier was too easy, so I really only use the workouts when I don't have time for anything else - or I combine four or five workouts and modify them for weekend longer sessions. And I still don't like the music.

This time around I really tried not to get overly-excited at the prospect of Insanity Max30 - I mean, could Shaun T really get the same effect in 30 minutes? The answer is a resounding OH YES!

I'm just coming to the end of month 1 - and it has been fantastic. I must admit to being kind of smug going into it. I'm used to ripping through most of the Insanity workouts now - I still get puffed, but I can generally do them better than some of the participants on the DVD (I'm talking about Shanita, Akeel(sp?) and Josh at least). Max 30 is only half the time - so surely I could do at least half of that before maxing out?

The idea of the workouts is you go as hard as you can until you can't go any more. That is your max out time, and you note it down. The Cardio Challenge workout is your fit test also. I managed 7 minutes 40. The shame!

So in the last four weeks I have followed the programme and I have improved massively on all the workouts except the Cardio Challenge - I still hover around the the 8.30 mark. In contrast, I can make to 24.30 on the Tabata Strength workout, more than double my starting max on that one. I have definitely improved massively in my cardio ability though, and I'm not so aware of loss of muscle as I was with Insanity. It is CRAZILY difficult though.

However, don't be put off if you haven't exercised before, because there is a modifier to each exercise, and you can choose an option to have them on-screen (split screen) throughout. So this is a programme that can easily grow with you.

The bit I like the best is that it is such a rush to do. I feel euphoric at the end of each workout, and have had emotional releases at the end of every Sweat Interval workout, it is completely amazing. Also, the Abs workout, whilst only being 10 minutes long, is the most challenging to the abs I have ever experienced - I haven't managed without multiple rests at all, and often max at under two minutes!

The weak points - well, the warm up is short (and just as intense as Insanity), and thre is a distinct lack of stretching. Even the Pulse DVD uses mostly dynamic stretching, and I'm just not convinced that dynamic stretching can stretch large muscle groups in the same way that prolonged stretching when you are warm can. To that end, I do half an hour of yoga stretching after a workout at the weekend. I think the programme would have really benefitted from a pure stretch DVD - maybe a 30 minute stretch option in place of the Pulse DVD, and a ten minute stretch to use more regularly, along the same lines as the one after the warm-up in Insanity. But this is a minor quibble, and one I get around easily enough - another option I use is to hold the Pulse stretches for longer and ignore what's going on on the DVD.

Added bonus? I got on the scales today with complete trepidation, really feeling I needed to shock myself into action after a week of binge eating and other extreme cake consumption (it's been an emotionally trying time for various reasons). I've lost weight. I'd thought my jeans had stretched!

So on the whole, I cannot fault this programme - you HAVE to try it. I got mine at a bargain price of £60 off ebay - well worth the money. I know I'm going to do at least one more full round after this, there is so much variety (month 2 is another set of DVDs) that I haven't got used to the workouts at all yet. There's a bit in the Sweat Intervals where Shaun T says, 'how are you feeling?' and every time I just shake my head cos I am so exhausted, and he goes, 'no, seriously, answer me.' I never remember until he says it :-)

It's also making me wonder about how worthwhile it is to give an hour a day to fitness if half an hour can achieve a better result. I wonder if the same would be true for a weight-lifting programme, and I'm thinking I might have to try out P90X3 too. More results in less time - that would be a real win.

Got to get through month 2 first though. I really am a bit feared of what those workouts will be like - how can it get any harder?

Oh, and I almost forgot to mention, I love, love, LOVE the music - similar to Insanity, and maybe even more motivating. Hooray!

Deja Viewing

I think I've mentioned before how there's something about Timothy West that reminds me of my Dad. I watch him on his barge programmes, and on Eastenders, because sometimes (more often on the barge than on Eastenders) he'll do a 'Dad' look, or a smile, and it is sort of comforting. In the same way as stalking old men around Tesco's if they remind me of Dad is, but without the potential for freaking out innocent elderly men. 

Unsurprisingly, it was a bit of a shock to find out that Stan Carter, Timothy West's character in Eastenders, had prostate cancer (the cancer Dad died of). That was nothing to Tuesday's episode though. 'Old'Stan was a curmudgeonly character, not like my Dad at all. Of course, in true soap style, he has mellowed, and we have seen a more sensitive and vulnerable side to him of late. Then after all that softening up, what happens? He only suddenly goes off his legs, doesn't he? The exact same thing as happened to my Dad. It was horrific to watch, I went through all the emotions of that night again. Same cause as well - metastases in the spine. 

Now I get to watch my pseudo-Dad die in exactly the same way as my real Dad did. Not so much deja vue as deja view. 

At least if it gets too much I can change channel this time. Real life is a single channel you don't get to turn off.

My Next-Door Stalker

You know how it is - you are happily headed for your lunch, and then you find out that your ex (the one who was convicted of assaulting you and then sent to prison for breaking the restraining order) is moving in two doors down. Around a corner. So he can look into your garden out of the bedroom windows.

But let me take you back to how this all unfolded. Those of you who are in the dark about Steve could read What It's Like To Be A Punchbag. It doesn't quite capture the horror, but it's enough to understand why yesterday was a bit of a freaky one for me.

I woke up yesterday morning to two texts from a number I didn't know:

Hi Karen has Parker been in touch lately

Sorry to ask 

They were both sent at gone 1am, so I assumed it was one of his druggy mates trying to get in touch. I sent back:

Hi, no, last I heard he was with a lass called S [name redacted], and was living at [the last address I had], but that was over a year ago

I then pootled off to work, and forgot all about it.

As I was going to lunch, one of my colleagues said she had heard my phone making noises - on checking it I found I had another two messages.

I am S

Yikes!!

I live round the corner from you no [number redacted] yes Wer still on n of 

SHIT THE BED :-O

I think I forgot to breathe for a bit. In a state of Pure Numb, I texted back:

Oh, sorry, didn't recognise the number. Well, u probs know all he is like by now. Kinda freaks me out the thought he could be so close :-O But hopefully you settling in 2 ur new home

What the fut was I thinking??!! 'Hope you settle into your new home'??? NO!!! Why, even in extremis, is my default mode polite???

Meanwhile, our texts crossed so I got these:

Sorry for txtin u just needed to no only bein a door away from u n to warn u

Ye gettin there he doesn't live with me only comes wk end have u 2 dogs

It may not even be true about him only being there at the weekend, because she probably doesn't trust that I wouldn't report her to the DSS. I wouldn't. It's not her I have a problem with. Anyway, I was still channelling Michael Palin, if he was demented and had no sense of self-preservation, and sent:

Thanx 4 the warning :-) No that's [my next door neighbour]. I am [my house number]

S then sent her final two texts:

I'm on the corner Wer the big tree used to b

He's still injecting heroin did he wen u was with him

I replied:

Yes, even when I didn't know. 

I sat down for a second, and realised I was shaking, properly shaking and I couldn't stop. I was scared out of my wits. The restraining order ran out in February 2013, I felt like I had no protection. I ran downstairs to the office and fell to pieces all over the lassie who was behind the desk. It only lasted 20 minutes though, I was back to work at the end of my break, with the help of everyone I work with. Like the Boss said, I am stronger than this, this isn't me.

Luckily I saw my Little Sister after work, and she was as adamant as everyone else that I needed to tell the Police even though nothing had happened - and I agreed for once. When I got home, I phoned 101, and the woman I spoke to was really sympathetic, took all the details, advising me to report anything, even something as little as a dirty look from him, if it makes me or my Son uncomfortable. That way if there's a record of harrassment I can get another court order without delay. I felt better.

I went outside and saw how the second I step out of my patio doors, he can see me. I felt worse.

Came back inside and facebook pmed my closest friends. Felt better.

Had a panic attack. Felt worse.

Binge-watched Matthew MacFadyen in 'Spooks'. Felt bloody shedloads better. In fact, I could do with a bit of cheering up right now:

Vented on the facebook support group I admin - felt a lot back to normal. And then a friend shared this post by Marianne Williamson - and finally I was back to me and back in my power.

Fear is the thinking that dominates the world, but love is who we really are. Grounding ourselves each day in a deep remembrance of who we really are, we actualize the spiritual power that lies latent within all of us.

I'd rationally been telling myself that nothing had changed that lunchtime, not really. All that had changed had been what I knew - I wasn't actually in any more danger (and possibly less through foreknowledge). All true and all very well, but in my heart, I hadn't felt it. Those texts messages had activated a conditioned reflex fear response: I'd reacted the way I always used to - he'd had the effect he always used to have. I had me temporarily reverted to 'old' me - I'd forgotten who I really am again. I am a perfect expression of one aspect of Source - I have infinite power and infinite love, and Steve is never going to be a match for the power of that love, as expressed by me.

He cannot come back into my life or into my head or heart, even if he camps on my doorstep. I am not the person I was. He is incompatible with me, our energies do not match any longer, I have no inner wounds that react to sociopathy any more. I'm too busy saving myself to be bothered about saving anyone else.

I went to bed and slept really well. I woke about 4.30 from a dream where Steve was pretending to love me and I was watching, studying, feeling both sad and repulsed. I remembered the words of the article:

As you go through the day, anywhere you might be, look at someone's face and silently say to them, "The love in me salutes the love in you." I defy you to do this for two minutes each day and not become happier. 

No one needs to be reminded today that we are in need of a counterforce to the world's despair. All the hatred and unnecessary suffering that have gripped our planet are a challenge to our species to evolve and grow—to become who we are capable of being, so we can rise up with greater power and behave with greater wisdom. When any of us does this individually, our lives transform. And when we do it collectively, our planet will transform. Love will not just heal your life or mine. Love will heal the world.

So I sent love in the direction of the house they live in, until I fell asleep again.

Today has been another blessing, another day of usefulness, fun, trying to stay me. When he did cross my mind, I was able to laugh at the situation. I have no fear, I have the love of Source, and trust in life. He gave me the greatest gift ever - he revealed the wounds that were holding me back. This is just another little bonus gift.

I strongly believe that I can keep him away through pure unadulterated love. And if not, hey, there's always the Police :-)

If You Care, You Can Say What You Want

We've all seen things like this, haven't we? This one is about people who have been abused                                                                    

Here's another one:

These are both symptomatic of a trend that I am starting to really dislike, and here's why. I had 'liked' a Facebook page called 'The Grief Toolbox' because it was really helpful and a comfort when my Dad died, and had remained so for a long time. I finally was prompted to 'unlike' it recently, after yet another piece written about 'what not to say/do/think when in the presence of the bereaved' came along, and with it yet more comments from people bemoaning how cruel and unfeeling other people are/how dare they say that/no-one understands unless they've been through it and even then they are still arses etc etc.

Well bollocks to that. 

I am grateful for every last thing anyone took the time to say to me when my Dad died. Even the things that were a bit 'off', the things that I didn't particularly agree with, the things that really didn't make any sense to me. Cos you know what? Those people tried. They saw I was in pain and they tried to make it better. I'm also grateful for the people who said nothing because they didn't know what to say. We've all been there and I know they don't love me any the less just because they had no clue what words to string together. Who can blame them really, when the Grief Fascists are out telling people they are the lowest of the low if they tell you they 'know how you feel'?

Same with depression. When I was depressed, it didn't matter what anyone said to me, I wasn't going to feel any better. And in the same way, I wasn't going to feel that much worse either. Again, you know the people who love you, even if they don't say the right things. And you also know the people who don't give a shit, whether or not they remember not to look at their watches.

And as for being abused - well, I am just grateful for anyone who put up with me and my enduring capacity to completely ignore all the good advice I was given whilst in an abusive relationship. I don't give a teensy little rat's ass what words came out of their mouths - and in fact, the views that least chimed with my own were probably the most useful in the end. 

To me it seems like it is all part of a victim mentality that is ultimately dis-empowering. It's as though being a victim of something means you should have special privilege to be a delicate flower that the world and his dog have to tip-toe around just in case they upset your little cotton socks. Well thing is, shit happens. And shit happens to everyone - the people being slagged off for being insensitive about grief may well be depressed people themselves. So slagging them off makes the slagger themselves a bit of an arse, doesn't it? We are all human, and we all have our own crosses to bear. A lot of times when people screw up what they are saying about your situation, it is because they are extremely uncomfortable, they think you are too, and they are trying to make you and them both feel better. What on earth is so wrong with that?

Wouldn't it be better for groups and meme-makers to encourage people to be a bit less touchy and a bit more tolerant of eachother's failings? Not everyone has been bereaved. Not everyone has been abused, or depressed, or raped or mugged or whatever. But we have all been in situations where we haven't known what to say for the best. Why make it harder for eachother? Why not take whatever comes out of a person's mouth (or whatever doesn't) for what it is? Because usually what it is, is an act of love.

Sorry, I'll Sponsor You When You DO Something

Actually, I'm not planning on drinking tonight at all. I often don't, and haven't for the last couple of years. There have been several times during those 24 months that I have gone for maybe 6 weeks at a time without drinking. Whilst training for the Moonwalk, I barely drank from February through to May, because I really took that walk seriously, and wanted my body to be in peak condition.

So it comes as a surprise to me to find that 'not drinking' is apparently considered a way of raising money for Macmillan Cancer Support. Now I am usually only too happy to sponsor people. I may only give a little, or I may give a lot, depending on the state of finances, but I'll always give something, because I know that people put a lot of effort into their endeavours, and what better motivation to do something challenging or scary than to know that if you do, you are raising a shed-load of money for charity. Even dieting - I've sponsored people to lose weight - because it is HARD. But to sponsor someone for not drinking alcohol??? Maybe if you are an alcoholic, but otherwise don't even bother to ask me. And CERTAINLY don't ask me to join you - calling it a 'challenge' does not make it one; and I'm not a person to ask for sponsorship for pure inconvenience, otherwise I'd be asking for sponsorship for cleaning up my cat's endless puddles of pee.

No-one sponsored me for my abstinence during the Moonwalk training. No-one sponsored me for my abstinence during pregnancy and breast feeding. Should I ask for sponsorship in retrospect? No, cos you know what? It wasn't hard. It didn't hurt. It required no training or preparation. It didn't scare me.

So what the hell is the sponsorship even FOR?

It's like Movember - what a non-event to sponsor someone for. Man grows moustache. Whoopy-fecking-do. And chucking ice water over yourself. MY GOODNESS that one pissed me off. A work colleague has spent a couple of years raising money for MND (British for ALS), during which time he has climbed to Everest base camp and swum to the Isle of Wight. Were people jumping out of the woodwork and crawling out from under their rocks to sponsor him in these valiant efforts? Were they heck as like. But all of a sudden there they are, all cold and wet 'for charideeeee'.

(Although in discussing this with friends, it did occur to me that maybe I could do Movember. Man grows moustache isn't a story or any form of effort. Vain woman grows moustache and beard is a real discomfort as it would force me to challenge gender stereotypes whilst facing daily mockery. There's a difference)

But back to Stoptober - the whole thing has managed to combine two concepts that really get my goat - people being sponsored for nothing AND waiting for a specific time to change your life. I mean, if you want to stop drinking, why wait til October? Stop now. If you want to lose weight, why wait til Monday? Start now. If you want to get fit, why wait til the New Year? Start now!

It's like New Year's Eve - don't tell me when I should be having fun! And even more so, don't then come on all righteous in the New Year going on about how I should be giving up alcohol (snore) and fatty food etc. Especially as it is my birthday month, you bunch of utter killjoys!

Tell you what, here's an idea - you go about your life however you want, and I'll go about my life however I want, and let's not ask eachother for sponsorship for our lifestyle choices. Deal?

It Always Rains on Barnhurst Lane OR Things I've Learned Whilst Training for a Moonwalk

For this is what I have been doing since I last blogged - training for the Moonwalk London. Yup, tomorrow, on 10th May I will spend my night walking a marathon through London in my bra. Not only that, but my walking buddy isn't able to do it, so I will be walking alone. With 17,000 strangers. I'm SCARED!!!

More importantly though, before I even get to the Moonwalk itself, the training has taught me so much. It occurred to me whilst walking my 'big' practice walk of 20 miles, that I was walking it just coming into the Cardinal Grand Cross, and that actually, ever since I'd begun walking training, it's as though I've been walking away from my past and into my future.

Now let's be clear - as an exercise, I HATE walking with a passion. It is so, so SO BLOODY BORING! It's not like Insanity, where you get in there, get sweaty and breathless to the max, and are done. It goes on and on and on - and by the end of it you don't feel out of breath, but every damn bone in your body aches and your feet are covered in blisters.This is most definitely Not Fun. To make things better I always take my iPod with me and catch up on podcasts of radio shows I've missed in the week. Always except the time when I was horrified to find that I didn't have my iPod headphones, and I was already five miles into a 17 mile walk. So what else to do, but to think, and think, and then think some more?

13 Miles is Nothing Special
The first thing I got to thinking was how my view of distances has changed. 6 miles used to be an achievement, and leave me with aching muscles. Now that my 'usual' walks are 13 mile, 6 miles is a skip down the road, an evening ramble, certainly not something to consider 'training'.

I Don't Have a 9-Mile Hip
For as long as I can remember I have had a '9-mile hip' - whenever I go for long walks, it will kick-off hurting at the 9 mile point without fail. So of course, on the first 13 mile walk, it started hurting at 9 miles. Well, it started aching at about 6, due to me walking at a much faster pace than I usually would. By 9 it was proper spasming, and I was feeling a bit apprehensive. By Barnhurst Lane (more about that road later) it was absolute freaking agony. Every step sent a jolt of sharp searing agony through my whole leg, and I was visibly limping. I somehow made it the last two miles - even though I discovered that my other hip was a 12-mile hip, and so it was all I could do not to cry out loud as I struggled that last mile. It was not good. In fact, it made me doubt my ability to complete this thing.

Thing is, I'm a physiotherapist, wasn't this a case of 'physician, heal thyself'? So I read all I could about power-walking technique, analysed my own gait, and came to the conclusion that I needed to shorten my stride quite dramatically. Guess what? It only bloody worked! Not had a problem with either hip since, it's like a miracle! If only I had found this out 20 years ago!

It Always Rains on Barnhurst Lane
I don't know why I hate walking Barnhurst Lane.

Maybe it's because in my memory it looked like this:

whereas in real life it looks like this:

Maybe it's because my secondary school is on that road, and there's something about walking past it and seeing all the woodland that I remember as seedlings that is inherently depressing.

Maybe it's because it is a very straight, poorly tarmacked pavement through an un-scenic housing estate. 

Maybe it's because I am haunted by the memory of the 9-Mile Hip Incident

Maybe it is because it is two miles from finish and it is so near yet so far

Or maybe it is because it always, always, without fail, rains on Barnhurst Lane. No wonder my teen years were so dispiriting.

 © Copyright Gordon Griffiths and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons license

There is always a little smile though, when I reach the bridge above. For just the other side of it (on the right as you look at this picture, on my left as I walk it) is a house. Just a normal house, like all the others on the estate. But it's occupants have no idea that during its construction it was the scene of a famous 'flasher' incident, when Loraine Powis memorably exclaimed, 'why's he holding those raw sausages?'

I Am Grateful For Steve
This is something I don't think I ever thought I would say, but my 20-mile walk was dogged with thoughts of him - and not bad ones.

It was an absolutely beautiful Saturday, bright sunshine, but chilly,about 4 miles in and I was feeling incredibly happy. It crossed my mind that this was something I never would have done if I was with Steve - that I'd have been having to lie in bed until he felt like getting up, probably some time about 3pm. Then almost immediately that thought was replaced by one of how actually he started the process that had led me here.

You see, for all that I lost myself in the relationship with him, being with him gave me back a part of myself that had been lost years before.

Recalling the good times with Steve isn't something I've allowed myself to do before, because usually it immediately calls to mind the fact that he was faking all of it: all the love, all the fun - all fake. It's what sociopaths do. Yet because of refusing to think about the good times, I'd missed the massive thing that Steve gave me - he gave me back the confidence to do things I used to enjoy. With him I dressed goth, I went away for weekends, I went to V festival, I went to see bands. So now I am able to remember those good times without feeling upset, because whilst I walked I realised that for me it wasn't fake. I was there, I was in love, I was rediscovering things I'd forgotten I loved, and I HAD FUN. The truth of those good times was that they were nothing to do with Steve, because he was nothing like he pretended to be. Those good times were all about ME, about how I felt doing those things - exactly how I felt whilst walking that day - exhilarated, alive, full of joy, totally in the moment. Had I but known it at the time, Steve was showing me what it was to follow my joy. He was also showing me that I could do it alone - because, after all, I always was.

It's Possible To Feel Sorry For a Road
Especially when it's an orphan:

I'm Not a Born Fundraiser
If this were X-Factor I wouldn't have a chance - I don't have a reason to raise money for breast cancer. If I'm perfectly honest I decided to do this for the challenge to myself, to see if I could do the distance, to see if I could do it when people are sleeping. That I can raise money for charity is an added bonus, and this doesn't make the charity any less worthwhile. If you can spare anything, even a pound or less, it will be going to a good cause, to help those who contract a disease that could affect us all - yes MEN get breast cancer too! So please, if you can, go to my Moonwalk page, and donate! Many thanks to all that do, and thoughts and prayers very welcome tomorrow night!