The Reality Of Anxiety

How many of you are now seeing my name and thinking I know what’s coming?!

Time to grab a beverage of your choice!

I am entitling episode 3: The Reality of Anxiety.

Before I begin, I’d like to note that anxiety isn’t ‘my’ mental health struggle.  I think it’s really interesting that in my head I have depression.  That’s my mental health struggle.  Then things happen, like this story, that I can’t explain using depression.  Nonetheless, I find it really difficult to say I have anxiety.

Anyway.  Let the story begin.

Crossfit.  For those up to date with my ridiculous life, you’ll know last week consisted of crying at Crossfit on Wednesday, not really doing anything.  And then smashing it on Friday, with the help of another crossfitter.

Well.  If you thought crying last Wednesday was bad.  You were wrong.  I was wrong.  We were all wrong.  Yesterday was a whole new level of crying in public.  Now normally my stories are not so great moments which then turn into moments of triumph.  I’m afraid there is no triumph here.  There is just a lot of crying.  And when you thought the crying was done.  There is more crying.

At this point I would like to apologise to Stephen.  This is definitely not what he thought his Wednesday morning was going to turn out like.

I turn up.  Walk in.  No Chris (the instructor).
Brain (at about 101mph):  Where’s Chris?  Why is Chris not here?  Maybe I’ve got the time wrong?  Maybe I’ve got the day wrong?  Am I supposed to be here?  I can’t check, I’ve got no signal.  What do I do.  Chris should be here.  Why is the gym unlocked if Chris isn’t here?  Who unlocked the door?  Why do they have keys?  Does Chris know someone else has keys?  I’m so confused.  What do I do.  What if I cry and Chris isn’t here. Help.

All that little dialogue happened in the millisecond it took me to walk through the door.  Then someone is sitting where I put my bag.  I do know that it’s not actually my spot, but remember the Tesco carpark side story.  It’s one of those things.  So I sit on the floor in my workout spot.
Sarah: Hold on guys (guys being all the mini-me’s), remember last Wednesday when someone was in your spot.  Well now no one can work out in your spot because your stuff is there.  This is a good thing.
Every other mini-Sarah: Don’t you be telling us this is a good thing until we’ve majorly overthought it to decide it’s not.  You can’t be making those sorts of decisions on your own.
Autism: Someone is in my seat.
Anxiety: I don’t know what to do.
Depression: I told you we should have stayed in bed.
Anxiety: But we can’t leave in the middle.
Autism: Someone is in my seat.
Brain: …positive-Sarah… you in there today?
Positive-Sarah: I cannot help at this stage, we’re too far gone.  Good bye.

Go to change my shoes.  I HAVE NO SOCKS.  Now, I actually don’t mind wearing my trainers without socks.  But only if I’ve made that decision.  I am no good at things being sprung on me.  Like turning up with no socks.  This is not okay.  I have no socks.
Brain: For goodness sake, stop worrying about the lack of socks.  We have much bigger things to be worrying about. Like… WHERE IS CHRIS?!
Autism: My feet feel weird.  They were not supposed to feel like this today.
Anxiety: Where is Chris?
Depression: I told you we should have stayed in bed.

So there I am.  Sitting on the workout floor.  Not knowing what to do with myself.  Not being able to leave.  Because I can’t leave places unless it is time to go.  But maybe it is time to go because maybe I’m not supposed to be here. Ahhhhhh I have no idea.

In walks another crossfitter.  Someone I recognise.  Oh thank goodness.  I must be in the right place.  I have seen this person before.  He’s often at the same class as me, so I must be in the right place.  Good.  But still no Chris.  And still the door had magically unlocked itself.  How?!  I should point out that there are two other people there – they were then when I arrived.  One I have never seen before.  One who usually turns up at the end of the class, presumably to do his own workout?  This person is Stephen.  As I worked out all of about 3 minutes ago.

Stephen stands up… “right, so we’ll start with the warm up…”.  Stephen is taking the session.  Please note.  There is absolutely nothing wrong with Stephen.  He is lovely.  And to be fair to him, managed the chaos he was about to experience very well.  But.  In that moment.  He is not Chris.  I did not know Chris was not going to be there.  So not only did I not know I was going to be wearing trainers without socks, I also did not know Chris was not going to be taking the session.

I should point out, that when I book it tells me who is taking the session (hence working out that Stephen is called Stephen 3 (possibly 4 now) minutes ago).  I have never looked at this before.  Because Chris takes the 9:30 sessions on a Wednesday and Friday.  So why would I need to look.  Although.  I can assure you I will be checking EVERY TIME in future.  Can’t be having these sorts of surprises.

Welcome ALL the mini-Sarah’s.  They were having an absolute field day!  Field… like my surname.  That made me giggle.  Anyway.  I digress.  For a change.  I never digress.  Always strait to the point, me!

Start with 40 seconds cardio.  I can do that.  And the unknown guy is skipping and the known guy isn’t on my rowing machine.  So we’re all good.  Although… the two rowing machines have wiggled along the floor slightly and we are very close to one another.  The rowing machines are laid out like this:
Me.  Known guy.  Empty.  Empty.  Empty.
Known guy sat down first.  Anyone else would have sat with a space or two between.  But my rower is the end one.  So we rowed.  For 40 seconds.  Very close to one another.

I can’t even remember what the next exercise was.  But.  Unknown guy stood where known guy usually stands.  Known guy stood where I normally stand.  Oh no.  Here we go.  We’ve got a problem.  I decided there was just about enough space to stand behind.  So sort of in my space, but just a little squidged.  Poor guy has been here 5 minutes and has lost all of his personal space!

I do the next exercise and I can feel my eyes welling up.  I don’t know if I can do this.  But I can’t leave.

Following exercise is box jumps.  I am short.  Like 5 ft 1 short.  And not particularly fit.  There is not even the slightest of chances I am going to be able to jump onto the box.  This is where I would look at Chris with stress in my eyes and he would come over and magic up a different exercise.  But I can’t look at Stephen.  Because he is not Chris.  So I stand there.  And as I stand I get more and more welled up. 

We’re back to the 40 seconds cardio.  I can do that.  So I do.  And use ALL of my energy to not let the tears out.  Second exercise fine.  Box jumps, stand awkwardly again.  Now my ability to hold the tears in has vanished.  So I’m having a right little cry in the corner.

Stephen explains the next bit.  I intake NONE of what he says except the first bit is a 400m run.  Now I’m not being funny, but have you ever tried to run and cry at the same time.  Like actually run and cry at the same time.  If you haven’t, then this is my public service announcement.  DON’T!!!  I couldn’t breathe.  I couldn’t breathe because I was crying.  I couldn’t breathe because I am not fit enough to run.  Well that’s a double whammy of not being able to breathe.  My chest hurt.  Of course, known guy and unknown guy have done their run and are onto the next exercise inside.  So I go back in and I can’t.  I just can’t.  It’s too much.  So I stand and cry.  And then cry some more.  And then cry some more.  I can feel my chest getting tighter and tighter.
Brian: Do you think this might be a panic attack?  We’ve had one of those before.  It kind of felt like this.
Sarah: I don’t need your input right now.  Right now, I need you to make me stop crying.
Brain: But if you accepted it was a panic attack then we could think about managing it…
Sarah: Go away, you’re not helping.  I can’t breathe.  I can’t stop crying.  My chest hurts.  Your analysis of the situation is not helping.
Brain: I’m just saying…
Sarah: Well don’t say
Known guy:  Why don’t you have some water.
Sarah: Why didn’t you tell me to do that brain, that would have been useful, rather than blabbing on about this panic attack nonsense.  I don’t get panic attacks.

I listened to known guy and had some water and I sat down.  Interestingly, drinking forces you to breathe.  Who knew?!

Known guy has seen me cry before.  So although never that bad, I don’t think it was as shocking as it was to unknown guy and Stephen.  Hats off to unknown guy who cracked on with the workout in a WEIGHTED VEST might I add.  I can barely breathe and this guy is cracking on with extra weight.  Insane.  But also impressive.

Stephen: Why don’t you jump on the bike and do some gentle peddling while these guys get on.
Brain: Specific instructions… we like these.  To the bike we go!

In hindsight, I think what Stephen meant was to just chill out on the bike.  What actually happened was I decided two minutes on the bike was the same as a 400m run and 10 burpees was the same as 20 burpees.  So that’s what I did.  Absolutely not what the workout was.  And I cried.  The whole way through.  Think I might have managed the last 10 burpees with slightly less tears, but don’t hold me to that.

Stephen gave me a fist bump.
Brain: Look at me go!!! I got a fist bump.
Sarah: I’m not being funny, but I don’t think it was you who has physically exerted themselves right now.  That fist bump is mine.

Next bit.  Insane but impressive unknown guy does hand stand push ups.  What?!?!?!  I did not!!!! I did seated arm something or others.  No idea.  Whatever I was told to do.  10-8-6-4-2 with a minute rest in-between.  I did the WHOLE of that without crying.  Next exercise.  I don’t know what it is, and I can’t ask, but I can’t leave.  So I sat there for 15 minutes doing nothing.

Then I went home.  That is all.

The photo below is getting back into my car afterwards where I immediately started to cry again.