Well this is it, then

In two days I fly to Cusco. Well, Madrid, then Lima, then Cusco to be precise.

I am excited!!!

This will be my last post before I fly, unless something absurdly funny or weird happens in the meantime. Not ruling it out...

Several people have asked me if I plan to update while I'm away. The short answer is no. Aside from the Andes being completely signal free (bliss!), I am far too lazy to try and write blogs on my phone. I will, however, update when I'm back and have lots of fabulous pictures to share. At least I hope I will - currently the forecast for Cusco is predicting thunder storms.

At the time of writing, I have raised £1850. I am over the moon about this. Huge thanks to everyone who donated, or ate cake, or drank wine, or did all of the above for the cause.

Courtesy of @DoWhatITellYou

The codpiece mask is taking a break for the time being (although I'm happy to whip it out on request at parties) and I am looking forward to meeting my fellow trekkers at Heathrow and getting started. The ice cream thing didn't quite work out in the end - I was seduced by a tub of B&J's cookie dough (not literally, that would be horrendous) and caved on Saturday morning. It was delicious.

I will say hi to Paddington for you all and am under instructions from my big brother to bring him back a llama. He even said he'd pay for its flight if I could pass it off as a human. Dave, Amanda: I think we can do this.

Happy September everyone - I shall update on my return :)

Final training and taking risks

I conquered a hill 

Last weekend I talked my dear and very obliging friend Nikki into coming on a ramble with me to get some last minute training in before the trek. She duly took me around Alice Holt Wood, some of the lanes around her village and over to the Devil's Jumps for some hardcore uphill walking. I set myself the challenge of climbing Stony Jump, the highest of the three, with my mask on - set to emulate breathing at 15,000 ft.

I'm not going to lie, it was hard work: my lungs felt like bursting and my heart was thudding harder than an elephant on a pogo stick. But, with a heart rate of over 170bpm and a decent helping of determination, I reached the top. This is what that moment looked like:

Taking risks

Part of the reason for me doing this trek (aside from it being on the bucket list) is that my New Year's resolution for 2015 was to take more risks. Some long discussions with my therapist made it obvious to me that becoming depressive had not only wiped my self confidence, it had also stifled my ability to step outside my comfort zone. 

So 2015 has been about saying 'yes' instead of making excuses and shying away. There are much smaller things that I am proud of having done this year, things like attending a hen do where I didn't know anyone, and taking a motorbike trial. I still get nervous - really nervous - about stuff that other people take in their stride, but the point is I'm doing it anyway, because more often than not the experience is worth the apprehension.

From 8 months to 8 days

When I signed up for this trek in January, I had no idea that the response from family, friends and others would be so amazing. With the help of many, many people I have almost doubled my initial fundraising target, and received loads of positive feedback about my blog. 

There are now only 8 days(!!) till I leave for Peru. There is a holdall in my spare room into which I am trying to fit everything I will need, with limited success. There are insurance documents and trip notes littering the floor. There is a Paddington keyring which will hang from my backpack for good luck. I am, inevitably, apprehensive about the physical demands and the altitude, but if nothing else, I am proud of this: proud of speaking up, of raising awareness and of doing something to help. Once again, thank you for your support.

No-one tells you about withdrawal

This post was sent to me by a friend who has been struggling with depression for much longer than me. In it, the experience of SSRI withdrawal is described: this is an exceptionally difficult aspect of the condition to cope with, something that has intense physical and mental side effects that leave you completely exhausted. It's not something that gets talked about a lot unless the user is planning to come off the medication; the GP may mention it when you first get onto the drugs, and then again in the context of coming off, but there's little support in between for the times when you do forget, or are unable to renew the prescription.

I am enormously proud of my friend for having the courage to talk about this, and grateful that I've been given permission to publish it here.

Withdrawal

It's my own fault. Yet my inability to prepare for how I'm feeling right now rears its head every month. I've let myself down and I've let down those I love. 

It should all be so simple. I know the drill. Renew, review, repeat. Yet my closest ally for the last decade too often goes missing at the vital time - and it's all because I neglect to repeat the right part of the process. 

Why do I put myself through days of feeling like I do by being incapable of simply submitting a piece of paper? Perhaps my subconscious wants me to forget. Perhaps it enjoys the company that comes from conversing with myself in public. Perhaps my muscles cry out to involuntarily jerk and twitch just to feel alive. Perhaps those clicking sounds I unwillingly make are humble cries for attention. Perhaps the complete loss of balance, the drowning sensation, and the numbness in my legs are just an assault on the comfort I risk becoming used to. Or perhaps, just perhaps, I need to feel something close to what I'm feeling right now to remember how dark my depression can be, and how I should better appreciate the high points and those around me that do care. 

Regardless of the reason, it's now been five days since my last full dose of Sertraline. These five days - which come at the end of a ten-year relationship - have been tricky to negotiate. I've been in situations that scare me. Situations that, for most people, might seem trivial (being around friends and family, going to work, getting out of bed). Yet, I've managed to get through each moment... just. Yes, it may have been at half speed. And yes, it may not have been much fun for either me or those around me. But get through I have. And I'll continue to get through them, despite what some fleeting thoughts might say. 

I've been promised that tomorrow I will have a full quota of tablets to tide me over. I'll be back in working order - of sorts. A number of doctors have said that I'll have to depend on these little tablets for life. I'm not sure if that's reassuring or not. After all, prolonged exposure to SSRIs alters the brain for good. Going back is not an option. But the way I feel right now, I don't want to go back. I long only for the support that the cocktail of chemicals brings. 

I'll tell myself that next month I'll prepare better. That next month things will be ok. I depend on my tablets to function. I don't necessarily want to, but I do. Maybe that's why I forget. Maybe it's a protest of sorts. Who knows?

Whatever the reason, I feel ashamed to have let myself down again. I rely on the help these pills provide. Does that make me addicted? I'm scared to admit that it does. But I'm also scared that I'll stop. 

Things I have learned from depression (part II)

A few months back, I wrote down some things I learned from having depression. Having gotten a little further, I think it's time to add to that list.

1. The work never stops. It's so easy to fall back into the mindset that everything is your fault, so it's important to take a moment to put things back into perspective.

The last week I've found myself slipping a little, getting stressed and not being able to catch myself and analyse my responses before I react. I've felt a bit of a mess. Luckily, my therapy has taught me to recognise when to take time out, so today I let myself off the hook: laid in, read, watched TV, let my mind rest. And I woke up after an afternoon nap to the realisation that I'm proud of what I have done this year. Against the odds, I got a new job; I'm still fighting, practising meditation, trying to keep perspective; I stood up for myself; I am standing up for others with mental health problems. I am a depressive and I am not beaten.

2. There is no such thing as normal. Each one of us experiences a different reality, and that reality is our own. Nothing else matters until we have achieved balance within that reality, and can respect that of others.

3. I am not my illness. My illness does not define me. It makes things difficult, it gets me down sometimes, but I am many other things that my illness cannot touch.

4. There are some things that therapy will never solve. And that's OK.

There are certain things that I feel about myself, certain ways I perceive myself that therapy cannot heal. I can't solve the problem, but I can create an experience that contradicts what has gone before.

5. The more I talk about my world, the more the stigma on mental health issues recedes.

Starting a blog was a scary step: there are people that I have never met who have read these words. But my choice to be publicly open about my experience can only help to break the silence around mental health problems. Only true understanding and empathy can ultimately vanquish fear and engender acceptance.

Adventures in North Devon

As many of you know, I spent the past week in North Devon, combining some training with a final chance to do not a lot before I head off to Peru.

Day 1: A 7-mile walk around Croyde, during which we stopped briefly for lunch overlooking this:

And later walked above Woolacombe beach:

If you can't get to altitude, bring altitude to you. Guess how my tan turned out that day

...

Day 2: From Mortehoe to Bull Point via Lee Bay. We ate lunch looking at this:

And I bought a stylish sun hat. 

Our third day's walk took us from Velator Quay almost into Braunton. It was a bit boring after the first hour, so I don't have any photos, but we took my brand new walking poles, which turned out to be a solid purchase.

Overall a decent week training - no blisters, and I know where my aches are going to come from!

The second tasting

Having returned yesterday afternoon, I grabbed a couple of hours' respite in my parents' back garden before heading out to deliver a wine tasting for some friends. We took advantage of the beautiful evening, and after some chaos involving a lively pug and a terrified moggy, we went through six wines and a lot of cheese, finishing the evening with a game of Cards Against Humanity. A tidy total of £60 was raised thanks to their generosity.

Which leads me to my grand total. Since signing up for the trek in January, I have raised a staggering £1,705. This is far, far beyond my expectations, and I'm hugely grateful to everyone who has donated for their generosity.

Drugs, jabs and thermal underwear: 7 weeks out

It is now a mere 7 weeks until I head off on my trek. Lots of people are asking me if I'm getting excited, and quite frankly the answer is not yet. Aside from the fact that I don't tend to get excited about things until a few days before, there is lots happening at the moment, which is rather distracting me from thoughts of Peru.

My brain is a douchebag

Training has been a little difficult recently as I've been feeling pretty wiped out and kind of low the past couple of weeks. On Wednesday, following the first meltdown in several months, I made the decision to go back onto a full dose of antidepressants. For someone as obsessed with succeeding at everything as I am, that wasn't easy, but my therapist obviously managed to teach me something, because I'm not looking at it as a failure, just something that is necessary right now.

Since leaving therapy, the learning hasn't stopped. Perhaps one of the toughest lessons has been that all the therapy and all the meds in the world won't sort out some of the things that make me low, but I'm keen to try and remain as positive as I can. During one session later on in my treatment, my therapist told me not to stop fighting. I don't intend to.

On the plus side, Mumma C baked me a cake :)

7 weeks out

...which means next week is 6 weeks, meaning jab time. I get to bombard my body with typhoid and tetanus next Thursday, which should be all kinds of fun. I'm also nearing the end of the kit-buying frenzy. Thanks to a Millets voucher I got for my birthday, I have a silk sleeping bag liner to help keep me toasty warm at night, and have recently purchased a set of highly erotic thermal underwear. Check this out: 

Cat Woman wishes she could rock this.

As if that wasn't hot enough, I also bought a money belt, (I didn't dare don both for the photo for fear of causing grown men to swoon) which is a mere sidestep from the revered bumbag. The Peruvians better watch out.

And those Stairs of Death I mentioned? Dave sent Amanda and me some reassuring links to articles featuring Huayna Picchu, most of which include the words 'scariest' or 'dangerous' in the title. Good.

Nettles, death stairs and no more ice cream

The past couple of weeks have proved to be so busy I'm barely getting any training done. Some of you will have heard about my somewhat farcical trip to Marseille last week, which pretty much wiped me out completely, putting a stop to any thought of training.

Having conquered the nettles, Nik and I
find Silbury Hill

I did, however, smash a 15 km walk with my good friend Nik the weekend before last, an epic journey which took us back to the Neolithic period (not literally, this isn't Doctor Who). We rambled around the standing stones of Avebury, scaled a hill that was steeper than it looked, found ourselves in a dried up stream bed full of stinging nettles, gawped at a man-made mound with apparently no function whatsoever (Silbury Hill), scrambled up to an ancient tomb, and finished up at the pub with a well deserved pulled pork sandwich.

For this trip I duly donned my hiking boots and pack, c
omplete with the things I'll be lugging through the Andes (water, snacks, waterproofs, first aid kit, sun cream etc). And it has to be said I had a great time.

Making new friends

As well as walking with an old friend, I've been making new ones: last week I got in touch with the two people I'm going to Peru with - a brother and sister who seem like jolly decent folks. There's only three of us, because apparently everyone else pulled out. In the spirit of unconquerable optimism I'm taking this to mean we are the totally badass ones who are game for this high altitude challenge. I wonder if they're training with the codpiece masks too??

Image courtesy of grindtv.com

They've invited me on their trip up Huayna Picchu, a 7am start to scale the mountain that overlooks the city of Machu Picchu. On Googling this for an image, I have just found out that there is a section of the climb called the Stairs of Death. Good. Nothing to worry about there, then. I will absolutely not be shitting my pants all the way to the summit.

Getting back on the horse

The plan is to get back on the horse this week. Several people have recommended some nearby walks and my sparring buddy Andy took a brief break from trying to punch me in the face to offer a book he has with lots of walks through Kent, some of which include the Downs (hill training is getting kind of essential now) and some good pubs. I'm starting to worry that I won't be able to complete the trek without a pub break, which I'm assuming will be problematic unless some English chap has set up a Red Lion somewhere along the trail. Doubtful.

Lastly, I have sworn off ice cream and am attempting to cut back on sugar until the trek is over. This is proving difficult, but my trainer has kindly offered to eat lots of ice cream on my behalf in the meantime. This man is supposed to be a good influence on me...