What good is a running club in a time of pandemic?

Cough, cough (uh oh) :Ol

I want to take you back to a Saturday night a couple of weeks ago. Many of you were still in Lanzarote or had just got back. Covid-19 was heavily in the news and we’d all been told the pandemic had moved from the ‘contain’ to ‘delay’ stage, but everyone was basically still expected to go into work unless they were showing symptoms. My housemate, Rad, was feeling annoyed that all this was going to compromise her 40^th birthday plans. Her favourite childhood friends from Birmingham had organised an epic night involving ‘Magic Mike’ the stripper and a lot of cocktails, which now, for hygiene reasons, would not be going ahead. Her frustration was amply communicated to myself and my friends, Tom, Anna and Will, via our long standing, and oddly named, whatsapp group, “Remove Ed to chitchat” (long story). We all live locally so the 5 of us decided to give Rad a final shot at a 40^th birthday celebration and headed down to a new restaurant in Blackheath. We were wired. Over some tasty French food and a lot of jokes about the Black Death, we all got horrifically drunk and stumbled home singing loudly like annoying teenagers.

Over the next few days it became increasingly apparent that choosing to go out to a restaurant on that Saturday had not been smart. The virus was spreading fast, including between people who weren’t showing symptoms. On Thursday Rad came downstairs looking terrible. She was shivering uncontrollably and there was a film of sweat on her forehead. She was also an alarming colour that a wall paint sample card would probably label as something like ‘French grey’. A friend dropped over a thermometer which confirmed she had a high fever and at that point I thought, “That’s it. It’s in our house. It’s only a matter of time”. I could almost see the little viruses lurking on every conceivable work surface, making evil gurgly chuckling sounds as they did so. I started to feel a little queasy myself. About an hour later, Will whatsapped us to say he’d also come down with a fever. A couple of hours after that so did Tom. Anna and I, now the only two of our little group not showing symptoms, started to feel uneasy. 

Later that day, whilst on the phone to another friend, I had a bit of a coughing fit. This is not especially unusual for me. I have a mild version of a condition called cough variant asthma which typically generates at least one coughing fit per day. But this cough felt ‘different’. My normal asthma cough is just sort of ‘ticklish’ but this was more sinister; a sort of weird, mild burning sensation in my upper respiratory tract. A few minutes later my chest tightened and I felt short of breath, shaky and a bit faint. I went to bed whereupon a thumping headache and nausea took hold. That’s it, I thought. Those little, chuckling viruses are inside me, gearing up for a proper party at my expense. My mind sped forward. In 5 days time I’d have pneumonia. Shortly after that some doctors would be standing over me debating whether I was a priority case for the only remaining ICU unit, although that would all be academic by then because death would be following shortly anyway. This, my friend, is I think what mental health professionals mean when they talk about ‘catastrophizing’. I texted our little whatsapp group to say that Anna was now the only one of the five of us left without symptoms and eventually got to sleep. 

The next morning I woke up feeling…ok. A feeling of relief, shortly followed by a creeping embarrassment took hold. I’d basically spent the previous evening saying goodbye to my friends, boyfriend and family, and was now standing over my Nespresso maker pondering whether to make a cappuccino or a mocha. Rad, on the other hand, was definitely NOT ok. But she was not OK in the ‘wrong’ way. She’d spent most of the night dashing to the bathroom at 10 minute intervals with crippling stomach cramps. Tom and Will were apparently in much the same condition. 

Now this particular group has always bonded closely over issues of a scatological nature, but they were really ramping it up now. I got to know more about the individual bowel movements of all concerned than was probably strictly necessary, and there was a liberal scattering of the poo emoji in pretty much every Whatsapp message that went between us. No one was coughing though which was weird. Then ensued a debate about how much the coronavirus causes gastric issues. My dad (a retired doctor) scanned his medical journals and said that such symptoms were only found in 8% of Covid cases. The chances therefore of all 3 of my friends displaying such symptoms and it being Covid was a 0.05% probability...(I was learning a lot about statistics here!). So we might all be ok…

A couple of days went by and, whilst Rad continued to severely compromise access to my bathroom, the fever abated and there was still no coughing so it became apparent that we were out of the woods. I went onto obsessively googling Zwift and treadmill options rather than funeral directors. I also constructed an elaborate wall display of post it notes detailing my upcoming gardening plans which I continue to work through. It’s actually quite a nice feeling. I realise there are a lot of people out there that are not OK though. People who really are suffering with the disease or are scared for their loved ones. I have no idea what to say about this except I’m thinking of you and I’ll be an ear to whoever needs it. 

For the rest of you out there stay in touch with each other. It really helps. The messages that have come to me over whatsapp and other channels in the past few days have helped me enormously to stop catastrophising and stay grounded. In these strange times a simple poo emoji from a friend can go a long way. 

And, in case any of you were wondering, my own actual poo has retained perfect structural integrity throughout. (insert poo emoji here).

from Sarah Maisey and the Serpie Mental Health Champions

photo by sydney Rae on Unsplash

If you'd like to chat to a Mental Health Champion, and/or if you'd like to write a post, please email wellbeing@serpentine.org.uk 

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