Race - a continuum

The early morning was clear and crisp. The Jacaranda flowers made their usual pleasant squelching, crushing noise under my feet as I jogged. From the mountaintop that I had crested I could see the entire Tshwane in its splendid coat of purple flowers, heralding in the summer and the imminent examinations for school children and university students alike. I had studied hard and trained religiously to maintain a healthy mind and body and to be best prepared for the coming examination. Exhilaration flooded my body. It was my final year studying towards an engineering degree. The joy of youth and health cursed through my veins.

Having reached the top of the mountain I could now run faster. I knew that I was nurturing a cold and had left my warm bed reluctantly but had decided to power through the race and to take an extra dose of my vitamins, fizzy drink, and lozenges when home. I ran in a pack of about fifteen other runners leading the road race and was biding my time. There were only seven kilometres of the 21 kilometres road race left and I intended taking the lead at the eighteen-kilometre mark. The water point was coming up and I grabbed the small plastic water bag handed to me by the volunteers as well as the ubiquitous cup of coke. It was only now that I realised that my breathing was becoming laboured, but I attributed it to the nights of studying and lack of sleep. At seventeen kilometres I quickened my pace and started pulling away from the pack. However, I was fighting hard against a feeling of fatigue which surprised me. I was in top form.

I would not allow this to keep her back. I intensified my efforts, and my body obeyed my mind. I could hear the chasing pack closing in on me, which simply motivated me more. But I found it difficult to summon the ease of stride so familiar to me. At nineteen kilometres my lead was slender, and I felt lightheaded. But I ploughed on, refusing to be overtaken. I could hear the music and the noise coming from the rugby field which marked the end of the race, and I felt the adrenaline pumping through her body. Yet I felt sluggish. One of the runners was just behind me. I dug deep and the last two kilometres passed in a blur. I remembered crossing the finish line a centimetre ahead of the other runner and falling to the ground. Marshals helped me to my feet, but I was too exhausted. I sat in the shade of a tree feeling ill and nauseous. I could not understand what was happening to me and when I was called to the podium for first place, I could hardly walk the distance.

I asked my friend to drive me home in my car. I was trembling so much that I could hardly walk to the front door nor climb the stairs and had to ask my flatmate to help me. I could barely undress as I kept losing my balance and I pulled on warm pyjamas and crawled into bed. The rest of the day was a blur. I could not eat nor drink as I felt extremely nauseous. What had been an ordinary cold had left my throat so inflamed that swallowing was difficult. I found it impossible to think logically and I felt as though my head was stuffed with cotton wool.

My flatmate called a doctor who diagnosed me with bronchitis and who ordered bedrest and a dose of bacteria. The next two weeks were a blur. When I tried to get out of bed, the room started spinning. I was barely capable of walking to the bathroom and brushing my teeth. Taking a shower was out of the question. I was simply too weak and exhausted. What was happening to me? My tonsils were red and inflamed and the medicine did nothing to heal me. I was asleep most of the time. I suffered extreme lower bowel pain. It was all unfathomable. Time went by in a blur.

Much later I woke up in hospital. My mother and my boyfriend were there as well as a concerned doctor. I had missed all my year end examinations and was no better. Two months had somehow passed. I was being fed on a drip. I was unable to walk. I had gone from the pinnacle of health to a mere shadow of a myself. Time stood still. One day blurred into another. Weeks blurred into one another. Time had come to a standstill. There were no mornings, no afternoons, no evenings, and no nights. No segment of an ordinary life. In fact, no segment of a life whatsoever and, by times, a very vague stream of consciousness. I was watching snatches of daytime and night-time from afar. I was taken in a wheelchair to have nurses, or my mother or boyfriend wash my face and brush my hair. The nurses would place me on a chair under the shower to wash me. Somebody sprayed me with my favourite perfume and my pillowcase with a lovely fresh spray. I was aware of changes of night dresses. Now and then I tasted the soup, or the yoghurt being fed me. Was this purgatory? Was this infinity? Had I died? Was this what it felt like to leave earth? Was this hell?

Initially there were so many flowers around my bed. People came to visit me, but I was incapable of speech. I was shown get well cards with illegible lettering. Yet these welcome interludes became less and less until I was completely alone. My boyfriend never returned. My mother brought me my favourite foods, but they remained untouched.

One day I heard the lyrics of Billie Eilish’s song “What was I made for?” drifting through the window. I started crying. That evening I gestured for a pen and with a great effort wrote down the songs that I loved. “Fields of Gold “by Sting. “My immortal” by Evanescence. My mother loaded them on my cell phone, and I could play them on repeat. The familiarity of the songs brought me so much comfort that I slept better at night and one morning when my mother entered, I greeted her. I had found my voice. My mother hugged me tightly for a very long time. It was a year since I had become ill. I heard the birds twitter outside. I was aware of her surroundings once again. I did not sleep so much during the day anymore. The vertigo lessened. Slowly, shakingly, I could start walking again with the help of a push trolley. I could hold a toothbrush again. I could, remarkably enjoy the taste of my favourite nougat and chai coffee which my mother brought me. I could, once again, differentiate between morning, afternoon, evening, and night.  I could speak with effort. When I could go home, I sobbed uncontrollably. I cried a river of welled up tears as the dam wall broke. I experienced feelings again.

My cat who had faithfully waited on the sofa for me to return home had not only lost all hope but also her bushy tail from grief – it was only a sad rope without hair. She was so ecstatic that she draped herself over my breast and my cushion and refused to budge. She was as thin as I was. She celebrated with a tin of tuna – a taboo foodstuff for such a tuna addict cat.

It took me another year to heal. I learnt that I had caught the Epstein-Barr virus, probably from sharing bottled water and because I had completely overexerted myself – A type personality that I was. The virus had taken over my body and immune system completely. I learnt that it had worsened to chronic fatigue and fibromyalgia and that I would have to live with this illness for the rest of my life as there was no cure. I would have to monitor myself and live within the bandwidth of energy which my body allowed.

It did not matter. I was no longer in no man’s land. On good days I could go for short walks. On bad days I took it easy. With the help of online study and empathetic professors I managed to finalise my final year of engineering in three years. I did not mind the lost years as I had regained a new form of life. I had been lost in boglands and mist for so long that sunrises and sunsets and even the raucous calls of hadadas had gained a significant beauty. I would never take the sound of the wind rustling through the trees and the cooing of pigeons for granted again. Food is the nectar of the gods and to be able to speak and walk and take my own showers were the greatest gift of all.

As for running… these days I walk and accept my five kilometre bronze medal with pride. Maybe I shall be able to walk a ten kilometre someday.

I shall never forget the days when time stood still and my life had effectively ended.  Life is precious. Each moment must be savoured.  I no longer chase fame and fortune. I chose life.

 I still chase the joy which I knew in my previous life. I simply learnt that joy comes in different packages.