Hopeful embroidery.

https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/NellyMakesEmbroidery?ref=shop_sugg

Over the weekend I finished an embroidery project. It was my first ever piece of embroidery, and I am quite proud of it. It was another form of therapy that I sought out during lockdown for feelings that seemed to have no end. I have noticed this about myself before, that with extreme emotion comes a sudden outlet of creativity, but I thought it only extended to writing and performing. In fact, I thought myself completely inept at any artistry that involved painting, needles or drawing. It was another thing in my life that I had prematurely signed myself off from but, unlike running, it was an activity I constantly desired to settle down and do. Lockdown, being temporarily unemployed, and living through a period of extreme discontent opened up the time I needed to discover a different creative side to myself.

Actually, this side was awakened within me on a random trip to Hobby Craft just before last Christmas from which I spontaneously bought watercolours and paintbrushes. Much to my dismay, just by buying these products I did not immediately acquire the ability to paint well. I expressed this dismay to a close friend on our trip to Paris in December after we saw some students sketching in the Père Lachaise cemetery, complaining that I just did not have the inbuilt talent needed for that kind of art. She disagreed that this could ever be the case and argued that most artistic talent is about building up a skillset that anyone can learn. I wasn't convinced, but at the same time I didn't stop thinking about her take on the matter. Just before I went travelling I sat down with my watercolours, looked up a YouTube tutorial and miraculously produced a watercolour bee. It is not a groundbreaking piece of art, but it looks like a bee and I had frankly astonished myself that had managed to produce it.

Then came lockdown and I found myself with more time to practice painting. I got better at it because I took the time to learn, and copy, and have patience with producing the final piece. I now have a small collection of paintings that I feel proud of.

Then came heartbreak, as I must have mentioned about 100 times now, and for a week or two I couldn't bring myself to do anything at all. The only thing I could manage to do was read, and I found myself drawn to a collection of essays called The Curse of the Boyfriend Sweater by Alanna Okun. Okun wrote so lovingly about her passion for crafting and the way it has seen her through periods of anxiety, grief, heartbreak and longing that I felt quite inspired to give it a go.

I was desperate for some form of distraction, for a way to move through my pain. I found myself wanting to gain something out of my pain, too. I wanted a physical manifestation of my progress. I wanted to work hard at something that I would one day look back on and say "Look how far I've come." In the past, this desire to do something with emotional pain has resulted in a play at the Edinburgh Fringe. This time it has resulted in a few things, one of which being a beloved piece of embroidery.

I searched Etsy for an embroidery kit to teach me the way and allow me to create something pretty and special. I found the perfect one, and waited impatiently for it to arrive in the post.

The design took me a couple of months to complete. I would work on it listening to podcasts and in the evening watching the television with my family. I would even go to it when I felt sad, just to be able to do something with my hands and make my thoughts slow down. Embroidery came to be something that could make me feel so wonderfully serene, that could work away painful feelings without ignoring them or pushing them away.

I taught myself the techniques and spent hours on tiny little things that ended up looking like flowers. I used to think that I couldn't bear the fiddliness of the needle and thread, that it would drive me mad. In fact, it did the opposite, it made me calmer and provided another form of meditation.

My Granny is the queen of craft. She has created the most exquisite pieces throughout her life, some of which have ended up in exhibitions. She has spent many hours attempting to teach me how to knit, casting on for me on several occasions, only for me to give up after about 20 rows each time. I always thought that in that regard I had been a disappointment, unable to take on her endless talent. My Granny may not have very much time left in our world, but the other day I was able to show her my first piece of embroidery. She thought that it was beautiful and we got to share a sweet and special moment of love formed out of what I had created. When I started the piece I did not expect this to be an outcome, but I am so happy that she knows her legacy did not go to waste on me.

I can't say that I will ever produce anything as beautiful as my Granny did, but I have a feeling that embroidery might stay with me for a long time. It is too peaceful, too lovely to give up on now. The design that I embroidered has the word "hope" in the middle and colourful, wonderful flowers sprout out around the word jubilantly. That is why it was so perfect, and it did not fail to please.

Running is cool.

Plot twist: I really, really enjoy running. For anyone who knows me even remotely this is something I don't think anyone saw coming. For my entire life before now I have declared myself an anti-runner. I could not think of anything I would like to do less. I despised cross country PE lessons and walked in rebellion at the back every time. I thought that the 100m on sport's day was okay but only because it was over very quickly. I thought that people who ran for fun were crazy and scoffed when they suggested that I tried it out. I thought that it was painful and boring and exhausting and I could get my exercise elsewhere. Except for the fact that after I gave up rock climbing and dancing the only exercise I got was the enforced 2.5 mile cycle from my college into town, and after that there was nothing. For my entire adult life I have done little to no exercise. I thought that I was fine with that, I thought it was just my personality type. Now I am beginning to realise that I was missing out on something.

I am not going to write about how everyone should run (although, coming from someone who hated it and now loves it maybe everyone genuinely should give it a go) I just wanted to express the newfound pleasure that it brings me.

I started with the Couch to 5k app, and I am now on week 9 and I can run for 30 minutes without feeling like I might drop dead. Jo Wiley has been the encouraging voice in my ear, interrupting whichever podcast I am listening to tell me I've run for "5 minutes", "15 minutes", "you've got only 60 seconds left!" I started running at the beginning of lockdown because I felt unfit and at a slightly uncomfortable weight and I felt that I should do something about it. Then I stopped the app because I had to deal with feeling incredibly sad. Then I started the app and started running again because I felt incredibly sad and I wanted to give myself something to focus on. Turns out that was one of the best decisions I made in a bad situation.

I built up my runs week by week. At the beginning I was impressed when I could run for 3 minutes without stopping. I couldn't really imagine what running for 30 minutes would be like so I just took each run as it came, never looking into the future to worry about it. Each time the minutes spent running increased I surprised myself. Running became easier, then harder, then easier again. I don't think I have ever experienced physical training in the same way before, the way each improvement makes you feel proud and positive.

Now that I might in some small way be able to call myself a runner I can truly say that the most satisfying, most enjoyable part of running is the mental bit. I know that everyone told me endorphins would make me feel really good, even on really sad days, but I didn't realise they would feel that good. It is addictive. The rush after completing a run lasts for the rest of the day and I know that in retrospect that pleasurable, relaxing feeling was building up during the run too. I know this because when I imagine myself running now, or when I think back through my run, it makes me excited about going out to do it again. I forget when it was hard, or when I wanted to stop, I just remember that I kept going and how good that felt.

The meditative and mindful quality of running is something I was surprised by. I can notice my body in ways that I usually don't. I can notice and enjoy the rhythm of my steps and become so entranced by it that I forget I am running. The simple 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2 fading in and out of my awareness. I am always so amazed by how at first my breathing is ragged and almost panicky, but I push my way through it until the breath is calm and rhythmic and it carries me through. I always think, right at the beginning, that I can't do it, that I'm going to give up and then only a few minutes later I am rounding the corner of that country lane and the yellow house comes into view and oh... I have been running for five minutes and I forgot how hard it was to start.

Running, in so many ways, has been an extremely effective form of therapy over the last few weeks. I have taught myself the value of focussing solely on the task at hand and not worrying about what happens next. I have watched myself improve and grow and learn to love something new. I have put in a lot of physical and mental effort and been able to reap the benefits. And when I feel like complete and utter crap I have a way of getting out, giving myself an endorphin rush and a reason to feel proud and coming back feeling calmer and more positive.

I am not a good runner and I have a lot of improvements to make but that makes me love it even more. I have more to look forward to, more to work on, more things to discover about myself and my body. I don't care that right now I must be pretty slow, because it is such an enjoyable thing to do, such a wonderful and loving thing to do for myself, that I am not self-conscious or competitive about it in the slightest. It is a personal journey that allows me to see the joy in solitude.

I am most likely preaching to the choir here. So many friends and advice columns and health nuts have told me how great running is in the past and I have just dutifully ignored them. I thought I hated running so much that it would never make me feel anything other than miserable. I guess that is another lesson I have learned: the older I get, I realise the less I know about myself and that countless, unpredictable joys and adventures lie ahead. Even when I am moping about thinking that nothing good or exciting will ever happen again, I can counteract that with the absolute fact that they most definitely will and they will be bigger and better and more surprising than I could have ever imagined.