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If you want a break from continuous Covid-19, I have an article coming soon about my Philippines adventures. The photos and memories are an escape from the chaos.
The threat emerged in China. It was awful but far away.
“Don’t go” my aunt begged. But there were few cases in the Philippines. I was going via Singapore. People had spread it at their airport and a London airport shortly before I arrived back, but it was not a common event.
Someone on the plane has a fever.
A poster at a bus stop, beside a nurse who was coughing profusely.
We were hovering over Heathrow when cabin crew marched quickly up the plane, one wheeling a suitcase. There was a flurry of activity up the aisles and a curtain was yanked shut.
“Just to let you know, someone on the plane has a fever” announced the captain. There was stifled anxiety and a father was explaining the situation to his child.
We landed and a health visitor distributed forms. Unlike the cabin crew, reassuringly, he was not wearing a mask, just gloves. Waiting outside the plane a medical professional stood wide-eyed, wearing a hazmat outfit with a clear visor covering her face.
Days passed and I heard nothing, so I forgot about the pesky plague.
Then it came to Italy and coronavirus contaminated my newsfeed.
I’ve got a temperature.
My boyfriend had gone skiing in the North Italian Alps in February and there was a good offer for the Austrian mountains, in Tirol.
“Do you need another ski holiday?”
“It’s not for long” he replied.
I said goodbye on the 1st of March.
“I’ve got a temperature so I’ve come back from work early” the text read, on Wednesday 11th.
He phoned NHS111.
“You haven’t been to an affected area so you don’t need a test” they responded. No mention of infection control.
The first UK nationals returning with the virus had been on holiday to Europe. A friend who had dared to enjoy the Sagrada Familia and Sangria in Barcelona was now cuddling her cat in bed.
We never get ill. Not like this.
Worried, I text my boyfriend. “What are your symptoms?”
“Headache, aches, sore throat, cough and my chest feels tight”.
“You must isolate.”
“I’ll go back to work when I’m feeling better.”
Day 3:
“How are you?”
“Temp going up and down now. Woke up last night with the heat, had some really weird dreams. It’s strange how a fever affects you.”
On Saturday 14th March the panic started.
It was day 4 of my boyfriend’s fever but it was finally dropping. I wanted to be sure.
I desperately visited every shop in a five mile radius.
Boots nearby? sold out.
Boots in town? sold out.
Superdrug? sold out.
Argos? sold out.
John Lewis? didn’t sell them.
Online? sold out all over England.
This could have put his life in danger. Why were they so selfish? Why didn’t they have thermometers? Why didn’t we have thermometers?
Because we never get ill. Not like this.
The media started announcing a daily coronavirus count. There would be bulk-buying. But to my surprise it was business as usual in the pharmacy that morning. There was still a sense of calm. Everything was in stock apart from most of the paracetamol. I bought two lots of products to ease flu. One for me, one for my boyfriend.
A man in the queue turned and looked at my basket, whispered to his wife and walked to the side to wait for his prescription, staring at me nervously as I purchased the items.
“Is this just for you?” the retailer asked.
“No, it’s for someone else as well” I said smiling, as the shop went silent and people gawped.
I was in Waitrose looking for snacks. The bread shelf was empty. The flour shelf (to make bread) was nearly empty. The pasta shelf? empty. The soap shelf? empty. The medicine shelf? empty. The Vitamin C shelf? empty. The toilet roll shelf? empty. Why? “Well at least there’s still beer” someone joked.
A nurse was crying in her car after trying to get food. She has now come down with it too, possibly. My brother came back from an A and E shift in Wales to find his supermarket almost empty. My sister found the same in London.
I was going to see a friend that night when she messaged. “Sorry, I have discussed it and we don’t think it’s a good idea”, explaining that her boyfriend had asthma and sending a link to government advice on social distancing. I don’t know when I can visit her again.
Some people have had to make the heartbreaking decision not to see grandparents,parents, partners or even their own children.
Only £94 sick pay.
The Prime Minister’s announcement came on Sunday 15th. All those with symptoms were to isolate for seven days. My boyfriend now needed to stay home for another four days.
“Great, that’s only £94 sick pay.”
“Think of the vulnerable and older people you’ll be protecting.”
I went swimming with a friend and we went in the steam room, with no steam. I had not wanted to go in but there was only one other person.
My friend is a cancer survivor and had been told she was “medium” risk. She has now received a letter telling her she was one of the 1.5 million English nationals that could end up in hospital from the virus. She had been out on the town until midnight, should she worry about it? she asked. No, I replied. Better to go out now than at the peak of the epidemic in mid-April or May. I sent her a flowers and wine delivery with some of the last Merlot left in the city. Yesterday I won the last sour cream in my neighbourhood and last week I bought the last two packets of chicken in the supermarket. Yet I was frustrated one day when I forgot to buy the vegetables for dinner and couldn’t make another trip for a single cabbage.
Her colleagues got coronavirus taking blood.
I later read that the virus was easily spread in Chinese gyms. But again the source was not revealed, so could not be verified. Fake news and “medical” advice began to infect social media, including gargling with salt water for “protection” and holding your breath for ten seconds meant you had “virus-free” lungs. You could “wash the virus away from your lungs” by drinking tea and “kill the virus” by sunbathing.
I informed my friend that the “e-mail circulated in a hospital” was actually government guidelines with a smattering of lunacy.
The only way to avoid contagion is to keep your distance and wash your hands.
But the public think that does not apply if you are outdoors, so now, as of Monday 23rd we are all on lockdown and gatherings of more than two people are banned. Countryside car parks are shut and the roads are almost empty, perfect for cycling. Meanwhile, our heroic key workers are keeping the country going, including my siblings. My sister worked on the “front line” for two weeks without adequate Personal Protective Equipment and four staff at her hospital tragically died. Her colleague got coronavirus taking blood with only gloves on, and survived.
My brother got infected from his girlfriend who worked on a coronavirus ward. Luckily they got off with a cough and fatigue.
From day 4 onwards my boyfriend started to get better. His sore throat eased and he no longer had a temperature.
A week later, his only irritation was an inflamed nose and a reduced sense of smell. His housemates did not get infected as he kept his distance, wiping kitchen and bathroom surfaces after touching them.
The Guardian has recently reported that around 70% of infectious people have few or no symptoms. With that figure it is easy to understand why numbers are increasing rapidly. This is from a reputable source, a microbiology professor.
Help others more and read the news less.
Now, every time I get home I wash my hands and wipe down anything I have touched before that. I have even started spraying my shopping in case it has been touched by someone who has coughed coronavirus onto their hands. It is so unlikely, but why take that chance.
People suffering from anxiety have told me that the worry around them has made theirs worse.
The most effective way I have found of dealing with the apocalypse is to help others and to read the news less.
One useful story referred to Mutual Aid groups mobilising volunteers on social media. I joined one and bought some items for a local family.
Do you think she’ll get worse?
A family of four was isolating due to their daughter having a cough. She would give me money. I gave her my details for an online transfer instead. The money could have the virus on it. “I will stand three steps away” I replied.
There was the patter of little feet running to the door. A toddler peered up at me with bright eyes.
“She doesn’t seem to have a temperature” I remarked.
“No, she just has a cough” her mother replied.
“She probably doesn’t have it then” I said, hoping to reassure her.
“But children aren’t as badly affected are they.”
“Well no, that’s true.”
“Do you think she’ll get worse?” she asked.
“No, if she’s only got a cough she should be ok, and like you say, children aren’t as badly affected.”
“Will I get it?”
“I don’t know.”
“What if I get it? Will I get it worse?”
“Well have you got a good immune system?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any underlying health conditions?”
“No.”
“You should be fine then.”
She thanked me and I left, assuring her that I’d message her if I needed anything. I delivered more bread and milk a few days later.
A board read “GO HOME, COUNTRYSIDE OUT OF BOUNDS.”
Last weekend we went on a walk with my boyfriend’s mother. As we expect that he is immune, we were not worried about him spreading it. He will not be able to see them now until the non-essential travel ban is lifted. Roadblocks have begun to spring up on local motorways.
A fast-tracked emergency bill is ensuring that new infection control laws can be enforced.
The beautiful Pigeon Tower above Upper Rivington Reservoir in Lancashire. Copyright literarylydi
I tried to keep my distance from in case I was asymptomatic (infectious but with no symptoms). We also tried to create some distance with groups walking past. It was only a problem if they coughed or sneezed the virus, but better safe than sorry. Irritatingly we ended up sandwiched in between groups of people and sharing narrow paths with them.
No one was willing to keep their distance. We wiped our hands before eating and at the car before we went home, as we had been touching gates.
That land is now shut.
On the way home in the Peak District, we saw a board that read
“GO HOME, COUNTRYSIDE OUT OF BOUNDS.”
The streets were nearly empty and older people were all inside, isolating for 3 months.
At least we don’t live in fear of nuclear attack.
But there were people sitting in parks, walking and cycling. I doubt we will see icecream vans for a long time, maybe not even in the warmer months.
I have been watching “Summer of Rockets” on the BBC recently and it has reminded me that things could be worse. At least we don’t live in fear of nuclear attack.
Audio poems are soothing, those who are creative can find comfort in the arts. Those who are practical are doing more D.I.Y, the drilling disturbing my work. But at least I could cook myself lunch and spend the rest of the break shooting hoops.
There are entertaining videos and memes doing the rounds. An unemployed sports commentator has done commentary for everyday events, such as the “South East halloumi-buying champions” frequenting Waitrose.
There was a video of the actor Antony Hopkins playing the piano with his cat on his lap.
Classic FM/Instagram / @AnthonyHopkins
I have also found it helpful to try not talking about it, to absorb yourself in escapist programmes and do what you can, instead of fretting about what you can’t.
No, we can’t go to schools, universities, gyms, pubs, clubs, cafes, clothes shops or restaurants (as of Saturday). We might not be able to see our family, friends or colleagues in person, maybe even our children.
But we can see them online, as long as the Internet withstands the increased demand.
We can do so many things in our homes or individually to entertain ourselves and exercise, so we must enjoy that.
Stay three steps away from others, don’t touch your eyes, nose or mouth and wash your hands when you get home.
The poem If by Rudyard Kipling is good to keep in mind: “if you can keep your head, when all about you. Are losing theirs[…]you’ll be a Man, my son”.
My favourite is Warning, by Jenny Joseph.
As they said in another war: “Keep calm and carry on.”
My “Cancelled” First Half Marathon
I had completed my first ten mile run. I had walked some of it but a half marathon was only a couple of extra miles, I’d give it a go.
I wanted to support one of the run’s charities, a local Multiple Sclerosis rehab centre – I work with a friend that has it.
I had three weeks to prepare. I ran, cycled or swam a couple of times a week anyway, but I spent a week before it running every day, starting at 5k and working up to 16k, mostly on the treadmill. I prefer exercising outdoors because it gives you a sense of freedom, you actually go somewhere and you can enjoy nature.
My brother asked what time I was aiming for. I reckoned 2 hours and a half. It had taken me an hour to run 10 miles. He did his first full marathon last year in Copenhagen. We have a photo of him finishing, looking pale and ill. He reckons you need at least 8 weeks training.
He also cycled from Lands End to John O’Groats (the length of England) in 10 days (doing about 100 miles a day) when he was in sixth form and this year he canoed round all the major lochs in Scotland (52km).
Race Day
On race day I had some porridge with bananas for breakfast, great for slow energy release. I wore trainers I’d bought the week before, ones to stop pronation, or your foot rolling in towards your ankle when you run. They were specially fitted from “gait analysis” – I was filmed on a treadmill and action snapshots documented how my feet fell. I have used the same pronation trainers for years and never had any injury – I think because of the way they are made.
When I got to the stadium I had a cereal bar and picked up my charity t-shirt from where the finish was. Announcements were blaring out about the location of key areas. There was quite a queue for the toilets and I worried I’d miss the race. There was no indication of where the start was and quite a few people were asking around. Nothing was signed, but then I spotted the crowd and the time markers. I was surprised that I couldn’t hear any announcements. I wondered why I could hear them at the finish area but not at the start. When I did a 10k last year there were loudspeakers covering the whole of the start line and a guy with a megaphone on a platform getting everyone warming up.
Chaos and Confusion
The communication in this case was someone yelling repeatedly: “The race is delayed by 30 minutes”. He wasn’t wearing anything identifying him as an official so not everybody listened. Most people passed the message on, via chains of Chinese whispers.
About 15 minutes later the man returned, yelling “police are removing obstacles from the course“. I wondered what sort of obstacles and why.
My brother had recommended that I start ahead of the time I thought I’d run it in. The markers were all set out the same distance apart. This meant that there wasn’t enough space for the time the majority of runners were aiming for. I queued to enter the 2 hour section, which was only possible when runners left to warm up. I went back until I found a bit of space so that I wouldn’t be crushed when the crowd started to move. The earlier markers then went round a corner ahead of two hours, so we couldn’t see or hear what was happening at the start.
“Cancelled”
We waited to start for about an hour. At least it was warm in the crowd, but we had no idea what was happening as during that time we heard no announcements and there was not one official in sight. Eventually there was slow clapping from the 2 hour 15 section which rippled forward, followed about 15 minutes later by booing.
Then a rumour went back that the race was cancelled. Everyone stood there in disbelief. There had been no announcements, it must be some kind of joke, I said. Luckily a lady next to me, Sue, had an in-law who was one of the race volunteers. She had discovered by text that the water had not arrived for the race and that they were dashing round supermarkets buying more. I thought that wouldn’t happen somewhere like London.
We waited another 15 minutes or so and then someone in front showed us breaking BBC news on his phone – it was official. There was anger and disbelief. A lot of us were sponsored. Family, friends and colleagues had been generous. I didn’t want to let them down and besides, this was supposed to be my first half marathon. But in that moment, the whole crowd of over 4,000 just set off.
I saw Sue and we settled into a nice pace where we could just about chat. She was running for Macmillan and lived nearby. We passed two water stations, one after about 5 miles and one at about 7.
Superhero Spectators
The supporters were fantastic, there were people lining the route almost everywhere, with one group blowing whistles and horns. They were almost all holding out bottles. Runners passed these among themselves. I was moved by the kindness of strangers and the community spirit. Others had bowls of sweets, which helped keep sugar levels up at the half-way point. I saw people I knew and the cheers from them and the rest of the crowd gave me bursts of energy.
With the first sugar hit wearing off, I suddenly felt a bit tired and had the rest of the sweets I’d been carrying for this point. There had been spectators until about 6 miles. I hadn’t drunk more than a bottle of water as I hadn’t wanted to get the stitch. At 8 miles there were no more as we were in the inner city industrial area. This meant there was no more water.
Casualties
When I hit 10 miles my legs decided they wanted to stop running and went heavy. A grey-haired runner had just collapsed at the side of the road and an official was bringing him round. Then I passed a young runner who was unconscious with blood on his mouth, paramedics around him. I felt like I was running in a war zone. I could be next I thought, with my parched mouth and heavy legs.
All I could think about was finishing. I remembered my brother’s advice that when you’re tired you shouldn’t run as if you’re tired, as that makes it worse. So I lightened my pace and managed to keep going, but exhaustion made it a massive effort. It was time for sheer willpower to keep my legs moving.
I finally came into the stadium and saw a sign “800m to go”. I sped up a little, not realising how far 800m feels when you’ve been running for 13 miles.
Then I saw the “400m to go” and remembered how I felt in a school sports day race. I had no energy and was flagging but then someone cheered “it’s now or never!”. I looked at my watch. I had to do it in under two hours. There wouldn’t be a repeat of this, this was my one chance. I accelerated and sprinted the last 400m.
I collected my race pack and looked for a water bottle. There had been one in my 10k race pack. Nothing.
Someone at the finish line had pointed out a water table further down so I went there. A lady looked helplessly at me “sorry”, she said. To the left of the table were four empty 2 litre water bottles.
As I finished I saw someone being attended to on a stretcher in the middle of the stadium, who was then rushed off in an ambulance.
The Long Walk Home
I was dehydrated but managed to get public transport to town. Then the bus didn’t turn up as the roads were still closed from the delayed race. So I took it on myself to walk the 3 miles home. It would be a challenge but I could do it. It was worth it, as on the way I met and chatted to a neighbour, who kindly sponsored me.
After walking uphill for the last two miles I was exhausted and had a migraine the rest of the day, but when I woke the next morning I was fine. A bit of a tender hip and left leg but the day after that I was fine.
Outrage
The event made the national news. Our local MP, Nick Clegg, said that lessons needed to be learnt. The winner said that it was the “first and last race” he would run in Sheffield.
We were still timed and knew that without sufficient water, we ran the race at our own risk, but I think the organisers should learn from those that arranged the BUPA 10k race, which was flawless in every detail.
Thank you to everyone who sponsored me. The page is:
https://www.justgiving.com/firsthalfmarathon2014
Finally, a big thank you to all those who handed out water and saved the day.
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Filed under Life of Lydia, News Comment, Running, Uncategorized
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