At school I was always the girl with perfect attendance, one of a handful who got a piece of paper at the end of the year to say ‘Well done, you made it into school everyday’. I hardly, if ever, get ill. But last Tuesday was the third time I’ve been ‘unable to go into work’ ill this winter.
Something, somewhere, I decided, was up.
Am I getting old? After all I’ve spent the last two years of my twenties trying to cram in everything I think I should have done in the first eight years of my twenties. And that’s a lot of things. It could be that I can’t keep the pace up.
Or it could be that in trying to see things, meet people, go places, try new things, I’ve forgotten to do some of the basic things.
Like sleep. And eat. And drink water.
Under my blanket of sickness I made a resolution – I would give up excess for forty days.
Too few hours sleep? Too little fruit and veg? Too many cups of coffee? Too many late nights? All these ‘too’s have to go. Like Goldilocks and the three bears – I decided to find a chair and a bowl of porridge and a bed that are just right.
Week one of cutting out excess meant:
Eating five portions of fruit and veg every day
Getting at least eight hours sleep every night
Drinking two litres of water every day
Not drinking more than two cups of coffee a day
Not exceeding the government’s guidelines on alcohol consumption (no more large glasses of red wine…)
So far it’s going okay. Eating five a day has proved to be the most challenging, and I’ve only just managed eight hours sleep some nights (I’m counting being in bed for eight hours as acceptable, because otherwise I will have blatantly failed on at least two nights this week). I’ve drunk so much water I can’t stop running to the loo, I’m not feeling the loss of lots of coffee, and because several friends have given up alcohol for Lent, I reckon I’ve had about two units in total this week.
The result? I feel quite a bit perkier.
Perhaps the government are on to something after all…