Baby steps

One of my famed symptoms is the tendency to omit the positives of any given situation and notice only the negatives. Indeed, I've been accused of being negative, paranoid, Eyore, and similar things. So, I thought I'd relish a few small victories by telling y'all about the things I have done to try to fight my way back to the dizzy heights of normality.

The "recovery plan" I've alluded to in the past is based on extensive research of the disorders I have, and - at its most basic level - is split into things I should make the effort to do and things I should avoid at all costs. The avoidance is easier, for example steering clear of any other sweatshop agencies in Toronto, be they PR, branding, or something else. It's true to say that I have been somewhat unfortunate in the roles I've picked in that two of three since moving to Canada have comprised two of the worst bosses I've ever worked for in my life. As ever, one wonders whether "it's just me", but in the case of DDB PR there was a long list of people who were maltreated, criticised openly, thrown to the wolves, or just worked literally to the point of exhaustion. Talking to these people has helped me put that 'experience' into perspective. Similarly, even after departing Interbrand it was a gigantic relief to hear that (a) my boss had been fired for utter ineptitude, and (b) that someone there had spread a rumour I'd slept with a colleague whilst married, in order to undermine my integrity. I just wish I'd known these things either before accepting the job, or before I was set up and fired. I could have kicked up a major stink and - more importantly - had the ammunition to defend myself a lot better than I did.

The woman who stitched me up is still there. She has my job and my job title now, even though she doesn't deserve it and doesn't have the requisite skills to do it. I still dream of catching her unawares with a trusty, silenced Glock 21SF. One in the head and two or three grouped in the chest would give me an indescribably ecstatic sense of accomplishment, relief, and justice. Alas, the small print is that it's illegal, and I don't believe in karma so it'll just have to go onto the ever-growing list of things in life that just aren't fucking fair.

Anyway, once the 'do this, don't do that' part of the plan is complete then the rest is based around enforcing some kind of routine I can stick to that supports everything else. For example, most sources of information suggest that daily exercise is essential for mental well-being. Thus I do alternate days of weightlifting and mountainbiking. The former also helps in the self-worth equation because having a better body gives me more confidence...especially when it comes to swimming, cottage weekenders, or any other situation where I might have to take my shirt off. The routine comes in when you consider things more in depth. For example, in order to mountainbike every other day I need a bike, and the necessary clothing. Thus the bike needs to be cleaned and maintained at least one day in advance, and if I want to ride on a Thursday then I need to ensure one pair of shorts, one pair of socks, and one top are all laundered by Wednesday.

And so it goes for every aspect of the ideal recovery routine. Eating four, five, or six times a day instead of three times, which increases my metabolic rate, burns fat, prevents the mid-afternoon dip (ever felt sleepy in your Dilbert cubicle after lunch? Then you know what I'm talking about) means that I need to know what meals I'm preparing in advance. If I'm to prepare those meals, then I need ingredients, which means grocery shopping for specific items. And so on and so forth. People seem bemused when I say the recovery plan can get a little complicated, but when you break every waking minute down like this and trace every facilitating action then you can end up with quite a long list.

So what baby steps have been taken thus far?

My diet is now based on pages ripped from Men's Health magazine. All recipes are high-protein, low carb, leading to a more muscular me over the medium term. As mentioned, this boosts confidence, avoids peaks and troughs in my blood sugar levels, and with the requisite grocery shopping beforehand means I'm not tempted to eat sugary snacks because I have plenty of alternatives in the house. Fruit, nuts, and sultanas/raisins to name but three. In addition to the basic meals I have scoured the magazine and the web to identify foodstuffs that have a positive impact on mental agility. I can't remember what all the foodstuffs are offhand, but the objective is to ensure that the pickled walnut I call a brain is firing on all cylinders. In some cases it's a specific herb or spice, which leads to me seeking recipes that use said ingredient, or chucking it in with a bunch of other things to make a salad of sorts.

Whenever I grocery shop, I choose three of the recipes beforehand and list out the ingredients to buy. The point is to negate any possible excuse I might think of not to cook and eat properly. This has proven essential when battling depression. Of course, this kind of preparation and planning also ensures I don't have to resort to a slice of pizza from the delivery place at the end of the road. So, in addition to all the above, I'm preserving a great deal of cash and avoiding a great deal of saturated fats.

Along the same lines I have purposefully eliminated a lot of refined sugar from my diet. I don't eat sweets any more, nor cakes, muffins, or other sweet junk food. I no longer take sugar in either tea or coffee, but use 2% milk (that's semi-skimmed in English) instead of skimmed milk because it has more of the inherent nutrients in it. Whole fat milk isn't actually fattening, although it gets a bad rap for some reason, and skimmed milk doesn't even look or taste like milk so that was a relatively easy change to make. I don't drink pop any more because it's absolutely swimming in sugar. Even the diet ginger ale I used to use as a mixer with my rye is steeped in sugar. Now, even tonic water tastes sweet to me. Instead, I drink a lot more milk, and a lot more water. I have to say I had trouble with water because I just didn't like to drink it on its own. But, I couldn't use sachets of flavour or cordial because - again - they're both full of sugar and other crap. So now I just squeeze lime juice into the water and - hey presto - for some reason I find it a whole lot more palatable and can down pints of the stuff.

I've started reading things again. It's a handy way to wind-down at night, and helps combat the insomnia. I zipped through Billy Connolly's biography (which was fascinating, by the way) and finished Lance Armstrong's autobiography on the subway last night. I'm not sure what's next but I'll probably just read all the books I own first, and then see if there's a library somewhere within range. Alas, the cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT) I was doing at night-time had to be scrapped. I can see the principle in recording anxious thoughts, noting the trigger, and thinking what alternative explanations there might be to someone's behaviour or chosen words than the fact that I'm an idiot that everyone loathes. However, the unfortunate thing with CBT is that two of my strongest recurring fears actually came true - "Nicole will divorce me" and "I will get fired from my job". The idea behind CBT is that it retrains your mind to rationalise situations in a more pragmatic and objective way. Unfortunately, if your worst cognitive distortions actually come true then it kinda pulls the rug out from under your feet. This is why I was such a bundle of nerves at the time Nicole gave up on me - because suddenly I could no longer tell what was 'real' and what was distortion. If those two fears came true, then would all the others too in time? It was pretty terrifying stuff, and I still remember being sat on the balcony, sobbing my heart out, clutching my knees when Nicole returned from work one afternoon because of it.

As said, physical exercise is a no-brainer. Weights-wise I shredded a year's worth of Men's Health magazines and constructed my own, bespoke dumbbell-only workout. This means I can get the same results without having to afford a gym membership somewhere. Conveniently, Todd bought a Swiss Ball and a pair of five and 12-pounders in preparation for his surfing vacation, so I nipped out and bought a pair of 15s so I have enough range for all sorts of exercises and won't need to buy any more for quite some time. I also MacGyver'd a chin-up bar in the garage, though it might need some more work. It's currently about ten feet off the ground and requires a fairly accurate leap just to get to it. It's a cool exercise though - working large chunks of one's back, arms, and shoulders. I have to say I suspect it works my glutes too, 'cos I'm straining so hard to do one chin-up that I could probably crack a walnut if I clenched it between my arse cheeks. I think my current personal best is three in a row (chin-ups, not walnuts), though I'd probably manage more if I wasn't wasting so much effort bulging my eyes like poached eggs, and making the same noise water does as it sinks down the plughole in the bathtub.

The other half of the physical exercise aspect to the recovery plan is mountainbiking. It's one of the few things I still spend money on. I can't afford a bike maintenance stand so I MacGyver'd one by slinging an unused chain over the rafters and attaching an unused toestrap to each end. Thankfully the weather is now warm enough to use a hosepipe, which makes cleaning the bike 60-70% faster, and means I can spend more time checking it over for broken spokes or other wear and tear. The MTBing itself is also a good choice. Versus running, I have a much greater range and thus more choice of places to exercise. Both getting covered head-to-toe in mud and the act of fixing things and replacing broken or worn parts makes me come over all rugged and manly (sad but true). Plus, the inherent aerobicism compliments the weight training, sheds fat, burns calories, and boosts my confidence and self-worth through battling either the elements or obstacles that, frankly, scare the piss out of me.

As a result of all the exercise I have reduced my spare tyre to a spare inner tube, and am now starting to see definition in my shoulders, chest, and abs. The quest for the six-pack is a long and tiresome one though. It's like waiting for xmas when you're a kid. That said, it must be on its way because a couple of pairs of trousers now hang off me unless strapped on with a belt, on which I'm using a hole I haven't used in a decade.

Talking of which, I'd better go eat something or today's ride will be short-lived.