I quickly hit send before following up with?—
And, about yesterday, I’m sorry.
I’m just about to drop my phone back on the charger on my nightstand when it buzzes. I expect it to be Harper with further night-out updates but it’s Caleb, with the fastest response known to mankind.
Absolutely nothing to be sorry for. Bad days happen and it’s okay to cry. Better out than in. Look after yourself and I’ll see you tomorrow.
Tomorrow. I find I’m looking forward to it, which is unexpected after my truly shitty last few days.
I fall back to sleep and am woken by my alarm. It feels far too early and I’m annoyed that a day is all I get to grieve my relationship before I’m expected to be back on top form.
If yesterday was about allowing myself to feel absolutely everything, today I have to numb myself completely in order to get through a long day in front of the cameras. It’s a day of stupid challenges, soundbites, and having to laugh constantly to produce great content with Nils for the social-media team and various other media outlets and interviewers.
It’s exhausting. I’m mentally, physically and emotionally drained as we get to what they tell me for thethirdtime is going to be the last clip of the day.
Except I’m done. I’m so done.
Normally I love these days. They’re so much fun and when Nils and I first became teammates it really helped us develop a much closer relationship, but today it’s just too much. I’ve been running on fumes for too long and now there’s nothing left in the tank.
‘I need a break!’ I practically shout, as Krissie, one of the RBF social-media team, explains what she needs from us in this video. My chair skids across the vinyl flooring and I accidentally nudge the table as I get up, spilling both glasses of water. My feet carry me across the room without being directed– at least that’s the way it seems– as I desperately search for a dark corner to hide in while I try to get my shit together.
But I don’t get a moment of peace because Nils follows me.
‘Look, I don’t want to be all up in your business, but what the fuck’s going on, man? First Austria and now this.’ He gestures from the table, where several people are cleaning up the mess I made, to where I’m sitting on the cold, hard floor trying to compose myself. ‘Talk to me.’
‘I can’t,’ I say through gritted teeth. There’s nothing, because what can I say? My secret boyfriend that you didn’t know about for the last almost three years broke up with me and now my brain is so scrambled I can’t get my head in the game?
That won’t lead to more questions.
‘Is it… that guy?’ he asks and I forget how closely we live on top of each other and how annoyingly observant he is.
‘There is no guy,’ I grunt, and now it actually is true. Jackson isn’t anything to me anymore.
‘Wow, you’re such a bad liar.’
He crouches down in front of me, almost as if he’s trying to get a better look at my sadness and I can’t even bring myself totell him to fuck off. This isn’t Nils’s fault.
‘I’m still sick. I need to go back to bed,’ I say.
‘If you say so,’ he says, but we both know he doesn’t believe me.
‘Let’s get this last one done and then you’re free to go back to the villa and be boring there. Can you do one more?’
I want to scream and cry and tell him no, but I’m supposed to be setting a good example for him.
‘Yeah, I can do that. Give me a minute?’ I say hopefully, and he leaves me to it.
If I’d been able to tell anyone about Jackson in the first place, I wouldn’t have to grieve the loss of my relationship alone. I’d have support and people would understand and give me space when I ask for it.
I count to sixty, and then I go and apologise to everyone for my outburst. I put a smile on my face and we get the final video.
On the drive back to the villa, Nils tries to convince me to go out to dinner with some of the team, but I can’t face it– the only thing I want is my head in a pillow. So when we get back, I head straight to bed and fall asleep to the sound of him getting ready for the evening.
I wake before my alarm, and even though I could sleep for an hour or two more, I can’t ignore the fact that I haven’t worked out since Silverstone. Time to get off my arse and go for a run.
Before it turns six, I’m forcing my body into a vest and a pair of sweat shorts and lacing my feet into my favourite pair of running trainers whilst I try to convince myself that I’m going to enjoy this run and I will feel better afterwards. I want to rot in bed until Jackson is nothing but a distant memory, but the experts are right about the power of exercise to develop a healthy mindset.
I set a timer for an hour then I run and run and run until my legs ache and the timer goes off. It’s freeing to get lost on unfamiliar trails and streets, and for the first time in days, my brain doesn’t feel like someone’s trying to squeeze the life out of it. While my heart rate comes down and my breathing returns to normal, I stretch out my hamstrings and calves against a wall. I notice there’s a coffee shop and decide it’s a reward from the universe for getting my lazy, pathetic arse out of bed.
