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I’ve entered a new decade, and crossed that point upon which so many expectations were balanced until now, the “When I’m 30 I’ll have life sorted” logic. I certainly thought I’d still be walking at 30, but was forced to accept otherwise 3 years ago. Re-reading my blog from my 28th birthday I realise how much harder my life was then. I was still hanging on to so many ideals and plans set for myself in my early twenties, and maybe it’s the wisdom that comes with age, or having moved to my own place, or just getting used to being in a wheelchair, but actually, 30 feels… fine.

Make no mistake, I still get unwelcome flashes of my parallel healthy self. The image of how she’d be living hits me like a plank to the head and can leave me in tears. I hate MS and it’s alterations to my life, from the constant compromises to the major life choices – it feels like being fished out of an ocean and dropped into a test tube: your scope is limited. I’m not sure that feeling will ever pass, but it’s not the constant turmoil of a few years ago. In fact, worrying about progression and losing the travelling/city life/marriage/kids was worse than the reality. Maybe I’ve just forgotten what I’m missing but whatever, being angry and upset every day is exhausting, and I don’t miss it. In hindsight I think I stayed living in London too long, constantly jealous of the young high-achievers surrounding me (disability aside the 24 hour opportunities force permanent FOMO). And the truth is that life, whether with a serious illness or not, is not as simple as it seemed 10 years ago. A lot of my peers with everything on paper find problems, and I’ve got perfectly able friends whose lives haven’t worked to plan either.

So at this moment, right now, things are okay, turning 30 wasn’t that scary, and I’m relatively pragmatic. But it’s MS, tomorrow I could be in tears, and my 31st birthday could hit me with a whole new set of symptoms. The illness forces you to change your expectations, and though I’m not totally there, I’ve got better at accepting it.

London Athletics, and nothing else

I appreciate that history and character are important… but if only we’d rebuilt the whole city for the London 2012 Olympics. I had a ticket for the IAAF World Championships in Stratford last night, a Sunday night so normally off limits as a rule, to avoid exhaustion all week, let alone infrequent trains and travel hassle. But this was easy, the Queen Elizabeth Park was designed and built for purpose, ahead of the 2012 London Olympics. It was so straightforward that I actually didn’t reflect on it until this morning. Normally disability related obstacles shadow all my outings, so the fact access was unremarkable is huge.

With a Blue Badge, you can drive and park onsite (by a quick email and dashboard print out beforehand). There are plenty of spaces, and volunteers on site to direct you down the lifts to one of the many accessible shuttle buses which drop you off right outside the stadium (they also run from Stratford station). It’s all step free from there to your wheelchair space which is a great one. You’re in the middle level of the stadium, no lifts, just in front of one of the disabled toilets, on the same level as the bars, and surrounded by people. As a comparable, at the Millenium stadium in Cardiff, the wheelchair spaces are at the back of the crowd, set apart from everyone else (lest you forget you’re different) so you’re not really in the atmosphere.

So my memories of the night are purely of the athletics, boring right?! I didn’t boo Justin Gatlin (I was going to stay silent but when people started boo-ing actually applauded in offset)… give the guy a break he’s still a devoted athlete. Discovered a love of the Pole Vault. Realised I need to carry my glasses around more. And was in bed pre midnight, brilliant.