It’s been about 1 year since the COVID-19 lockdown here in Spain. While I meant to write about it earlier, you know, about a month-ish ago, I didn’t. Perhaps it was because my schedule changed so I could go home after my morning class instead of writing in a frigid basement while waiting for someone to give me something else to do. Perhaps, it’s because my running schedule has me putting in more miles than I can reasonably do before work. Or, more likely, I was pleasantly numbing my brain with other people’s stories on TV during my smidge of free time. Regardless, here I am – masked up and late to the socially distanced Covid anniversary party. I hope I didn’t miss out on all the party favors (unless they’re Covid, because no thanks.)
It generally goes without saying that this past year (and a month-ish) has been utterly bizarre, heartbreaking, confusing, and anxiety inducing for so, so many people. I feel incredibly and extremely lucky that I only experienced a mild version of these. Let’s look at some of the things I learned (none of which include baking):
Social isolation is (mostly) for me. Okay. I already sort of knew this, but I discovered I’m really good at a lockdown. It felt like I had been training for it my whole life. While this may sound like bragging, trust me, being good at social isolation is generally not a good or valuable skill to have. But it really came in handy this past year and for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel so damn guilty for not being more social. While I felt a lot of relief to not have many social demands, I know a lot of people really struggled and are struggling with social distancing. I want to assure you that you are a completely normal human.
Mountaineering is possible without mountains. Pre-lockdown, we were planning on spending 2 weeks in the Alps, the first week of more casual altitude acclimatization and the second going to the Mont Blanc massif. Since the planned trip wasn’t until July, we hoped that we would still be able to go, which meant we had to train, but, you know, without going outside or uphill. So, I spent countless hours stepping on and off a foot-high box filled with giant sturdy books that I named it Monte Cartón. Okay, it wasn’t exactly “countless” hours because I’m a training freak and recorded it in dutifully in my training log. Or one could measure it in Marvel movies because that is what I watched while I stepped.
We were also lucky enough to have a stationary bike on our enclosed balcony that came with the apartment. So, I alternated my training with easy sit-down cycling and more challenging standing up cycling while I watched the police patrol the river on various forms of transportation.
Exercising outside was the thing I missed the most, not people or restaurants or bars or museums. Not surprising. The first day we were allowed outside to exercise was Saturday, May 2. I woke up to start as soon as we were allowed (6am) and ran the happiest 10k of my life. Of course, I also aggravated my knee, but it was so worth it.
Although we could exercise outside during certain hours, we still could not leave the city. So, instead of climbing Monte Cartón every week, we started climbing Monte Hormigón, a concrete bench in a nearby park. I found this way worse than Monte Cartón. For some reason, staring at a barely occupied street is much less entertaining than watching superhero movies. Go figure.
We couldn’t go to the mountains again until June 14th, three weeks before our first day in the Alps. Although, in the end, that trip was quite successful. Amazingly, box step-ups and stand-up cycling prepare one pretty well (at least one with a base of fitness). The only thing missing was exposure to, well, exposure, and I could have really used more of that in training. But, since rappelling down our building seems both illegal and unwise, I had to go without.
Boredom does not live here. I do not bore easily and am pretty darn good at keeping myself entertained. At first, I had almost no work as only a couple of my classes were swift enough to transition online, so I planned indoor picnics and beach days, read books, and watched TV (of course). Then, I picked up a few classes from teachers that had left, then my other classes finally transitioned online, and I had way too much work, but it helped me pick up some of the lost income.
Quarantine is not all sunshine and homemade cookies. Going to the grocery store was a weekly torturous nightmare for me. I already felt uncomfortable with how close people stand, but I was starting to get used to it when suddenly my perception of personal space quadrupled. Even though people gave more space, they gave space that I would have considered normal before the pandemic. But, for people who think practically standing on top of you is normal, moving a foot away seems like a lot of distance.
Also, the lockdown started the week after my appointment to get my residency, which meant that the paperwork sat on somebody’s desk for months and months and I had no idea what was going to happen when my visa expired in August. It wouldn’t be until October when I would finally get my residency card.
With hindsight, I can bring more humor to my pandemic experience since neither I nor any close friends or relatives become seriously ill or died. I’m lucky. I know this. However, early in the pandemic, my mindset was a lot bleaker. I started and did not finish the following essay that better captures the uncertainty.
Homebodies It’s hard to really believe what is happening as I sit on the stationary bike, my legs spinning swiftly, rhythmically repeating a soft swish-swish each time my thighs pass the seat. My view of the Manzanares is tranquil. I watch ducks fly by and prod the river bottom for dinner. A stray dog walker strolls slowly along the sidewalk, his dog sniffing eagerly at the scents of canines past. A neighbor pauses on his balcony to smoke and a magpie glides into a landing on the empty playground. This is not normal. I start breathing heavily as I mindlessly push my legs to go nowhere faster. This is my choice, I think. Elsewhere in the city, even nearby, people are struggling for oxygen. That is not their choice. All day I watch the ducks, the magpies, and the errant dog walkers. Then I watch the police along the paved river path. They patrol all day long in cars, on bikes, on motorcycles, or on horses. The horses are my favorite. I rush to the window every time I hear the clip-clop of their hooves. On Twitter, where I spend half my time when I’m not pacing around the house, I saw the question – “What was the last normal thing you did?” Good question. I can barely remember. Was it the Saturday before quarantine when we went out to La Pedriza for a hike? That day, we left early to catch the first bus and avoid people on the metro. We brought masks for the bus ride. Stopping for lunch after a long rock scramble, I insisted that we use hand sanitizer because there was another couple on the trail in front of us who had been touching the same rocks. Paranoia? Maybe. When we returned, the bus had blocked off the first two rows for the driver’s protection. This was not normal, and a lot had changed in nine hours. Was it the Friday before, when my boyfriend and I went for an hour-long run in Casa de Campo? I did really enjoy it, but I felt a heaviness leaning on me and gave everyone we met a wide berth. And, that night, we discussed our options to maybe get out of the city with a cat and no car. “Going to your parent’s house is out of the question,” I said and he agreed. “We could go to the apartment in Biescas,” he replied. His family owns a vacation apartment in a small town in the foothills of the Pyrenees, near a couple of ski resorts. “Great,” I said, “let’s go to a place with fewer grocery stores, hospitals, and services, possibly bringing the virus with us. We don’t know if we have it.” Our options were slim, and we continued to argue about the ethics of people migrating from a focal point of the outbreak to a small town with few resources. Should we choose our comfort over responsibility? The truth is, I didn’t want to leave. I told him, “This is my home. I feel comfortable here.” I had been in Madrid for less than a year, having moved from Washington DC, where I had lived for almost 20 years. I felt like I had barely adjusted and the thought of hastily escaping for who knows how long filled me with dread, more dread than being confined to the house. So, what does normal even mean to me anymore? What I keep thinking about is the Tuesday before our lockdown, not because it was particularly normal, but for how my day balanced on the line between normality and abnormality so perfectly that I almost wished for it to slip to one side, any side, just to break the tension.
