Today I went for a run, and I felt terrible. My heart was thumping out of my chest, and my legs would barely move. I am exhausted.
It's been a generally bad year so far. I make no secret of the fact that I have mental health problems. They have been troubling me. I have felt myself become isolated and I have lost my enthusiasm. I have lost a close friend because of my difficult nature. I feel uncertain of my future.
That's the problem with racing when you have depression. The racing becomes a way to vindicate yourself. One bad race, and you lose all faith in yourself. 2 bad races and your world might as well have ended. At that point, you have become worthless. Because your only worth is in winning races, right? That's when people praise you, that's when people want to know you. The rest of the time you are just...nothing.
And even if you do do well in a race, you always know you could have done better....
That is the rut I have found myself in more and more this year, and it is sapping me of strength, and taking the pleasure out of running. Because, as a result of this, every bad run (not just race, but run) becomes overwhelming. And bad runs become more frequent. I find myself stopping and sitting by the side of the trail from sheer exhaustion after only a few miles. Instead of coming back from a training run and feeling satisfied and accomplished, I come back in tears. Why has my body stopped doing what I'm telling it to?
I have begun to examine the role of running in my life. Why do I do it? What does it mean to me? Why is it significant?
There are many reasons. Fresh air, love of the outdoors, desire to travel. But there are 4 major reasons which I identified.
1. I run to remain slim. I was surprised to find this at the top of the list, but the truth is, having suffered from anorexia as a teenager, and then piled on a load of weight in my early 20's, the fact that I can remain quite slim despite relatively normal food intake is massively liberating and comforting. And yes, when I can't run, I do withhold food from myself. My ideal figure is an androgynous one, and the years since I started ultra-running are those I have been most comfortable with my body.
2. Endorphins. I know that I get cranky and agitated when I can't exercise. I get sad, I stop eating (see reason 1), I drink more alcohol. I joke with people that running is just a more socially-acceptable form of opioid addiction, but it's closer to the truth than a joke. And point 2 is intimately interlinked with point...
...3. The good run. You know this one. The run that feels effortless. Your feet have wings attached and you glide. Your mind is free, your body is part of the air around you. I'm not an inherently spiritual person, but this is the closest I get to meditation.
4. Competition. I fit the stereotype; high grades at school, anorexic, competitive from an early age (originally in music). My mum always recalls how I phoned her in tears when I got a 2:1 in my second semester at uni. Her friends couldn't understand why I was upset, because 2:1 is good, correct? But for me, it wasn't a 1st and that was the point. These days I am not ambitious in my job, but in my running. I strive to achieve...to win. Then, if I do, I feel no sense of achievement and am still acutely aware of my own inadequacy.
And herein lies the problem. I have begun to define myself by this. These points have become over-arching. My other hobbies have faded away. I am a runner, but in my mind I am nothing else.
Today I went for a run, and I felt terrible. My heart was thumping out of my chest, and my legs would barely move. I am exhausted. Who am I?
...I need to find myself...
....I should go for a run.
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