I ran twenty miles last weekend, and I am very proud of myself. I ran in the dark and I ran through rain. I ran laps around my neighborhood and ran a couple miles down the road past a garden of wild sunflowers. Running twenty miles was hard. By the end, my hip flexors were sore, my legs were tired, I was thirsty, and I really wanted to take a shower. After I ambled in the house, showered, drank a protein shake, stretched, ate, and took a nap, I felt back to normal, except for the overwhelming sadness and anxiety that crashed over me all night.
I’m no stranger to depression. I’ve dealt with it for a while. I remember trying to cure myself of the worthlessness and hopelessness plaguing at different points in my life. In high school, I thought spending an hour praying to God every night would fix me. I tried Zoloft for a while, but that just made everything worse. In a most desperate attempt, I did a book study for The Search for Significance: Seeing Your True Worth Through God’s Eyes. The book’s thesis is that by de-centering the self and instead centering God and other people before yourself, you will find meaning in life and rest easy in your God-given purpose. It didn’t work, because the problem is I have clinical depression
.I visited therapists and doctors, all in an attempt to cure my sadness problem. I remember talking to my grandma about my difficulties with depression and she said, “You’ve always been a little sadder than others.” I didn’t know how to take that, but I guess my proclivity for all things related to death and dying back that up. After she passed away in 2020, I entered one of the worst depressive episodes I’ve ever had; it lasted months and was compounded by a host of other things including a job I hated and the world’s shittiest apartment.
During that time, I started therapy again. I also saw a doctor again, who didn’t prescribe me anything for depression, but did say I should try some other proven methods, like exercising. Great idea, I thought, except I lived alone in the aforementioned shitty apartment and I was depressed, and the last thing a depressed person wants to do is go for a walk or lift weights or something. I might have just been making excuses, but I don’t blame myself. I spent months feeling terrible: about myself, about my career prospects with a newly-minted Master’s degree during a pandemic, and about the cockroaches that had infested my apartment.
Depression and exercise is like a chicken-and-the-egg situation. I don’t want to exercise because I’m depressed. I’m depressed because I don’t want to exercise. Sure, I want those sweet, sweet endorphins, but at what cost? Getting off the couch and sweating? Having to take a shower? No thanks.
After I got out of the apartment and got a new job, I went to see a new doctor. I expressed my fears of Zoloft and all other SSRIs, so she prescribed me something different — and it worked! The summer of 2021 was the start of something new. I had never felt better. Later that year, with Kimberly’s encouragement, I tried exercising. I started doing yoga and the rest is history. Now I’m a certified Sweaty Person, doing something that makes me sweaty more often than not.
I remember talking to my doctor who prescribed the magic medicine. She said that exercise does help, but some people need a boost to help them develop those healthy habits. I was one of the people who needed a boost, and there’s nothing to be ashamed about.
Since starting Wellbutrin, I’ve been a lot better. But, there’s still been hard days, weeks, and months. That’s the nature of the beast. Depression can be triggered but sometimes there’s no rhyme or reason to the misery it causes. Each time, though, I’ve been able to get back on my two feet again.
So, now, I’m running a lot. Running is famously good for mental health because there’s all types of benefits, including the release of endorphins and the potential for a runner’s high, which is possible during a long, sustained effort.
With these really long runs, I think I’m feeling this, a little bit. Sure, I am still tired and sore and thirsty, but I’m not getting through twenty miles on sheer willpower alone. My body has to be doing something to keep me going. When I finish these runs, I feel good and energized. Happy, even.
What’s been hard is the crash I get hours later after the sun goes down. It’s like the worst of my depressive episodes. The voice in my head starts saying things like You know no one really likes you, right? and Why are you even training for this. You’re too slow, anyway. and Everything you do makes everything worse and then my brain also starts telling me that Kimberly is upset with me for no reason other than the fact I exist and so I start crying. A lot of crying. It’s a horrible wave of emotion to go through after I’ve just been so proud of myself… especially because I know none of it is true.
Unfortunately I can’t be like, “none of this is true, stop crying,” because that doesn’t really work. I wish it did. I wish I could power-of-positive-thinking my way out of devastating depression. And it keeps happening. The longer the run, the worse it is. I talked to my therapist about it earlier this week and she wondered if the body — after receiving a burst of feel-good hormones — doesn’t know how to handle when their levels drop. Or maybe I’m thirsty. Or maybe I’m hungry. Or maybe the intense exertion of running these long distances does something to the brain so it can handle the physical stress. I don’t know what the problem is.
It’s scary to think this will probably happen again, but it probably will.
When I’ve read about marathon training, I’ve read about the physical toll it takes on the body, how much time must be sacrificed to train properly, how hungry it makes a person, but I haven’t read about this. About the dark nights after hard efforts, the dips in mood, and the depths of unexplainable sadness.
I don’t think this is a reason for me to give up the marathon. I don’t think this is a reason for me to stop running. Maybe I just need to let myself cry until the pressure behind my eyes is gone and the emotional release is over. Last weekend, Kimberly just gave me a big hug and we ate popcorn together and watched Big Brother. Comfort, comfort, and more comfort.
One thing I didn’t touch on enough is how important Kimberly has been to me in managing my mental health. A loving, supportive partner can make a huge difference when it comes to depression, which can be massively debilitating at times. She drags me outside for a walk and makes sure I eat something nourishing when I’m feeling my worst. Thank you, Kimberly. I love you.