How Movement Reconnects Me to Life: Running Through Severe Depression
How running through depression reminds me what it feels like to be alive.
Run to remember what a pounding heart feels like, what that sharp intake of breath just before you cross the finish line feels like. Run to remember what sweat dripping down your forehead feels like and what the surge of energy halfway through a long effort feels like.
Run to remember what it feels like to move, to focus, to exist in a beautiful world.
This feeling came across after I finished the Bridge Run, as if in all those weeks before I had forgotten what it felt like. Some of that is, perhaps, because I’m ill. I’ve dealt with major depressive disorder for most of my adulthood, and I’m currently in a flare-up. This is all terminology my therapist recommended I use because, as she said, “it’s an illness, just like any other illness. And just like an incurable condition, there are periods of flare-ups and remission of symptoms, even when you are being treated.”
I pushed back on this at first. I told her I don’t see it as an illness, it’s more like a parasite, sucking me dry of the things that make me happy, trying to take over my brain for its own gain. She challenged me, and I appreciated that, because in the days since I talked with her, I’ve tried to re-frame how I perceive what’s going on. At the end of our session, she told me to keep doing the things I like to do, like running. However, I often feel that I have no energy spared for running, let alone walking. I get grumpy about it, preferring instead to spend the evening on the couch watching shows I’ve already seen.
But, despite my inertia, I keep moving. Sometimes of my own accord and sometimes because Kimberly suggests I do. And when she suggests I go on a walk, frustration riles up in me because a large, flashing neon sign in my head says, “ABSOLUTELY NOT! NOT GOOD! NOT FUN!” Instead of giving into the sign, the parasite, and the disorder, I begrudgingly lace up my sneakers and go on a walk.
For a long time, despite being open about having depression, I haven’t given it the same weight as other illnesses. I think it’s easy to believe that if I do all the right things, I should feel better, but it doesn’t always work that way. I become frustrated with myself because of my inability to “fix it” or “do something about it.” Kimberly reminds me that it’s okay. This just happens sometimes. And still, I resist the urge to let the words describing this disorder have the weight they deserve, because I continually minimize my own pain.
Perhaps part of the journey — and part of running — is letting myself take up space and be honest with myself. During the marathon, I had to be honest with myself, knowing I would not finish in the time I wanted to and would not have the race I felt I trained for. That painful point of frustration, anger, and misguided intentions, if we can surmount it, leads to clarity, acceptance, and the perception that all we need to do is keep moving forward. Taking a step is a success itself.
Running is a lot like life in that way. External circumstances might muck up your plans. You might deal with an injury or get sick. You might be down for a while, but none of that really matters because you can get back up, and things will feel better eventually, even if it’s difficult to imagine this “better” future in the present.
Even though I am still dealing with this flare up, the Bridge Run did change something. I think I had forgotten what it felt like to run, expending the energy I had and working toward the finish. Pushing myself up the punishing hill. Checking my watch to see my pace. Challenging myself to go faster. I felt the air in my lungs and heat in my body, everything working so hard to keep me going, and that’s when I remembered how wonderful it is to be alive.
And so, I continued running. Running renews my energy. It’s definitely not a cure, but when I feel the physicality of myself, it’s hard to ignore the wonder of how we move and exist. In yin yoga classes, they discuss this, too, asking us to focus on our breath. Our life force. And it’s hard, but I do. My mind may wander, but it’s in those moments, that I remember my mind doesn’t rule over me, and I can push back, because pushing back even a little bit makes a difference.
“I remembered how wonderful it is to be alive.” Yes!
Keep going Sydney! I'm rooting for you!