I've had this post drafted for awhile now. I had gone back and forth about whether or not I wanted to post it, and after some editing and tweaking - I decided to do it. It will probably reveal some things about me that even close friends weren't aware of before, but if I'd have found a blog post like this three years ago, I'd have probably cried in relief.
Anxiety is something that so many people in their early twenties deal with. It wasn't until I confided in some friends that I learned they, too, struggled with this horrible thing. But nobody wants to talk about it. Nobody wants to ADMIT they feel like a crazy person and think thoughts that no rational person should have. My anxiety mainly focused on health issues, which I learned isn't uncommon at all. It was at it's highest point from around February 2010 through to about December 2010. It would certainly have its ups and downs, but I can remember specific periods during that time frame where it was at its worst. If you were close with me during that time, you probably wouldn't know that I was sleeping, on average, 3 hours a night and spending a majority of my time analyzing every function my body could perform. From my eyesight to my hearing to headaches to muscle twitches - I had diagnosed myself with several diseases and disorders including multiple sclerosis, brain cancer, a wide range of eye disorders, Lou Gherigs disease, and lymphoma.
Just thinking back on it makes me want to cry. I spent so many otherwise happy times of life sitting there in a haze of fear and panic as I created symptoms I didn't have. I think the one thing people need to really understand is that while anxiety ISN'T real, it's very real at the same time. The symptoms I had were there. It doesn't scare me to know my muscles were twitching or that my headaches were constant, it scares me to know that your body and mind are capable of working together like that to zero in on what you're currently worrying about and explode it into reality. When you're in that haze, you don't look at it that way, but looking back - it's very apparent that my symptoms were due to nothing but my own constant fear, worry, and stress.
I'd be sitting there, perfectly happy, and then all of a sudden my brain would say: "Hey wait a minute, why enjoy this when you're going to die from (insert whatever disease or disorder I was currently obsessed with)?" It's heartbreaking.
I didn't want medication, and luckily I had a fantastic doctor who humored me visit after visit and assured me nothing was wrong. He never offered me medication and he never allowed me to pay out the ass for tests and scans that he knew were not necessary in my scenario. I am very, very thankful for that.
That January (2011) was when I decided I was going to start running. I don't know what exactly drew me to it, but I figured it was a good way to ease into an active lifestyle. I was desperate for a solution at that point. I had started taking literally 10 vitamins of different varieties every morning and I was doing these weird relaxation/meditation things at night. Nothing was really paying off even though I so badly just wanted something to work. I'd convince myself for awhile that whatever trend I was currently trying was "it", but then one bad day would send me spiraling back into that hopeless feeling that I'd have to spend the rest of my life feeling this way.
Running is the only sport where you can directly compete against yourself. I had been a dancer for many years, but you can't let your mind go when you dance like you can when you run. You have to worry about form and technique and staying with the music. Running is the only thing, I've found, that let's you tell your mind to eff off. I hated my mind more than anything, and it was a strange feeling. I wanted to beat the living shit out of the voice in my head. That same voice in my head is the one that would chime in mid-run and tell me I was feeling tired or I needed to stop or that my legs hurt. Not stopping was the best way to prove to that voice that I was so much stronger than it gave me credit for. Not stopping was the equivalent of beating the shit out of the voice.
Aside from that, it's a known fact that running releases happy endorphins in your body. Do it enough and they start to build up. When you pair those endorphins with the fact that you just told the person (figuratively) that you hate the most in life to go screw themself? All of a sudden it's not your anxiety that takes precedence anymore.
It took about 3 weeks, but once I started running consistently (2 miles about 5x per week at first) - the voice was gone, WebMD was no longer on my "most visited sites" page, and I didn't bat an eyelash when a random ache popped up. But the strange thing is, I didn't even view it as progress. I didn't even think of my anxiety or where I had been. I was just living, normally, for the first time in a long time. There was no question about whether I'd slip into a panic that day or if a thought would cross my mind that would send my heart racing and prevent me from sleeping that night. Those parts of me just didn't exist anymore.
Running made me a stronger person both physically and mentally, and that is the reason I have such a love affair with it. That's the reason that, yes, I do get a little defensive when people look down on runners or bad mouth the sport they love so much. I look at life differently now. You have no idea what a person is going through, just like I'm sure some of the people I love had no idea what I was going through. I urge you all to think of that the next time you feel inclined to be rude or disrespectful to someone regardless of the reason.
This sport made me analyze the way I was living my life. It taught me to be strong and that I don't need to deal with factors or people that bring me down. Surrounding yourself with strong, encouraging people is one way to ensure you never slip, and it's the most motivating thing I've done for myself. They say that you can't really appreciate the good until you've been through the bad, and that's why I look at that dark period of my life as a blessing. What I have now is good - so good - and I wouldn't be the person that I love so much today had I not had the opportunity to overcome the obstacles that made me weak. You can't stumble over something that is behind you, and I never intend on looking back.
Keep Running,
Kelli
