48.6 is the new 40: Post-marathon blues
I wasn't expecting to feel more anxious in the weeks following the marathon. New aches and pains, constantly feeling like I was about to cry, unable to explain the heaviness I felt inside. I didn't want to talk about it with anyone--not my husband, not my friends, not even my mom. I was afraid to open my mouth for fear that all of the terrible thoughts would come pouring out in a big, snotty mess. Apparently, it's quite normal for people to experience post-marathon blues. I just didn't expect it to hit me quite as hard as it did.
The week after our trip, it started creeping back in to my thoughts. Why was I having weird pains all over my body? Why did I suddenly stop trusting my body? Was this body, the same one that was capable of running a huge challenge only weeks prior, suddenly going to betray me?
Health anxiety is real issue for me, and I was assaulted by my thoughts on an hourly basis. I didn't like being alone in my thoughts. The head is quick to tell you things that are not true, make you feel things that are not real, and will make you want to shut the world out. When my health anxiety rears its ugly head, it starts attacking my physical and spiritual well-being. I begin doubting the things that I believe. I have a hard time putting my trust in anybody, including Jesus.
Training and planning for Dopey had provided me with a huge distraction and a positive place to work through my weekly worries. I had dedicated a ton of time and mental energy towards that goal. Now I was left with a lot of mental empty space, no huge goals, and my mind always chooses to bring in the anxiety dump truck and fill it with terrible thoughts.
I lost the ability to hope. I refused to let myself plan ahead and dream for fear that I wouldn't be there to finish the goal or experience it. I refused to let myself get excited about the future.
It made me want to not run. I certainly didn't want to get out there and worry constantly about dying on the road. I didn't want to push myself so hard that I couldn't come back. I began to understand how people with agoraphobia felt--I didn't want to get outside and run, I just wanted to be alone with my thoughts.
It's a hard thing feeling the need to run--one of the things that usually helps me curb all of my anxiety--yet being afraid of doing the very thing you need to do.
After two weeks of rest, I got out there and ran regular short runs in the mornings. I registered for a half marathon at the end of April. I've got my eyes on one in the fall. I kept putting one foot in front of the other--because my mantra in all of this, just like the marathon, is just keep going.
Mental issues are hard to talk about--especially in Christian circles. The church has a hard time with this subject, and some are quick to judge and encourage you to "just have faith" and "pray on it"--but sometimes our minds require extra support. We would never tell a diabetic person to have faith and pray on it, and deny them insulin. I have faith that my God can move any mountain He sees fit, but I also think He gives us a brain and science and medication and some common sense.
Over the years I've found strength in prayer and my faith--but also in medication, safe people, and exercise. There were seasons in which medication was a necessary part of my daily routine, and this season following the marathon has reminded me that health and wellness is always a moving target. There is no shame in that, and as much as I don't want to air my dirty laundry to the world and risk you viewing me as an unstable crazy person, it's worth it if someone else is reading this and thinking "me, too."
The week after our trip, it started creeping back in to my thoughts. Why was I having weird pains all over my body? Why did I suddenly stop trusting my body? Was this body, the same one that was capable of running a huge challenge only weeks prior, suddenly going to betray me?
Health anxiety is real issue for me, and I was assaulted by my thoughts on an hourly basis. I didn't like being alone in my thoughts. The head is quick to tell you things that are not true, make you feel things that are not real, and will make you want to shut the world out. When my health anxiety rears its ugly head, it starts attacking my physical and spiritual well-being. I begin doubting the things that I believe. I have a hard time putting my trust in anybody, including Jesus.
Training and planning for Dopey had provided me with a huge distraction and a positive place to work through my weekly worries. I had dedicated a ton of time and mental energy towards that goal. Now I was left with a lot of mental empty space, no huge goals, and my mind always chooses to bring in the anxiety dump truck and fill it with terrible thoughts.
I lost the ability to hope. I refused to let myself plan ahead and dream for fear that I wouldn't be there to finish the goal or experience it. I refused to let myself get excited about the future.
It made me want to not run. I certainly didn't want to get out there and worry constantly about dying on the road. I didn't want to push myself so hard that I couldn't come back. I began to understand how people with agoraphobia felt--I didn't want to get outside and run, I just wanted to be alone with my thoughts.
It's a hard thing feeling the need to run--one of the things that usually helps me curb all of my anxiety--yet being afraid of doing the very thing you need to do.
So, I ran.
After two weeks of rest, I got out there and ran regular short runs in the mornings. I registered for a half marathon at the end of April. I've got my eyes on one in the fall. I kept putting one foot in front of the other--because my mantra in all of this, just like the marathon, is just keep going.
Mental issues are hard to talk about--especially in Christian circles. The church has a hard time with this subject, and some are quick to judge and encourage you to "just have faith" and "pray on it"--but sometimes our minds require extra support. We would never tell a diabetic person to have faith and pray on it, and deny them insulin. I have faith that my God can move any mountain He sees fit, but I also think He gives us a brain and science and medication and some common sense.
Over the years I've found strength in prayer and my faith--but also in medication, safe people, and exercise. There were seasons in which medication was a necessary part of my daily routine, and this season following the marathon has reminded me that health and wellness is always a moving target. There is no shame in that, and as much as I don't want to air my dirty laundry to the world and risk you viewing me as an unstable crazy person, it's worth it if someone else is reading this and thinking "me, too."
to be continued
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