Running was a big part of my life. It brought happiness to my brain, peace in my heart, and fierce drive. There is a recording of my three year old self exclaiming that I was going to “Run, and run, and run, and never stop!” Much to my dismay, I let her down. My knees gave up, I lost focus with my eyes, and I began to hear distracting voices almost every time I set foot to the ground. I ran for as long as I was able.
In elementary school, no one could catch me. I joined the track team in middle school. When I discovered cross country in high school, my life was forever changed. I gave every fiber of my being to those races. Pushing myself to the finish gave me a “runner’s high” I have not found elsewhere. I have scoured the exercise arena and found that nothing scratches the surface compared to that kick at the end. When a runner reaches this euphoria, sometimes there isn’t energy to remain standing; often there is no time to reach the bathroom.
Running two miles through the woods is drastically different from running eight laps around a track.
The track coach approached me and begged that I take the “two-mile” slot for one competition, and I begrudgingly accepted the position. It was the one and only.
When your face is beet red- sunscreen having long expired-strands of hair are clinging to your neck, legs dragging like they are made of stone, and your breath is ragged, “You’re almost done!” shouted from the bleachers is not reassuring, knowing you are not almost there. Almost is never close enough!
Experience with mental disorders has taught me many lessons. For example, I did not win every race. It has been difficult to stave off my competitive nature. When I was seventeen, I was dealing with the beginning stages of bipolar 1 disorder. Doctors tried many different medications and combinations until the right ones fit. I thought about and researched this topic thoroughly to understand the many changes in my behavior, some of which could be treated but none that could be cured. It has been a long and complicated process. I hated losing races. Those linger in hammocks inside my mind. They sway and slumber, but those races never escape my memory. I lost races when my meds weighed heavily on my shoulders, when all I desired was sleep. I lost races when my eyes betrayed me. For months I suffered with a side-effect called ocular gyro crises. It affected my vision, but was hard to describe, so it went untreated for a while. I lost pieces of myself along the way, but I gained more than I lost. My family and friends stepped up when I needed help. Now I stand on solid ground, the lost races fading and giving way to my accomplishments. It is possible to win some of your races, while learning how to cope with your losses.
This is a lifelong journey, and you are not almost there. Keep running.
–SJB