Depression Marathon Blog

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Diagnosed with depression 16 years ago, I lost the life I once knew, but in the process re-created a better me. I am alive and functional today because of my dog, my treatment team, my sobriety, and my willingness to re-create myself within the confines of this illness. I hate the illness, but I'm grateful for the person I've become and the opportunities I've seized because of it. I hope writing a depression blog will reduce stigma and improve the understanding and treatment of people with mental illness. All original content copyright to me: etta. Enjoy your visit!

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

an update

It's been a long time since I've missed writing two days in a row. I think this may be the first time I've ever missed three, but life has been busy, busy, busy. Here are the highlights, lowlights, and a little of the in between.

I ran 8 miles of the marathon course on Sunday. My leg held up okay after a week of swimming and rest. My friend who missed qualifying for Boston, by 12 seconds, 4 weeks ago qualified Sunday with 58 seconds to spare! It was nice to be there on an almost perfect day. Being at the race, supporting my friends, and focusing on somebody other than me, me, me helped me feel better about not running. I made the right decision. It would have been painful and ugly if I had attempted the distance on my bum leg.

Speaking of my bum leg, I finally saw the orthopedic doctor today. My x-rays were negative, no stress fracture. That was the good news. The doctor believed I had a "stress reaction," which is the precursor to a fracture and apparently just as painful. That was the bad news, because she doesn't want me to run--AT ALL--for the next three weeks! (I can hear all of you fellow runners gasping!) For the next three weeks, she wants me to walk only! YUCK! I hate walking! After three weeks, she thinks it will be okay to begin a walk-run program. She laid out a FOUR MONTH plan for my return to running! I tried to smile and stay calm, but my brain was screaming, "I don't think sooooooo!!!"

This is the point at which that damn twelve step program I follow starts tugging at my shirt tail. "Whoa...slow down," it says. "Remember me? Remember? Living life on life's terms, remember that one? How about willingness? What about listening to others who may, as unlikely as it may seem, know more than you? How about not trying to control everything?" That damn twelve step program... Well, we'll see. I'll keep swimming for the next couple of weeks, but I can't imagine I won't attempt to run just a bit as well. But I'll try to be good.

It is a tad ironic, perhaps cosmic, that the doc wants me to begin a walking program at the same time Puck will need to begin a walking program. I told you, I hate walking. I love my dog, but I hate walking. I was dreading having to walk Puck a couple times a day, but now I'm going to be forced to walk myself! Hmmm...there's that damn twelve step program again...my Higher Power taking control, intervening for my own good, despite myself! Puck gets his lamp-shade collar off and staples out on Friday. I guess he and I will begin hobbling down the street together on Saturday. Isn't recovery sweet? Ugh!

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