The Day Before My First Marathon

Saturday, December 10: The Day Before My Marathon

I took myself to a local diner for a brunch of eggs over medium, bacon, hash browns, biscuits and gravy, toast, and apple juice before boarding the DART train to the expo downtown. I stood in line behind ONE person for packet pickup at the race expo and breezed through the whole thing, including stopping to buy GU and to sign the runners’ wall, in fifteen minutes or less.

I had a pretty bad headache by the time I got home, and it was a raging migraine by evening. Having a migraine is a pretty fucking horrific and often traumatic experience even in the best of circumstances. The thing(s) about having a migraine the night before your first fucking marathon, however, means:

• Not laying out your race gear in advance
• Not prepping your hydration pack
• Not packing your race bag
• Not eating a single bite of dinner, which is a pretty fucking important pre-race meal
• Probably not keeping down any of the liquids you had instead of dinner
• Urinating extra lots, further fucking up that hydration issue (common migraine symptom)
• Not taking the hot bath you'd planned on
• Not stretching that day
• Not massaging or rolling out any sore muscles
• Kind of just barely figuring out the math on when to set your alarm, leave the house, and catch the right train and not feeling at all confident in those calculations
• Going to bed early (great!) but probably only getting 4 good hours of sleep
• Knowing you're going to wake up feeling shaky and emotionally hungover (and, of course, physically tired) for an event that requires literally every drop of mental fortitude that you have available on a *good* day, an event that you haven't even wanted to do *at all* for some weeks now
• Just being *extra* grouchy, hurty, and whiney when you've been pretty damn grouchy, hurty, sleepy, and whiney for several months already
• And no crying, because convulsions will make your upset stomach worse, and the facial tension will worsen the migraine pain as well

That said, thank you so much, dear friends, for all your support, excitement, and confidence, especially since I'm pretty much all out my own. I don't know how to convey how much it means to me.

At this point, I just want to be DONE with the GD race; and never wanting to do this again could be the only thought that gets me to the finish line.

I'm not looking forward to it AT ALL. I just want to be done running, done hurting, done training, done being tired all the time, done being grouchy, and done talking about my fucking marathon.

Simultaneous conversations with my self:

Is this you or your depression talking?

This really feels like me, tbh.

*Remember being grouchy like this 6 years ago in Korea and only much later recognizing that as pretty severe undiagnosed depression.*

So is this you or your depression talking?

Would I know the difference?

IS there a difference?

My depression IS me.

Ain't nobody got time for this.

Go the fuck to sleep.

Sometimes things REALLY suck

[CN: depression]

I had thought my 18-mile run would be the last long one before my marathon since it was three weeks out, but my coach gave me a 20-miler for two weeks out.

I was not thrilled about this because I was on vacation in California, but I spent a lot of time in advance on Google maps trying to plot my route through the city. When I arrived, however, I learned that California is freaking mountainous. Who knew?

So I threw out my map and planned to run six dull laps around the lake.

I went to bed at a reasonable hour and woke up the next day . . . with a terrible stomachache and still felt dreadfully sleepy. So I dozed another hour, felt a little better, and got dressed to go despite a deep feeling of dread and "I-don't-wannas"  . . .

And then I found tears streaming down my face for no reason at all for like ten minutes straight before I even left. Wtf? It was a beautiful day; I couldn't have asked for better running weather.

I dragged my butt out the door, spent another five minutes just trying to set up my freaking interval timer and GPS tracker, and set off downhill a half mile to the lake. The "I-don't-wannas" persisted, and though I can usually shake it off and push through, I really struggled to make myself run during the designated intervals and even stopped to sit several times (which I never do) to try and get it together.

After an unbelievable mental struggle through the first lap, I cried through the entirety of the second, stopped many more times and longer, and was too far gone to reliably assess whether the pain in my hip and butt was serious enough to stop. I tried to start a third lap but knew there was no way I'd finish it without walking the entire thing, so I turned around to walk back to the apartment. Still crying for no fucking reason at all PLUS feeling like a complete failure PLUS looking forward to telling my coach I'm a complete failure PLUS suppressing all sorts of terrified "how am I ever gonna finish my race—what if I DON'T finish my race?!" thoughts.

I'd managed only a piddly 8.33 miles out of TWENTY in two and a half hours, whereas those 8 should have taken less than two hours.

Seriously.
Crying for no GD reason.
Can't run another step, and I know it's not physical.
WTF?
Is my depression doing this?

In recent weeks, I've had a few bouts of the uncontrollable urge to cry for no reason. Last year it was constant for weeks and meant I needed to up my dose of bupropion. Running has usually balanced my emotions and I have never before had to face this while running.

I felt a little better after showering and dressing, mostly because I wasn't running anymore. But this was a seriously important training session, and there was no way to try to redo it in time for the race.

The next day I ran a similarly slow 4 miles instead of my scheduled 2, and I still felt crummy and weepy, though less so than the previous day.

As miserable and difficult as the summer slog had been, at least my fucking brain wasn't malfunctioning. Even though I'd had some crummy runs, they were just that and nothing more: no additional weight or emotions attached to or triggered by them.

There's not a happy or conclusive ending to this post except that my hosts totally understood and offered me hugs, didn't mind when I said "not right now," and didn't push me to talk more about it when I withdrew.

My coach was very understanding, which I pretty much expected, but depression brain doesn't understand anything more nuanced than "OMG, I have to tell her I'M A FAILURE."*

However, the week improved markedly, and I'll write more about that next time.

*Aside: wicked déjà vu just now

Looks Like I Made It?

Last week was interesting.

Facebook's "On This Day" feature showed me that two years ago I was seven months out of a relationship and still having nightmares about my ex at least weekly. I would continue to have regular nightmares for nearly a year and a half.

And now I'm here and I can hardly believe it. I finally FINALLY feel not broken. I feel whole and secure and free and happy.

One year ago, my depression meds suddenly stopped working, and I delayed speaking to my doctor for a few weeks because I didn't realize at first what the problem was, and then I didn't want it to be true so I waited a few weeks more hoping it would just go away, and then it took more than a week extra to actually see my doctor because he was all booked up.

I wanted to cry all the time for no reason at all. Life was okay; I was just miserable. We doubled my dose of Wellbutrin, and I've been good since then.

I've been aware of how consistently happy and upbeat and productive and active and frequently joyful I am for a couple of months now. That's not to say that I don't ever feel down, but I bounce back very quickly instead of spiraling for days and weeks. I do not recognize this Moniqa, and it's kind of weird.

And as wonderful as life is right now, everyday I'm scared. I'm afraid of the depression coming back, like it's waiting behind a bush somewhere to jump out and hit me over the head. That's the joy of chronic mental health issues: you may find remission but never a cure.

So I plan and go and do ALL the things, which then leaves me likely to burn out. It's hard to find balance, and I don't know right now if I'm doing it right or just waiting for everything to come crashing down.

Flexible Training for Real Life

I set up a pretty intense training plan for myself leading up to the May 22 Olympic triathlon. I never follow training plans religiously, but I’ve been sticking pretty close and enjoying my workouts this year. I may go to bed at 8 PM most nights, but I still make social plans when I can, and I have a life outside my sport. So I plan for flexible adherence as well.

Saturday I was supposed to run 6 miles for the first week of Hal Higdon’s marathon training plan, but I had signed up to run the Dash Down Greenville 5k. I planned to run an extra 3 miles when I got home that afternoon, because it can still count even if you split up your miles across the day. But I walked a mile to the start, ran the thing, walked a mile back to my car, and walked an additional 6 and a half miles that afternoon and would not run any more that day. I was certainly active enough on my feet, and one day isn’t going to have a negative impact on my plan to run a marathon 9 MONTHS from now.

Sunday was busy with socializing but not physically demanding. That night I had an especially wicked migraine and went to bed before 7 PM without setting an alarm. I woke naturally at 4:45 Monday feeling surprisingly decent, so I jumped out of bed and went to Camp Gladiator. My performance felt a bit weak and slow, but I finished every task and felt okay about it.

I went to bed early Monday and set my 4:30 AM alarm but was really tired and slept instead of working out Tuesday morning. I often have trouble identifying the difference between actually needing a little more sleep some days for recovery and just wanting to stay in bed because of my depression. The migraine hangovers can last a few days, so I’m not going to fret about needing an additional rest day so soon.

I’m confident that I'll hit it hard tomorrow.

Beating one’s self up over a missed workout doesn’t accomplish anything and is more likely to lead to more missed workouts. Life happens. Let it go.

There’s always tomorrow.

On Depression and Training

CN: depression
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My depression meds spontaneously stopped working a few weeks ago* and this week has been really really hard. But I'm fighting really hard and want to share.

Saturday I ran in the morning, took a nap, and then struggled to get out of bed again, succeeded in arriving at the pool fifteen minutes before close and getting in a mere five laps just to get it done. Sunday I got in a decent run and swim.

Monday I'd planned to do the same but woke up dead tired and had to call it a rest day. I struggled to get out of bed at all. Tuesday I struggled to get out of bed and went into work late but ran after despite a tummy ache and swam hard in swim class that evening. Wednesday I struggled to get out of bed and went in to work late but swam after.

Today I got up early and went for a bike ride but cut it in half because my tires were low and bugging me. I racked the bike on my car and was overcome with inexplicable overwhelming despair, so I decided to walk a bit since it was pretty outside. I stopped in the dog park for a few minutes to watch puppies play. These things should have cheered me up but didn't. As I headed back to my car, I realized I probably should have locked my bike or put it in the car, but no harm no foul and no use berating myself for failing at higher functioning in this state. I couldn't get past the strong urge to cry for no reason at all, though, and decided to call in to work.

I'm missing swim class now because of a migraine and feel bad about that because these classes are important to me. But tomorrow is another day.

I made an appointment today to see my doc, but he doesn't have any openings til next Friday, so that fucking sucks. #thanksObama** And I have a sprint tri the following Sunday and would be worried about the 750m OWS (my max OWS to date being 500m), but I just don't have any spoons/bandwidth to stress over it.

#justkeepswimming #perseverance #fuckdepression #journeynotdestination

*It took me two weeks to figure out what was wrong and another week of hoping it might be temporary. This is the fourth week, and it took til today to gather spoons to make the appointment with my doctor to ask about changing meds. The first available appointment was Friday afternoon next week. And we're looking at several weeks after that to see if something new will work for me. The thought is daunting, but my anxiety is well managed at present and I lack extra spoons/bandwidth to stress over it.

**Over a week to see my GP has been new since the ACA took effect. I can walk in for acute things like strep, but I don't know whether my doc might be out of town now and I'd have to see another practitioner if I try to walk in, and I've never seen the other doctors at this practice and fear they'd tell me to wait for my doc anyway to change my prescription. It could be worse; it's a minimum 2.5 months to get an appointment with my OB/GYN since the ACA, so here's hoping I don't get a yeastie or STI outside of my pre-scheduled visits. That's a rant for another post.

A Post on Privilege and Coming Out

When an acquaintance admitted to being very mainstream, part of the dominant Christian culture, and concerned about making others uncomfortable with her ignorance, a few of us chimed in to thank her and offer perspective and suggestions. Here are mine.

Some of the issues that are integral to who we are but that we feel we have to hide are sexual orientations, gender queerness, alternative romantic and sexual relationships, religious/spiritual beliefs and lack thereof, social and political beliefs and activism, and even our passionate support of everyone else in these categories.

Lead your questions with "May I ask ... ?" in a gentle tone. It's very respectful, and I, for one, respond very positively to it—eager to inform and comfortable with declining if I don't want to discuss it in that moment. If someone is brave enough to open up to you, understand that they may or may not feel up to giving you the full alt-lifestyle 101 lecture, and that you are not entitled to be educated by them. There are hundreds of blogs and articles and books about it; ask for reading recommendations if you want to learn more.*

We censor ourselves in front of our family, our coworkers, and new people we meet, ever wary of the climate in any group. Some of us have come out to people who we expected to love us unconditionally and received some traumatic fucking backlash because of their selfishness and close-mindedness. And it's scarier still to imagine how acquaintances and strangers might react.

I'm a very privileged, educated, intelligent, middle-class, cis-presenting, hetero-presenting, conventionally attractive, slim, and able-bodied white woman living in a safe neighborhood. What could I possibly have to complain about?

• But I am terrified to talk about my relationships at work or family gatherings. My family doesn't know that I've been with my boyfriend for nearly 2 years; they don't know about him at all. My coworkers know but not why we can't move in together or marry.
  
• I'm afraid in most spaces to share HAES concepts, because dieting is so firmly entrenched in our cultural narrative and I don't like it when people think me daft for espousing such ideas, no matter how much science backs me up. Or worse, many think me ignorant of reality and my own weight discredits me.
  
• I'm warming to the idea of coming out as atheist, at least in friendly spaces where the issue comes up, but I still kept fearfully silent at a Meetup event this week with an enthusiastic believer.

I admire those out there with the bravery to live fully open, and I try to be kind to myself and refrain from berating myself for not doing the same. I've discussed it with my boyfriend, and we're on the same page of not wanting to spark anger, backlash, and disappointment directed at us; we spend enough energy coping with life's difficulties. I choose my battles and closets carefully, and I still spend a large chunk of my time stressed out, anxious, worried, depressed, and sleeping poorly.

I'm not sure I'll ever feel safe enough to come out of all these closets, but I do think someday I will be strong enough.



*She did, and I led off with Skepchick and Queereka because they're very intersectional. Another friend recommended The Friendly Atheist. What resources would you suggest?

Reasons I shouldn't have children

This post by blogger Kate Harding is old, but I just read it, and it really struck me with how much I can relate to it.

"I envision myself being filled with barely controllable rage when a two-year-old behaves like a two-year-old. I envision myself sliding down a wall and weeping on the floor for an hour because I cannot get her to keep her socks on. I envision these things because, as someone who suffers from depression, I have been driven to the brink by much, much less than a diapering battle."

"Heather Armstrong of Dooce . . . describes depression as “the complete inability to cope with stress.” . . . That line rang a whole lot of bells for me. The number one reason I’m afraid to have kids is that I know I can be felled emotionally by the tiniest fucking thing — the kind of tiny fucking thing that, as far as I can tell, parenting is one long series of. And with a kid, the stakes are a hell of a lot higher than when you were only responsible for your own emotional well-being."

As for me, I've had this image in my head for years of me lying on the floor in a fetal position beside a crib and sobbing silently and praying for oblivion as a migraine tries to tear me apart and a baby screams inconsolable.

Kate goes on to write:

"I just read Daniel Gilbert’s Stumbling on Happiness, a fascinating (and very witty) book about why our predictions of future happiness are frequently so far off the mark. The book is stuffed with amusing and surprising tidbits about the human brain, including this one: the average person is way too optimistic, relative to the facts at hand. Meanwhile, the average depressed person has a pretty realistic view of how well things are likely to turn out, not an overly pessimistic one." 

"Fucking great."

There are other reasons, too, but this is the one I've always been afraid to confess, certain to receive dismissive and minimizing reassurances that my hypothetical husband would surely help with raising a baby. And reading this post validated and reassured me that I am not actually crazy and not wrong in this prediction.

Depression and Keeping it Together

A GREAT piece that's been making the rounds on Facebook this week. Excerpts:

A while ago, I penned a fairly angry response to something circulating on the internet – the 21 Habits of Happy People. It pissed me off beyond belief, that there was an inference that if you weren’t Happy, you simply weren’t doing the right things.

. . . 

So, this Cult of Happy article just set me off. Just… anger. Rage. Depression is serious – debilitating, often dangerous, and it’s got an enormous stigma. It leaves people to fend for themselves. 

. . . 

My 21 Tips on Keeping Your Shit Together During Depression 1)   Know that you’re not alone. Know that we are a silent legion, who, every day face the solipsism and judgement of Happy People Who Think We Just Aren’t Trying. There are people who are depressed, people who have been depressed, and people who just haven’t been hit with it yet. 

I also totally love Greta Christina's honest blogging about her depression and hope to see more writers doing this and lessening the stigmas around it.