I was driving the other day and thinking about what the heck I was going to blog about next. I feel like I’m running out of funny. I decided I wanted to do a shout out to the amazing women that are doing the marathon with me. They are all strong, awesome women who have busy lives with better things to do than spend 5+ hours of every weekend listening to me whine about how tired I am of walking. But, they’re there every weekend for the long training walks and chugging out miles throughout the week, sacrificing time with kids, family and doing other things that would be a heck of a lot more fun.
So, that is what I planned to write about, but then I read something the other day that got me all offended. It was an advertisement for some running shoes or something talking about how walkers were lowering the integrity of marathons. That in the past, it was a race for elite athletes, but today, there are people walking marathons, taking 7+ hours to complete one making it not really a race anymore. So, as a soon-to-be walker of a marathon, I thought it was a disrespectful little ad and it got thinking.
I respect marathoners. I think they’re crazy, but I respect them. I have a whole lot more respect now than a few months ago, honestly. I’m not a runner. I’ll never be a runner. Honestly, I don’t want to be a runner. I’ll get out of their way so they can speed past me and not be offended at all that they’re lapping me. I may be walking a marathon, but it doesn’t mean I have any less respect for anyone involved. It’s not like I woke up 2 days beforehand was like, “Oh, there’s a marathon this weekend? Sounds like fun, let’s go take a really long stroll.” I’m training. I’m logging the miles. Maybe not as many as I should be, but I am taking it seriously. I’ve definitely learned that about one-third of your training is physical and the rest is really a mental game. It’s getting out of your own head and to the start line. I feel like I get it. So, stick it, offensive little ad from some stupid athletic company.
While in my offended state, balancing my love for my co-walkers and my hatred for the advertising person who spit on walkers, I started doing a little reflection.
First of all, why the heck was I so offended by this ad?
What does this marathon really mean to me?
Why am I doing this?
Sure, it started out sort of just as a joke. A checkmark on the bucket list. A great way to lose weight. The right to buy one of those awesome 26.2 stickers for ole Mitzi. But, somewhere along the way it become a lot more than just a really long walk and became personal…
A lot of you know that the past two years have been a big personal struggle for me. That struggle all stemming from one of those really bad breakups that just absolutely shake you to your core. For me, that break up was the push over the edge into depression and a full blown struggle with anxiety. Two weeks post breakup and my not eating, not sleeping and still crying finally pushed my poor loving mother over the edge. She had finally had enough and drug me out of my bed to the doctor, the whole time while I was hysterically crying about how I didn’t want to go and that the doctor would think I was a crazy spaz (rightfully so). To be fair, it wasn’t quite that dramatic, but my mother was the reason I finally went to the doctor. So, I sat in the doctor’s office being an irrational, hysterical mess, barely able to form a comprehendible sentence, which made him decide, of course, that I should be medicated. Honestly, can’t blame him. Actually, I should probably thank him. But, I’m not. Because I read my chart a year later and got all offended by the notes of “hysteria” and other things that implied I was a blubbering fool.
Anyways….. Welcome to my world a lovely little antidepressant that dried up the tears, calmed me down and added on 25 unwanted, unnecessary, ugly pounds. After 4 months of a love/hate relationship with this little pill, I finally had regained enough control of my emotional health and sanity to be able to say goodbye to it.
However, the entire time I was on it, I struggled with the stigma of being on an antidepressant. How I had become one of those people who needed it. Even though, I truly think those not on one are the rarity these days. And this is in no way a slap to anyone on an antidepressant. I know they’re necessary and very important. I believe in them. The stigma for me was a self induced one. I had supportive people in my life telling me it was OK. Honestly, half the people around me are on one. But, for me, even though I knew I needed it, having to take it made me feel like I had lost.
It’s hard to explain the feelings to the outside world. I know I was silly and irrational, but when you’re faced with depression or anxiety, it’s so hard to get out of it. I felt like I had lost control of my life. I wasn’t as strong as I thought I was. This wasn’t me, so why was I acting liking this? Where was the strong, independent woman that I had been? Where was the girl who bought a house on her own in her 20s? Where was that woman who had the guts to walk into the office one day and quit her job because she was unhappy and wanted more? I had lost that girl. The girl who believed she could do anything. That girl was confident and strong. The girl I was raised to be by an amazing, strong, single mother. I missed that girl. I wanted to be that girl again and it felt like I never would be. It didn’t matter that I knew I was wrong. It didn’t matter that everyone close to me told me I was wrong. It’s who I had become. And it’s who I pretended not to be. I slapped on a smile and pretended like I was OK because I was embarrassed to be weak. I had to be the happy, smiling person that everyone expected me to be. And that just made the pretense all that more exhausting and kept me from healing longer.
So, here I am today. It’s still an internal battle of balancing who I was before with who I became to the person I want to be. But, the emptiness I once felt is gone. Sure, I still have those bad days when something happens and all those doubts creep back in to shake my confidence. But, it’s temporary. And it’s normal. Most importantly, I realized the other day when I was walking that I truly feel like “me” (whoever that is) again, for the first time in a very long time. I’m not sure if it’s the old Carrie returning. I’d like to think not. I hope that it’s a newer more improved version. One that can take the experience of knowing that emptiness and sadness and turn it into a positive. One that is stronger, even more confident and amazing than I was before this journey began.
And so as I sat down to think about it, I realized that this marathon has become a lot more than just a check on the bucket list or a sticker announcing to the world that I’m marathoner or a way to drop some pesky pounds. It’s helping me to finally, truly heal. It’s making me strong again. And with each step closer to the finish line, I’m one step closer to becoming the “me” that I want to be.
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