“I run because if I didn’t, I’d be sluggish and glum and spend too much time on the couch.
I run to breathe the fresh air. I run to explore. I run to escape the ordinary.
I run…to savor the trip along the way. Life becomes a little more vibrant,
a little more intense. I like that.”
About six months into my depression I started to take up running. It was early summer and, being insecure about never being an athletic or sporty person, I would run on my own along countryside footpaths. I loved the new and unique sensory experience every time I ran. The passing of each new day gave me hope for change, hope, growth, new colours and experiences in my life.
In spring and early summer my footsteps would track quietly across the soil. I would hear the ‘shush, shush’ of the lengthening meadow grass and smell the fresh greens growing as I ran along hay fields. I ran, leapt and zigzagged around the fields like an enthusiastic young deer for the few weeks when the bold yellow rape fields were in bloom. Everything looked like a dream and smelled like honey. Later the quietly comforting rhythm of my footsteps would be replaced by the harder, more unforgiving scraping sounds across the solid earth and the brittle crackling sounds of wheat stubble as my weight briefly crushed it to the ground.
As the days passed into months I watched the familiar dirt paths gradually transform from a soft and forgiving rich, moist brown earth to caked, chalky and baked hard surfaces in the late August sun.
Then, as autumn’s leaves blew away the winter the paths became wet again. Now they were muddy and slippery. My footsteps sounded quietly. The clay collected heavily on my soles like cold, stiff winter porridge. Sometimes they would remind me of bear claws, the smaller, rounded snowshoes used by some Native American tribes where I grew up. I carried the heavy clay along on my journeys. Occasionally I would hear clumps quietly loosen and get cast aside in my wake. I felt I was of the earth and the earth was part of me.
Initially running began as an act of defiance. I felt restricted, powerless and unappreciated in my current relationship. I had experienced a very tangible sensation that I was a ghost in my own life. Running became my time for myself. It made me feel real again. It made me feel more than a whisper, more than a shadow, more than a ghost. I felt like I physically existed.
But more importantly, it became a very tangible demonstration of my ability to make physical changes in my life. To carry on despite discomfort and struggles, to feel like I owned and controlled my direction, my speed, my momentum, my drive. It fulfilled me, and it began to heal me. I had one thing that I had control over, that no one else was a part of or could take from me. It was my time to spend, thinking whatever I wanted, without any counter-point. It was a cornerstone of my healing process. I had the strength to run first one, then two, then three, then four miles, then whatever I wanted, up and down hills, through woods, breathlessly saying hello to fellow ramblers, sheep, and cows I encountered along the way. Running gave me a sense of my own personal power, and a perception of greater personal choice. These were crucial steps to my feelings of self-worth and decision to eventually make more terrifying, but also more positive choices, later on.
Running helped me feel again
I fell in love with the feeling of self-momentum that goes along with running. But it’s also known that your body releases endorphins and seratonin (both known mood lifters) from walking or running. One thing that depression does is make you feel NOTHING. It can make you feel like a walking zombie. From personal experience, that stark realization can make you feel even more depressed. All I wanted when I was feeling down was to feel comfortable, cosy, and secure. To fall asleep and forget, pretend, that waking life wasn't so empty-feeling. Unfortunately, snuggling in my bed and sleeping my life away did not help me. Because nothing changes when you’re just lying in bed, nothing about your waking feelings/state changes either. You wake up, and you still feel the same.
You have to actively push yourself out of your comfort zone and make yourself brave enough to face your fears and the challenges that you know, even in your bed, lie ahead before you can get better. Running made me feel things again. It began with physical sensations. I realised that pain and sacrifice could be part of a positive growth and improvement process. Running wasn't effortless, wasn't painless, yet it was worth doing. Gradually my eyes opened to higher emotional states like gratitude. Gratitude, for example, for a body that could accomplish physical feats that I never knew it could. Gratitude for finally trying to do something new. Gratitude for finally doing one small thing for myself. I was too self-conscious and afraid to try new things in front of others. And it opened my eyes to the beauty of nature… always striving, growing, and giving to everyone who dares look, for free. Nature exists without consciousness of its purpose, and it is content. So running became a building block to my healing and growth process.
The research
Positive psychology and clinicians treating depression strongly encourage exercise for people who are feeling depressed or unhappy.
Researchers have found that endorphins released while running act like a stimulant and actually attach themselves to parts of the brain responsible for emotion. The more endorphins released, the stronger the feeling of euphoria. What does this mean for people struggling with depression? One, running will make you feel more alive, awake, and alert, so you’ll be less likely to crawl back under those covers all the time. And two, you can start to feel again, which, as I experienced, is one of the first steps to feeling hope when you feel like you’re in a hopeless situation.
