Running for My Life

I had a friend once tell me that going out for a run was all that saved her sanity during her nasty fight with postpartum depression. At the time I was glad that she found something that worked for her, but I thought it sounded a little nuts. Running is a chore, a physical and mental torture session, so I was quite certain that endorphins or no endorphins, no amount of running would ever kick my depression in the butt.

But as I observed yesterday this has been one of those hormonal, gloomy irrational times of the month for me. Thursday morning I ran. This morning I got out and ran. Friday morning I did not.

Guess which morning I was a mess.

It's strange though. I still don't like running. I don't know if I ever will. I ESPECIALLY don't like going out when it's super dark and scary and so cold that my ears and nose go numb. And every morning I do this during the winter it's a horrible contest of wills-- between the side of me that refuses to face the scary cold dark and the side of me that knows that I will feel nine hundred times better when it's all over. I just have to keep doing it though. January is such a hard time for me depression-wise: it's post-holidays, I don't get enough time in the sun, I have to recover from my holiday/birthday eating binge. But so far this January has gone smoother than ever, and I can't just credit the gym. (I've been a frequent gym goer for years but have still always ended up in the pits come January.) There's something different about getting out in the early morning and running. It really makes my day go better. Strange but true.

And for any freaky dudes out there reading my blog and planning to attack me in the wee hours of the morning, I run with a big overprotective dog and carry pepper spray and have a cop on speed dial. Just so you know.