This week's post comes from McKenzie Ziegler. McKenzie is a Brooklyn College, CUNY student who has volunteered to share her essay written for college around overcoming depression. McKenzie is a Health and Nutrition Science major.
Run For Life
Ever
since I was 15 and I fell in love with long distance running, I wanted
to run the NYC marathon. In 2014, the first full year I lived in NYC, I
qualified for the 2015 marathon by running nine races and volunteering
at another race. My times were improving until my knees started hurting
at the end of the summer of 2014. Tight rubber bands seemed to surround
my knee caps, stretching almost to the point of tearing, grinding my
bones together, making my knees red-hot. By September they were so
painful I had to cut my runs short. Running was my outlet for stress;
without it the stress piled up. I tried everything I could to heal my
knees, but nothing worked. Soon almost every run hurt, making me
frustrated and discouraged. When I had run before my injury, I had felt
free and alive. Running had become an anchor in my life and part of my
identity; without it I felt lost.
I
fell into depression, for a combination of reasons: lots of stress with
college and work, being states away from family, a lack of friends and
being unable to connect with people easily, relationship problems, an
uncomfortable living situation, medical complications, a suppressed
childhood trauma I struggled to understand, and, on top of all that,
being unable to run. I assume I also got biologically unlucky. I had
struggled with anxiety, unaware it even had a name, since early
adolescence. Depression was new though. For me, depression was like a
gloomy, dark gray storm cloud that would decide to show up even though
the forecast called for clear, sunny skies. It threw off my emotions, to
where they would often not fit the situation I was in, and my anxiety
became more irrational. I would cry and worry for no reason. I felt like
little people were inside my head, calling the shots, pulling on wires.
Once positive and full of energy, I became easily irritable,
overwhelmed, and tired. Once goal-oriented and ambitious, I would often
have spells of emotional numbness and hopelessness. Some days were good,
some were bad; most were me trying to understand what was going on and
fearing it would get worse.
Depression
is all lies. It's a friend who always hangs around and lies to you. You
know it's a bad influence, but you have no control. Depression is in
control. When you want to do things you always enjoyed, it tells you, you are too weak, you are no good, there is no point.
I gradually lost interest in many things I always loved, including
running. I simply lost motivation. I struggled to get out of bed in the
morning and do simple tasks, like combing my hair or going to the
grocery store. Everything felt like work. Depression tells you, there is nothing good in your life, you are a failure, nothing will ever get better. It lies to you and changes your perspective on life. It’s also isolating, convincing you, no one cares about you, no one understands you, everyone would be better off if you didn't exist. I was too ashamed to talk to people. I felt trapped and dead.
I
remember walking home from school one day, and it took so much effort
to put one foot in front of the other. My legs felt leaden. I thought, what is the point of even going on? What would happen if I collapsed right here on the sidewalk and gave up?
It was a bright, sunny day, but I couldn’t see that; depression’s dark
cloud was over top of me, overwhelming me. I did think of suicide, of
walking out in front of that car, of going to the train station and
jumping. But every time, I thought of my family and my boyfriend. I
could never do that to them. They kept me going.
My
depression worsened throughout 2015 even though things in my life were
improving. However, I had already signed up for the marathon in
November. A part of me was still my old goal-oriented self; there was no
giving up on the race. I started training in the summer but didn’t feel
motivated enough to run as many miles as recommended, so I focused more
on the long training run and increased its distance every week. There
were times during those long runs that I felt confident and joyful, but
it didn’t last. I signed up for a few short races with my boyfriend for
external motivation. Thankfully, my knees had healed. Although my
training fell short and I was depressed, I felt prepared mentally to
finish the marathon. In the back of my mind, I was hoping for a
revelation during the race that would cure my depression.
The
day of the NYC marathon arrived quickly, but I was eager to get it over
with. On November 1, 2015, I woke up early in the morning after a night
of little sleep, got dressed, and gathered my things. Two subway
trains, one ferry, one bus, and a long walk later—a marathon in itself—I
was at the start in Staten Island. The blue archway marking the start
line and the daunting Verrazano-Narrows Bridge were staring me in the
face. Among a large group of ponytails, running caps, windbreakers, and
bright colors, I was a bundle of nerves and excitement. On one hand, I
knew I’d have lots of fun; on the other hand, I knew pain was
inevitable. I was ready to cross the finish line, and I was only toeing
the start line. The gun blasted and I started running, soon stepping
onto the bridge—a bridge that during training I viewed with fear and excitement, envisioning this moment.
I
had always needed to listen to music while running, but the marathon
was so exciting I never once put in my headphones. Surrounding me was a
kaleidoscopic sea of 50,000 runners, all eyes set for the same finish.
Two million spectators lined almost the entire 26.2 miles, cheering,
holding up encouraging signs, and offering orange slices, wet sponges,
and tissues. Bands were also strung along the course, their cheery beats
pushing us along. It was electric. I’m running a marathon! and I can’t believe I’m doing this!
crossed my mind many times. The first three miles flew by as I ran into
Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. I knew my mom and my boyfriend would be at mile
eight, in downtown Brooklyn, so I focused on running towards them. Soon I
spotted my boyfriend, holding up a hot pink sign and two small American
flags, and my mom, ringing a bell and taking pictures of me. They gave
me the energy I needed to keep going.
I
began to feel tired around mile ten, in south Williamsburg, Brooklyn,
and started walking. The miles then seemed to come slower and slower,
and my feet began to hurt. I kept pressing on, focusing only on the mile
I was running. Water and Gatorade were available each mile; I found
that by stopping to get a drink and walking a few minutes, I was able to
continue running to the next water station. The crisp water and
lemon-lime Gatorade were welcomed by my dry mouth; the short distraction
was welcomed by my mind. My mom and my boyfriend cheered me on at mile
sixteen in Manhattan, after I crossed the Queensboro Bridge. By mile 20,
in the Bronx, I was looking for Central Park, where I knew the finish
was. But I still had six miles to go! The roar of the crowd continued to
encourage me, but I had to fight with myself to relax and run on. The
balls of my feet were raw and I was nearing exhaustion.
Once
I entered Central Park, between miles 22 and 23, I realized the rest of
the course would be downhill. What a relief! Even still, the park was a
blur—I
was focused on getting to the finish. When I saw my mom and my
boyfriend at mile 25, I barely had the energy to stop running and walk
over to them. They encouraged me to keep going, and I did. In about
fourteen minutes, I saw the blue archways of the finish. I can’t believe I did it! crossed
my mind as I stepped over the blue and orange line. Flames raged on my
feet, thighs, and hips. All I wanted to do was sit down, but I had to
continue walking to get out of the park, meet my mom and my boyfriend,
and then take the train home. As I limped I became irritated, thinking, this is worse than the entire marathon!
I
never had a revelation during the marathon, and my depression persisted
afterwards. I thought completing this great feat would change my point
of view on life, or at least make me feel proud of myself, but it
didn’t. I was only glad I got the marathon over with. I felt no joy;
depression is that powerful. I became even more discouraged, and lost
all motivation to run. In the back of my mind, though, I knew getting
exercise was good for me, so I walked to and from school every day. I
questioned my depression and fought back by challenging myself. I knew
that someday, when I was ready, I would run again.
I ran for the first time since the marathon on April 24, 2016—almost six months later. The evening before, a thought that I hadn’t heard in a long time popped into my head: you should run tomorrow.
The day was sunny and gorgeous, the temperature perfect for running. My
boyfriend and I went to Prospect Park and ran the three-and-a-half mile
loop, a path I have run many times. There’s no denying it—I
was out of shape. We took many walk breaks, my throat burned with every
inhale, and a cramp tightened my right side below my ribs. Nonetheless,
it was great to once again feel my heart pounding, to have sweat tickle
my nose, and to hear my labored breaths. I felt free, and I felt alive.
I listened to the noises of the park and enjoyed being with nature. I
was enjoying running again; it didn’t feel like work, as depression used
to convince me it would. For that, I felt relieved. When we came to the
big hill, I pushed myself to keep going: you are doing great, I am so proud of you.
But I couldn’t make it all the way up, and we had to rest. Soon,
though, I was able to sprint to the top. I never felt so happy running
that loop as I did that day.
After
a hill, things get easier. Running is a metaphor for life; some runs
are easy, some are hard, but it is pushing through the hard that is most
rewarding and which makes any following obstacle seem easier. The
struggles of running a marathon or a steep hill, or being sidelined by a
running injury are not unlike the struggle of coping with depression. I
think running has instilled in me resilience and a fighting spirit,
enabling me to overcome depression. In the same way many factors
contributed to my fall into depression, more than one change was
necessary to break free from depression’s hold. When the spring of 2016
brought new life to trees and flowers, a new perspective grew in me. I
started feeling more calm and hopeful, confident and happy. I also
became more appreciative of people who care about me—my biggest motivators. Depression
may someday return, but I plan on running even when it tells me not to,
as it is when I am running that I feel most alive.
