The Skipped Run

I hate the skipped run. When I've gotten into a flow and running schedule, nothing makes me feel less in control than skipping a run. If you'll indulge me in a little amateur cognitive-behavioral therapy, what follows is my thought-emotion process:

Thought: I could have run, but I didn't. I should have pushed myself harder.
Feelings: Shame; disappointment

Thought: If I wasn't able to make myself run today, I might not be able to make myself run tomorrow
Feelings: Fear; anxiety

Thought: Because I didn't run today, I may fall out of the routine. Missing runs makes me forget how good running feels.
Feeling: Fear; sadness

As you can see, there are so many negative feelings involved with skipping a run that one could easily wonder why I allow it to happen. It's probably worth forcing myself to slog through three miles half asleep and risking getting run over by a car just to avoid feeling like the scum of the earth for skipping it.

I was supposed to run yesterday. I was coming off an exhilarating run on Saturday and an increased mileage run on Monday. I had just bought some new shorts at Lulu Lemon that prevent the dreaded ride-up experienced when your body was not made for the thigh-gap. All signs pointed to Wednesday Run. But then I had a 12-hour day on 6 hours of sleep, followed by 2 more hours of work in the evening that kept me up until 11pm. I almost hesitated to type that because I know for every lazy bum like me (read: shame) there is a superhuman who would have run anyway (read: envy). But, ultimately, I was able to be understanding and compassionate enough towards myself to process my skipped run without too much of the negativity outlined above, largely because I told myself I would definitely run today (Thursday).

My initial plan was to wake up early and run, but when I stayed up significantly past my bedtime after an already tiring, sleep-deprived day, I quickly realized that would not happen. So plan B was just run in the afternoon or evening, like I would have yesterday. This is the part where the fear and anxiety kick in, because I wasn't able to make myself do that. I didn't have the same valid reasons I had yesterday. I know I felt exhausted during my last leg of work in the late afternoon, but I didn't feel like I had a good reason to. I had a regular day at work, closer to acceptable amount of sleep for a working adult...so why did I feel like I'd had 3 drinks when I was talking my client through his oral-motor exercises? It didn't help that my stomach was growling due to an inordinately early lunch. I wanted nothing more than to eat and sleep. Recently I had become the master of the 20 minute nap, or so I thought. One meal, half an hour of phone time to allow the food to digest, and what turned out to be an hour-long nap later, it was almost dark outside and I was still groggy. It was a do-or-lament moment- run or skip. I lamented; I skipped it.

Because I am who I am, I spent 20-30 minuted in bed, experiencing the thoughts and feelings mentioned above, as I am prone to do when I feel like I have failed. I've reached a point in my life where I want to feel my feelings- to not try to push away the negative, but experience and explore it, and, for god's sake, not intellectualize it too much. I want to say that allowing myself to experience this allowed me to move from the vague sensation of feeling bad to the identifying the more specific, and troubling, feelings of scared and anxious. My struggles with anxiety have been all too real, and I didn't want running, an activity I resumed to combat anxiety, to be a source of it. Cue the snowball that is anxiety.

I wanted to write about this because I believe that the struggle of using exercise to promote mental health is, as they say, real. For those of us who are not naturally balls of energy, who did not grow up playing sports, who found exercise later in life as a source of meditation, escape, or self-worth, I think that the relationship with exercise is always precarious. I just came off what was essentially a 2 year break from running, and I think that rarely a day went by that I didn't think about it- that I didn't wish I had the wherewithal to just do it, rain or shine, morning or night, like I had done in the past. Talk about anxiety; I was genuinely afraid that I had lost running for the rest of my life. Just a month and a half ago I finally got my act together, laced up my shoes, and hit the pavement, and I kept doing it consistently until today. I'd made a commitment to myself. That commitment was tied to my sense of self-worth. That commitment gave me regular opportunities to meditate. It allowed me to escape from being the couch potato that I still, deep down, see myself as.

Thought: So how dare I break that commitment to myself?
Feeling: Anger

The question is, then, how do you deal with a situation that makes you feel shame, disappointment, fear, anxiety, sadness, and anger? Do you question whether the situation warrants those feelings?

Question: Does skipping one run warrant feeling shameful, disappointed, scared, anxious, sad, and angry?
Answer: No

Where does that get me? I still feel what I feel. But it's not the situation. It's my thoughts. What if these were my thoughts?

Thought: I was so exhausted today, I could barely stay awake.
Feeling: Compassion

Thought: I will run tomorrow.
Feeling: Hope, optimism

Thought: Running makes me feel good
Feelings: Appreciation, anticipation

Wouldn't that be nice? But the issue it comes down to is trust. I don't trust myself when I think those positive thoughts. I don't trust myself that I was really that tired. I don't trust that I will run tomorrow. I don't trust that I will think about how good running feels. Compassion, hope, optimism, appreciation, and anticipation have let me down too many times in my life.

All of this, here, is the struggle of the relationship between exercise and mental health. It's why exercise can't cure mental health issues. Exercise, as an act, doesn't make you trust and love yourself. More accurately, it, along with other acts of self-care, is a reflection of the process of learning to trust and love yourself, and, in that sense, it may be as inconsistent as those feelings are. The complexity of my relationship with running is that is both a cause and effect of my self-worth.

That's a lot of weight to put on my poor legs.