This weekend, I partcipated in a 5-mile coastal trail run. It began with a 1,000 foot climb over the first mile and a half. It was slow going at first, but armed with my 90s music playlist and drawing in the positive energy of the runners around me, I clambered up the mountain and the downhill came soon enough.
I've dealt with enough personal crises that I actually thrive in moments of intense physical or emotional crisis - when someone is sick or injured, or when we're under a particularly brutal deadline at work, or when I'm running 1,000 feet uphill, I'm at my best. I know where my reserves are, I know that pain is only pain, and I'm learning, through meditation and life experience, that almost everything will pass. The problem for me comes when I'm running downhill.
I've dealt with enough personal crises that I actually thrive in moments of intense physical or emotional crisis - when someone is sick or injured, or when we're under a particularly brutal deadline at work, or when I'm running 1,000 feet uphill, I'm at my best. I know where my reserves are, I know that pain is only pain, and I'm learning, through meditation and life experience, that almost everything will pass. The problem for me comes when I'm running downhill.
It should be easier to run downhill. Sure, it's hard on your knees, but I'm young and there's gravity and momentum to help out. But it's harder for me. It's harder because I don't need to push with everything I have, because I can take deep breaths when running downhill. I started wondering if I was running fast enough. I started getting frustrated with my playlist. I started thinking about whether runners behind me were catching up. Worst of all, I started noticing how my muscles felt - I hadn't noticed how tight my hips were or how exhausted my quads were.
My worst bouts of depression and mania typically come not after a hill, but after a few days of downhill running, when I have enough time to sleep, eat, and reflect. Dealing with this illness for as long as I have, and being unmedicated for most of that time, I've developed a skewed set of muscles. My capacity for coping, like Rafael Nadal's left arm, is unusually well built and toned, but my capacity to live, to exist, to wake up each morning when I'm not in crisis, has been completed ignored.
As I ran downhill, taking in the views as the fog slowly burnt off of the Marin headlands, I realized that running downhill isn't just a more relaxed version of those times of crisis. There's a completely different skillset: how to set up a daily routine, how to eat right, how to build time into a week or day to rest even when you're feeling healthy and want to go out and share that glory with the world. Running downhill works entirely different muscles, and I think I'm at a phase in my life where I need to start cross training.
My worst bouts of depression and mania typically come not after a hill, but after a few days of downhill running, when I have enough time to sleep, eat, and reflect. Dealing with this illness for as long as I have, and being unmedicated for most of that time, I've developed a skewed set of muscles. My capacity for coping, like Rafael Nadal's left arm, is unusually well built and toned, but my capacity to live, to exist, to wake up each morning when I'm not in crisis, has been completed ignored.
As I ran downhill, taking in the views as the fog slowly burnt off of the Marin headlands, I realized that running downhill isn't just a more relaxed version of those times of crisis. There's a completely different skillset: how to set up a daily routine, how to eat right, how to build time into a week or day to rest even when you're feeling healthy and want to go out and share that glory with the world. Running downhill works entirely different muscles, and I think I'm at a phase in my life where I need to start cross training.
I was just wrapping my head around these (brilliant of course) insights, when the road flattened and gravity stopped working quite so aggressively on my side. All of a sudden a third set of muscles shifted into gear, more fatigued and less willing to keep up with my expectations. That's the thing about running downhill, the child of the crisis years muses: the terrain tends to shift as soon as you get used to it.
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