Running from SAD

I’m staring down the barrel of the weather forecast: nine days of rain, one of clouds. A foretaste of gloom hits the tip of my tongue, catches in my throat and drops like a rock to the pit of my gut. I easily could stay under covers for hours, thumbing through my catalog of regrets and failures.

But I’m trying to learn from the past – and from doctors, counselors and concerned friends (and Google). They tell me that seasonal affective disorder is real and treatable. So at the first sign of fall, I assemble my talismans: I pop a vitamin D and share a coffee with my happy lamp; reluctantly, I reach for my running shoes and head outside.

Getting outdoors, getting my heart rate up, works like magic – it helps me keep my head above the rainwater and the winter blues at bay. I run trails, loops specifically (out-and-back routes have a way of shrinking). Fort Clatsop and Fort Stevens are favorite destinations, where one may tack trail upon trail, assembling courses of varying distances and scenery, like adding extensions to a LEGO kit.

I experience running as moving meditation. In the wild – my dojo of choice – I progress through stages measured by mileposts.

Mile 1: The physical is primary. Pain composes the content of my thoughts. I bargain, seek shortcuts and excuses, wanting to cheat.

Mile 2: Pettiness prevails. Discomfort persists but has loosened its grip on my mind, and I have headspace in which to wander. I mull over irritants, picking through the detritus of daily life.

Mile 3: I hit my stride, feel strong and alert. Ideas unfurl, twist and turn along the trail.

Mile 4: Runner’s high is a wave, clearing the path for epiphany. I know my body, I know myself and I can see what’s before me as it is. I pick up the pace.

Farther: The Zone. Immediacy.  All I perceive is the moment – feet striking ground, rain and wind and sweat on skin, breath in and breath out.

By the time I return to my starting point, I’ve arrived at a new state of mind. My zest for life restored, I’m ready to face the darkness and rain. (I’m also ready for a solid meal: eating is one of the great joys of exercise.) For a moment, at least, I’ve outrun my SADness.  

Every grey morning, when I feel the quicksand-pull of my mattress, I fight to recall and trust this cause-and-effect phenomenon. I tell myself that I matter, rain or shine – and that even if I don’t, my young daughters do, and they’re watching me for cues. But I’ve known my memory, faith and love to falter – so just in case, I’ve added Clatsop County’s crisis line to speed dial: 503-325-5724. Sometimes calling for help is the strongest and bravest thing a person can do.