Thank God for Running and Puppies

I have been thinking often at work what things in life the women I work with who are chemical dependent replace with drugs. When do we get our natural "high"? What are they missing or giving up for the chemical fix? I don't mean lifestyle. That's a given. I mean what are our moments of natural high that they instead strive to acheive with drugs?

I think I am in another cycle of my depression. God knows I have lived with my old friend long enough to know the disease well. Once symptoms fearful and desperate, now I recognize the lack of energy, motivation and enjoyment as like trying to run through water, slowing me down. I cuddle up with a good book more, I enjoy long hot showers, I pull out my puzzle books and buy my favorite doughnuts. I excuse myself to hunker down as long as I am fulfilling (somehow!) my other basic responsibilities.

I got to work today at 630am. I had so much to do and was getting so behind, as every waking moment at work I have a patient in my office, paperwork tends to just pile up and wait. This morning, sitting on my butterfly rug on my floor pillow with a laptop and my files and papers across the floor, I forced myself through typing and typing and typing of notes, records, documentation. Since I came in so early, I left at 4pm instead of the usual 430pm (a whole half hour-yippee!!) This meant I would get home before the sun went down. To me this means one and only one thing: I get to run around my lake before dark.

Anyone who has been depressed for any reason can tell you that depression is crippling. It overtakes you so you literally can barely do anything except curl up and wait it out, hoping you do nothing destructive. Often it gets so bad that your mind becomes paralyzed for thought and you cannot keep a single thing in your spiraling mind. Its like trying to tread water in a whirlpool. Your best saving grace, other than medications I suppose, is to have a couple coping mechanisms that you can always turn to, that always work. Of these I have just one.

When my mind is paralyzed and my body depressed, I know only to do one thing. Lace up my running shoes, flick on my ipod, and start running. Though metaphorical and healthy, the literal focusing on nothing but physical sensation and breathing calms and centers my soul. Doing this outside with the sky over my head is my zen: there is nothing like it in all this world. When I am running I have nothing in my mind but calm focus and simple purpose to keep moving forward. Working through the physical pain of my muscles and lungs cures some of the emotional ache, and the simplicity of the exercise (just breathe and keep moving) grounds and centers me. Eventually, the endorphins get pumping and my measly, tiny amounts of dopamine and seratonin get their lazy butts to work. I smile. I feel happy.

Today when I was running around my lake feeling my muscles work up a hill and straining to keep my breath even with my stride I thought, "this is the first time I have felt happy all day." It is not necessarily that my depression makes me miserable all day anymore. I have learned to cope beyond that point. However, no matter what I try, running is the only thing that brings back the "happy." Otherwise, it's just numbness, spiraling and paralysis. It is my natural high. My addiction, I suppose, for my body and mind crave it now and want nothing else for relief of the depression.

Well, almost nothing else. I have to make a little plug for my sweet sweet puppy. Though I could go on about the therapeutic benefits of animals, suffice it to say that there is something very special about never having to go through anything alone. No matter how mopey or grumpy I feel, I always have a little white bundle of fur at my side who couldn't be more thrilled in the world to be there.

Thank you, God, for my beautiful runs and my little puppy.