Running out of Steps

My mother-in-law has always said that a person only has so many steps in them. She thinks that when you use that mystery number of paces up, your number is up. She told me this once on the eve of a 10K I was running. While she admired what I was doing, she also thought I was unnecessarily tapping into my stash of steps. I'm going to hazard a guess here and believe that this is Betty's way out of doing some serious exercise, but she is a wise woman. Perhaps she hada point. Nonetheless, I figured at 34, I had to have a lot more steps left in me.

This past weekend was the New York City Marathon. Katie Holmes and other celebrities ran, along with your usual inspirational cancer patients. I say that without a trace of sarcasm. Also running in the US men's Olympic marathon trials on Saturday was Ryan Shay, a 28-year old world-class runner. Shay had run for Notre Dame, and later lived and trained in high-altitude Flagstaff, Arizona. This guy wasn't a novice; he was a serious athlete. During mile 5, Ryan dropped dead. It was later acknowledged that Ryan had an enlarged heart, but was given the "all clear" to run last spring. When I first heard that Shay knew his condition but continued to run , my immediate response was to think this was one dumb jock. But then, the runner in me decided to withhold judgement.


Ten years ago, I was single and working as a flight attendant. I worked out in gyms during overnights and found that I enjoyed running on indoor tracks. Not every hotel had a track, but when they did, I took advantage of the ability to really "move" and feel the wind hit my face. I felt a certain thrill in pushing myself to go faster, and I got downright giddy when I would pass men on the track. Not only did I hope they were admiring my legs, but I also hoped they were slightly threatened by a girl. For a long time, that was the extent of my running. It would
be many years before I stopped driving to exercise and started sprinting off my front porch.

My life changed when I met another new mom, who was a runner. She mentioned that she was competing in the PF Changs Rock-n-Roll 1/2 Marathon. The month was September, and the Marathon was in January. I did some quick computing and figured that I could ready myself for
the challenge. "Okay" I told her , "I'll do it , too". I'm not sure she thought I was serious, but I meant it. Once I put it out there, I knew I had to follow through.
By January, I was ready. I ran the race in 2:17, potty break included. I had never competed in any competitive sports activity before. The tough girls in high school would yell at me for misses in volleyball, and the waspy white girls out caught me in lacrosse. Finally, at 32 years old, I had found something I could do.

A sister with breast cancer, a colicky one year old, a semi-unemployed husband, and a new house don't go well together. Now, pile that up on someone who
already balks at change, and you've got a particularly heinous case of depression on your hands. In September 2005, I hit rock bottom. Already having anxiety issues, I wasn't dealing well with issues in my life. At night, I would lie awake for hours, wondering when I would die, when my parents would die, when the terrorists would attack, and we would all die. Food tasted like metal, every day was a chore, and I found no joy in life. I regretted having children, and wished I could be Katie Couric. Perpetually cute and bubbly. Yeah, I forgot about the fact that she had a prematurely dead husband and sister. Depression will do that to you. I was out shopping with my mom one day and she noticed I was rail-thin. Very unlike me. And I could not focus on anything in the store. Completely unlike me. She took me home and the next day I went to a psychiatrist. I needed help.

My treatment plan for the depression included meds and excercise. Over the course of the summer, I had completely abandoned my running routine. Between life stress, the house move and the Arizona heat, I forgot to keep the body moving. Now, in my weakened state, all I could do was walk. Running is such a physical and mental ballet and it was completely out of the question. The first day out, I walked a mile. It was excruciating. My meds weren't correct yet, so the whole way I felt that people were watching me, whispering, "she's mentally
ill". I fought back hot tears, and forced myself to keep moving. One foot in front of the other was the only way I got it done. Over the course of two months, I
saw a psychologist, a psychiatrist, and got my medication balanced (I joke to my husband that even if these meds take 5 years off my life, it will be worth it) Soon enough, I was jogging, and feeling my humor beginning to return.. By winter I was running. Really running. And I was really happy.

I run. For so many reasons. I run because I tell myself that I'm flushing out the demons. I run so I feel I'm equal, if not superior to all those mean girls in gym class. I run to have woman admire me, and men desire me (yeah right). I even run to smell what people are cooking for dinner. And I will run for life. It's something that has saved my life and continues to challenge me every day. When Ryan Shay was diagnosed with an enlarged heart at 27, he had a choice. He could run and run the risk, or he could stop running. If I was a betting girl, I would
wager he would have cut his life short by 5 years to be able to run. After all, if I feel like a star running, Ryan must have felt like a supernova. Or maybe Ryan never felt he had a choice. Perhaps running was all he knew, all he loved. Hell, the guy probably ran more miles than he drove in his life. And here's where my mother-in-laws wisdom comes in. Forget the enlarged heart issue. Maybe Ryan had simply run out of steps.