Running The Mad Out

I've been a runner since junior high. I started running with my mom to get healthier because both me and her were overweight. I continued running through high school, joining the cross country and track team. I was never fast, I always finished middle of the pack. But, I loved running. There was a time when I used it in an unhealthy way, just as I have used food in an unhealthy way, but for the most part, running has been my constant companion for stress relief through the years.

After high school, I started to train and run marathons with my mom. This was one of the only ways that we could connect in a healthy way at the time, and I cherished those long, exhausting runs with her. We continued to run races together until I got pregnant and running became too difficult. But I was determined to get back to my stress-reducing hobby after my child was born. And I did. It took me a while, and I was much slower than I was pre-baby, but I was back out running.

And then there came a time where addiction ruined running for me.

I trained really hard for a half-marathon, it was to be my first race after having my child. I put a lot of work into getting my body stronger, and although I was still carrying extra weight, I felt really great about how I was able to work myself back up to long-distance running. Husband was a little bit resentful while I was training. He didn't like that I got up early on Saturday mornings to go run because that meant that he couldn't sleep in and instead had to take care of Child. But when the race day came, my husband planned to come cheer me on with Child. He told me that he would be there early, with signs. Afterwards, we would walk to one of our favorite restaurants and celebrate.

I was feeling great the day of the race, and it went very smoothly, even though it was my worst time ever. I was so elated after the race. I felt strong, thankful, and happy. But I didn't see Husband, so I waited around near the finish line. Eventually, he showed up, flustered and angry. Child was with him, but he forgot the stroller and Child's bag, so he was tired from carrying Child to the finish line. We didn't have what we needed to stay in the area after the race and go to the restaurant, so instead we just went home. I was disappointed in Husband's lack of enthusiasm, but I also felt guilty because I wasn't really running to get praise from Husband. I was doing it for myself. So maybe it was prideful for me to expect Husband to make a big deal of it.

Fast forward a week, otherwise known as D-Day. As I sifted through years of deceit on the computer, I realized that Husband was late to the race because he had spent the morning feeding his addiction. He was angry and flustered because he didn't want to leave his addiction to come see his wife.

So I quit running. I couldn't run without having visions of who Husband was talking to and what he was saying while I was out running. It ruined all of the strength and emotional well-being I had gained training for that race. I didn't run for over a year.

When I kicked Husband out of the house a while back, I started running again. I decided that addiction was not going to ruin something that had brought me so much peace and serenity over the years. Addiction was NOT going to ruin my well-being and health. But I had SO much anger. So I would go and run until I felt like I got the "mad" out. I would run until I no longer felt angry. It was so empowering to gain my strength back, and I started to again love running the way I used to before D-Day.

My new house is in a location where I can run out my front door and go for miles on sidewalks and paved paths. I've gone for a run every day since we moved. I am going to be training for another race. I am going to replace my traumatic running memories with new ones. Healthy ones.