The Accidental Athlete

My mom died a few weeks ago. I’m still numb and raw at the same time. I can’t believe she’s gone. I feel like I’m suffocating most days and simultaneously fighting the urge to scream. She had been sick for a while, but none of us knew how serious it was until she was hospitalized in April. She never went home. It was months of treatments, rehabilitation, surgery, and day to day unknowns. It was the world’s worst rollercoaster. I traveled from Texas to California five times. I fought for her care and believed she would survive and come home to live with me in Texas. Yet, in the blink of an eye, I was holding her hand and watching her die. It was the single most horrific moment of my life.

I have a lot of experience with loss and trauma. That’s for another post. I’m familiar with suffering and grief. There’s something particularly singular and intense about losing one’s mother though. It cuts like nothing else I’ve experienced. It leaves a gaping hollowness that is frightening, and at the same time forces you to take stock of who you are and what you’re going to do with the time that remains in your own life.

It was shortly after she passed that my oldest son, Caleb, encouraged me to try to run. He had tried in the past and honestly, what he had showed me allowed me to actually run about a quarter mile… which is something I had never been able to do. He had been reading a book titled Chi Running by Danny Dreyer and was applying the principals he was learning to his own running. I had a copy of the book and had read the first chapter only. I wanted to be supportive of Caleb and I needed something to focus on, but I also knew that I was the girl who couldn’t breathe when I ran. I had always battled it and even when I attempted to overcome it in the past, I always failed.

I attempted my first run about two weeks after Mom passed. I really focused on what Caleb had taught me… relax your legs, lean forward a bit, and go slower. He told me to pay attention to my breathing. I should not push too hard and struggle to breathe. I always struggled breathing when I ran or attempted anything that required aerobic effort. I began my run and it was different. It was something I had never experienced before. It was the first time in my life that breathing while running wasn’t an issue. I felt like it was easier somehow. I was able to run a half mile (a record for me), walk a quarter, then run again. I did this, run then walk in increments, for three miles!

Obviously I was in awe of what I had just accomplished, but something happened that was even more revelatory. I had an intense emotional high and a feeling of clarity that I hadn’t had in months due to the weeks of hospital stays, traveling, and anxiety surrounding my mom’s illness. I had experienced what exercise can do to help anxiety and depression in the past (that’s another post), but this was different. It was all encompassing and intense, mentally as well as physically.

In the past couple of weeks, I have attempted to run a few times. I made it to .75 miles without stopping, then 1 mile, then 1.25 miles. It was incredible. I recently have made it to running 2 miles WITHOUT stopping twice. This might seem minor to most, but to me, someone who has struggled with this my entire life, I feel awestruck. It has been helping me to cope and work through the pain of my grief. It is a necessary medicine that, coupled with prayer and talking to my friends and loved ones, is enabling me to get out of bed each day and continue to fight.

I am not a professional in terms of health and fitness. I’m not an expert in grief support, anxiety, or depression. Obviously, what I share is meant to be encouraging and helpful and not a treatment plan. This is just a place for me to share my journey, which has been decades long, and hopefully provide some wisdom and comfort to others. This might just end up a place for me to work through my emotions in writing and no one will ever read it… and that is ok too.