Depression Marathon Blog

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Diagnosed with depression 17 years ago, I lost the life I once knew, but in the process re-created a better me. I am alive and functional today because of my dog, my treatment team, my sobriety, and my willingness to re-create myself within the confines of this illness. I hate the illness, but I'm grateful for the person I've become and the opportunities I've seized because of it. I hope writing a depression blog will reduce stigma and improve the understanding and treatment of people with mental illness. All original content copyright to me: etta. Enjoy your visit!

Sunday, November 5, 2017

Feeling nostalgic

Sipping my coffee, sitting in my sweats, wiping sleep from my eyes, I'm awaiting the televised start of today's New York City Marathon. I'll watch the entire broadcast, amazed at the grace, skill, and prowess of the elite runners, but more so intrigued by the effort, will, and stories of those, like me, in the middle of the pack. I'm feeling nostalgic... and a little sad.

One year ago, I was there. In the dark morning hours I boarded the bus from New York's Central Library to Staten Island with 50-60 other excited souls. I milled around the Athletes Village, with 50,000 other runners, alternately waiting in line for a portable toilet, fetching myself something to eat and drink, chatting with other anxious runners, and resting on the ground. And finally, I was there, in my starting corral with 20,000 hopping, stretching, whooping runners, waiting for the starting line to come into view. And when it did, tears streamed down my face. I had made it.

It was one year ago when I streamed across that iconic starting line in Staten Island. Three hours, 51 minutes later, I joyously raced across the even more iconic finish line in Central Park, tired, spent, and oh, so proud. I couldn't contain my wide smile and tears.

Last year on this day, I made that triumphant return to marathoning. It was my first marathon in over 2 years, a lifetime in my annals of running. The Achilles tear that took a year and a half to heal was behind me, and I was so, so happy. I saw nothing but more triumphant running, which I no longer took for granted, in front of me. It was a good day.

As I sit here today, despite the scary possibility I won't, I am feeling a bit more hopeful that I will one day repeat this experience. And if possible, it may be even more emotionally charged. I will go back to New York. Somehow, some way, some day, I will again stream across that starting line, whooping with joy, and race across that finish line with my fists in the air. It will be the culmination of a long, long road. I can't wait.

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