Running for My Life: A Journey from Breakdown to Breakthrough
The Slow, Steady Trail to Healing and Change
Change is achievable for anyone willing to take the first step. Over the past couple of years, I’ve been touched by numerous people who have reached out to share how my public journey towards mental and physical health has inspired them to make changes in their own lives or to seek guidance on where to start. This piece, written just over two years ago, captures my experience during that challenging period, highlighting the lessons I learned about confronting fears and building resilience. It serves as a reminder that with perseverance, we can all create a path to transformation, one step at a time.
I’m running for my life.
And that isn’t an exaggeration.
A year and a bit ago, I woke up 40 lbs over my fighting weight. And it scared the living shit out of me. I knew what middle age, a sedentary lifestyle, buckets of stress, and a growing midsection added up to. I vowed then and there to get myself on a healthy path. And I did. For a while. Kind of. My weight trickled down a bit. But my overall health?
Not so much.
Six months ago, I woke up to find that the person formerly known as me had left the building. He left behind his body and the worries that weighed it down. And to tell you the truth, the body was in pretty rough shape. And vows alone sure weren’t going to bring him back.
Oh, I know why he had gotten the heck out of Dodge. Buddy left his fears behind to remind me. Fears and a whole whack of demons who were howling for my head. Thanks, man. Thanks a lot.
So I ran too. I friggin’ booked it.
Demons hot on my tail, I hit the Orange Corners Trestle Trail and didn’t look back. Three minutes and twenty-five seconds later, I pulled up, gasping for air. Funnily enough, running like crazy didn’t come as easy as it used to.
But at least the demons hadn’t caught up. Not that far behind, but not breathing down my neck either. The demons, very much like me, were not exactly the fastest mice in all of Mexico.
I soon realized that if I mixed a little running with some fast walking, I could keep them at bay. So slowly, but steadily, five days a week, I began walking, with intermittent jogs, for my life. And as I did, I could see the me that I was looking for ahead on the trail. I’ve got to tell you, he was looking pretty damned good.
But let’s leave the metaphor behind now—it’s getting a bit awkward, and I think we’ll both be happier if I just say what I mean.
I’m running for my life.
I’m running because, if I want to continue to live, I have to.
First, there’s the health thing. I was a walking advertisement for Heart Attacks Are Us. If I continued to live the way I was living, it wouldn’t take long for me to become the wrong kind of statistic. I needed to change my lifestyle. Like, five years ago. Then there was my mental health and the effect it had on every aspect of my life, including my physical and heart health.
I sure wasn't living. I was just hanging on. Barely.
And that ain’t no life at all.
Earlier this spring, I had a good old-fashioned nervous breakdown. Crippling waves of anxiety landed me in the emergency ward and eventually into the care of an incredibly caring team of women who worked to stop my world from spinning uncontrollably away from me.
Without getting too far into the psychiatric and physiological weeds, I’ll say this: a few years of chronic stress fried my motherboard, with wafting smoke of anxiety and depression showing where it all shorted out. Not only was my brain incapable of dealing with stress, but my body wasn’t either. My heart, heart electrical system, and central nervous system couldn’t and still can’t adapt to physical and emotional stressors. And I’ll be honest here: I don’t know that they ever will. At least not the way they used to.
But I’ll let the cardiologists sort that out. I’ll control what I can control.
Which brings me back to running. And exercise. And catching up to the new/old me on the trail.Remember him?
When I awoke with that nervous breakdown battering down my walls, I realized it had been a long time since I was in control of my life. My creativity. My interpersonal relationships. My emotions. Me.
And, well, fuck that shit.
I knew I needed to gain control. So I started with the one thing that was solely in my purview: my body. My body would be my foundation for change. And, as mental health is ever so dependent on physical health, I needed a sturdy foundation.
It came in the form of running. Five days a week. Running for 30 seconds, walking for a minute. Keeping it slow. Keeping it sustainable. Two weeks later, it was 45 seconds of running, walking for a minute.
As the weeks moved by, I found my stride. I have the good fortune to be a natural runner. Body-wise, I’m about three-quarters leg. I have a natural gait and a pace that aligns beautifully with my breathing.
And so slowly, sustainably, I crept up the run seconds and shaved off the walk seconds.
Today I whipped off my four-times-a-week 4K with no walks. I finally dropped them a couple of weeks ago. I’m a fairly consistent 5:17/km, or a 26:25 5K, should I ever decide to race one (which I plan to do). I sure ain’t gonna win any of those races, but I’m OK with that. I’m already winning in my books.
At the same time, I started working out. I bought a variety of resistance bands and tubes and built a program that targets every major muscle group. I started doing daily cycles of sets: curls, squats, crunches, reverse crunches, push-ups, wall sits, calf raises, leg raises, planks, and side planks. I created additional alternating upper body/lower body days to go along with them.
Again: Slowly. Sustainably. I started out with low resistance, short reps, few sets. I built up to where I am now over months of small increments. I knew that if I tried to do too much, it would be too much.
Sometimes I think I went too slow. But then I realize that I’m still doing it. Still loving it. And that there is no such thing as too slow if it keeps you moving forward.
And I’m still moving forward. Still building.
All this running and working out takes fuel. I've also changed the way I eat. No, not dieting. Dieting isn’t for me. I like chips too much. And pizza. And dark chocolate. And black licorice. And… You get the picture.
I downloaded an app called “Lose It” to count my calories. And I set up a program to lose a pound a week.
Say it with me, kids: Slowly. Sustainably.
And I ate what I wanted. But consciously. Like, did y’all know you could put chips in a bowl? That you don’t need to bring the bag to the couch? Mind=Blown.
Tracking what you put into your body really makes you conscious of... well... what you put into your body.
So a few Dutch licorice drops, not handfuls. A few squares of quality dark chocolate rather than a bar of the over-processed stuff.
As time went on, I started making even more conscious choices in my diet. Not because I wanted to diet, but because when I looked in the mirror, I started seeing muscle instead of fat. And I really, really liked what I saw.
So fewer carbs, more proteins, more fresh veg. MORE SALADS!!! I love me a lunch salad. Who knew?
But all this happened, you guessed it, slowly. Sustainably.
Oh, and I quit the sauce. It’s incredible what cutting out alcohol does for your weight. And for your mind. I didn’t even mean to. I stopped because I was starting new meds for my crazy and wanted them to settle in before having any alcohol affect them.
And then I kind of forgot to drink again.
OK, not exactly true. But I found I didn’t really miss it.
Except on those days when the child drove me nuts. Or my wife. Or the storm that made this The Summer of the Chainsaw. But, honestly, not nearly as much as I thought I would.
And, boy, could I see the results. In the shrinking beer belly. In the clearer morning mind.
I wasn’t a heavy drinker by any means. But I was a regular one. A couple of pints per pandemic night is enough to inflict some lasting damage. I’m happy to leave that behind.
Which brings us to now.
I really don’t know what this confessional is all about. Part of it is to brag, I suppose. I’m a runner again. And I’m proud as heck about where I’ve taken this body. This mind.
I’m still running from the demons. I’m still running for my life. But I’m also running because I want to. Because it feels good. Because it’s a highlight of my day.
But part of it is to, maybe, if I’m lucky, inspire some of you.
I feel so incredibly fortunate to have had people reach out to me with messages of support. And I thank everyone who has. I also feel incredibly fortunate to have had so many people reach out to tell me that I’ve helped inspire change in their own lives or to ask for advice on where to begin their journey. To trust me.
Shit, man. That just blows my mind.
Thank you for sharing part of you with me. It is an honour. Truly.
When it comes to inspiration, I’m going to keep repeating the same thing until I’m plaid in the face: Slowly. Sustainably. Don’t try to be the finished you. Be the change. Because there is no finished you. There is no after. There just is.
And if you want to keep the demons at bay—if you want to run for your life—you have to do it one second at a time. One footfall at a time. One curl, one lift, one bite, one breath at a time.
But you gotta start.