I ran three days in a row for the first time in I-don’t-know-how-many-years. Not even three short runs. The first two alone, 7 miles, then 8 miles, felt solid and shocking. One day. Two days. And … I felt good. I rinsed and repeated because I couldn’t believe it was true. The third day was giving into the temptation to see how far this feeling good could really go. Another 8 miles, it turned out.
On that third day, I was so surprised to be running, that I started playing. I ran short stretches backwards, because I once heard that helps to balance the muscles and stretch the legs and I figured my legs, which might be in as much shock as my mind, could use the variation. Each time I turned forward again, my legs felt momentarily tired and disoriented. Then I’d catch my groove again. I threw in a few sections of running faster. Not exactly speedwork, more just seeing what the engine could take. Most of the run was on a long causeway that juts out into Lake Champlain. The dirt path was flat and gently curved. So, it was easy to designate far ahead trees as my destination for each of these backwards and forwards interludes.
When I finished that third run, I felt good. Like there was still a little gas in the tank.
For the last many years (at least 5, possibly 10), there’s always been some objection from my body to running even two days in a row. A tweaky toe. A hampered hamstring. A pesky plantar. And then last year, it was the increasingly extreme fatigue of what was eventually diagnosed as Addison’s Disease. I’m now on daily (multiple times a day) medication, which, along with a low potassium diet, has returned me to health.
And I wonder …
When I got back from that third run, the friend I was staying with commented on my level of fitness, expressing her frustration that she couldn’t run those distances days in a row anymore. A good and healthy response might have been to just say, Thank you. Instead, I started by attributing the runs to luck (maybe it was total eclipse energy) and to the incredibly restorative Normatec leg massage device she has, that I used after each of the runs.
Then I got to the heart of my hesitation to receive her compliment. Maybe I could run three days in a row only because of my medication. I’m not talking about the fact that without my medication I would not be here, because my potassium would have spiked to a fatal level, as it almost did last year when I spent 3 days in an emergency room. Certainly, the fact that my medication keeps me alive allows me to run and do pretty much everything else that’s involved in this business of living. Still, that’s not the heart of my hesitation. It’s that one of my medications is hydrocortisone, which is used to treat adrenocortical deficiency (that’s me), and swelling and inflammation and/or replaces the cortisol hormone that helps your body respond to stress. In other words, maybe if I weren’t taking this steroid, I would not have the energy to do those runs (because my body couldn’t handle the stress), not to mention the anti-inflammatory benefits.
In other, other words, maybe my fitness level is fake. My ability to recover from the runs is rigged, because I’m taking a performance enhancing medication. I’m a Running Ripley (I just started watching Andrew Scott’s formidable performance in this role). I can’t take any credit for the myriad ways in which I work to maintain my fitness level (my foray into Chi running), because none of my effort has real impact, it’s just the drugs. I should just feel lucky and leave it at that. (Recently, a friend pointed out that we need to stop shoulding on others … and ourselves). So, to re-frame, I want to just feel lucky and I’m not quite there.
I am indeed ultra-grateful for all my body does for me. And, I notice there’s a part of me that wants to take credit, to point to this or that training, or eating, or sleep habit. I want my fitness to be the appropriate reward for the Protestant work ethic I grew up with (in a Jewish household). I want to be grateful and feel like I have some control over what my body can do. The conundrum is that the Addison’s took away that feeling of control and the medication gave me back a feeling of control, which I now question.
This is the psychological wrestling match going on between different parts of myself.
At the moment, there’s nothing to change. I can’t stop taking my medication.
The bottom line is likely the same as it always is: Be grateful. Every day.
No, no, no. First, I think you’d feel better if you thought about the incredible variability in our natural, undrugged bodies. Michael Phelps’ wingspan or the height of some NBA players, or the story of Eero Mäntyranta. Read about him here, https://www.fitnessgenes.com/blog/eero-mantyranta-epor-gene. Second, the other piece of the puzzle that always intrigues me is that you’d expect Olympic athletes to be super responders (as opposed to average or low responders) to athletic training. Shockingly they’re a mixed bag. So even without drugs human sports achievement is a mix of genetics and effort. That’s all from the fairness section of my sports ethics class.
But third, not on medication you were struggling with daily activities. You have a condition that needs treatment. Now you have the treatment and feel good again. Yay! Go you! Thanks for modern medicine!
Oh I love reading all this and putting it all in the broader context. Thank you!
Amen to Sam B. He got it right. Medicine has restored you to your Natural body. And you ran with it ( so to speak). I’m grateful that you are grateful.
Yes to all Sam says, and a variation on the theme: you are taking hydrocortisone – and anything else in your meds – only to get your system back to proper levels. From my outside perspective, that means not that you are relying on drugs to be fit, but rather that you are a natural athlete who is simply showing her strength now that things are back to normal!