Buku Depression Hates a Moving Target by Nita Sweeney
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Buku Depression Hates a Moving Target by Nita Sweeney

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Depression Hates a Moving Target by Nita Sweeney

Author:Nita Sweeney [Sweeney, Nita]

Language: eng

Format: epub

ISBN: 9781642500141

Publisher: Mango Media

Published: 2019-05-07T13:56:31+00:00

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Depression Hates a Moving Target by Nita Sweeney

Chapter 16

My Mind Is Trying to Kill Me

Back in Ohio, summer turned to fall, and the miles increased. This Saturday, our group needed ten—my first double-digit run. As usual, I woke afraid I would fall behind and get lost. Unlike most of our runs, this route had turns. I still didn’t have a GPS watch and didn’t know the turnaround landmark. My friends couldn’t remember either.

 

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Depression Hates a Moving Target by Nita Sweeney

Author:Nita Sweeney [Sweeney, Nita] , Date: July 7, 2019

,Views: 101

Author:Nita Sweeney [Sweeney, Nita]

Language: eng

Format: epub

ISBN: 9781642500141

Publisher: Mango Media

Published: 2019-05-07T13:56:31+00:00
Chapter 16

My Mind Is Trying to Kill Me

Back in Ohio, summer turned to fall, and the miles increased. This Saturday, our group needed ten—my first double-digit run. As usual, I woke afraid I would fall behind and get lost. Unlike most of our runs, this route had turns. I still didn’t have a GPS watch and didn’t know the turnaround landmark. My friends couldn’t remember either.

I fell behind and panicked at being alone. Trying to keep the group in sight, I ran through water stops and caught them when they paused to turn around. But running hard left me spent, and I still had to run that same five miles back to my car. I reminded myself that I knew my way home, but by the time I passed Antrim Lake, I was gasping again, certain it was heart failure. To calm down, I returned my focus to form: Egoscue technique of shoulders back and down. ChiRunning pelvic tilt. Chin tucked, with eyes on the horizon. My energy rose, and the form focuses kept the pain at bay. On the road leading to the high school, I summoned enough energy to run the hill to the stop sign. Several members of the pace group high-fived me on my first ten-miler. I wasn’t alone after all.

***

In my continuing quest to solve my wonky ankle and prove the orthopedic surgeon wrong, I continued to see my chiropractor, who rotated and sometimes cracked my ankle and toes. And I added an osteopath to my roster of health care professionals.

In the osteopath’s office, a colorful metal mobile hung from the ceiling to calm small children and anxious adults like me. As I lay on the table, he lifted my left foot, cradling my ankle in his hands. I admired the shapes and hues of the mobile and the way it caught the light as it turned. When he turned my ankle, it burned. I glared at one deep purple geometric metal curve and squeezed my eyes shut. He didn’t stop until I yelled “Holy shit!” and pulled my foot away.

I wish I’d asked him to work more slowly but couldn’t bear more pain. Perhaps continued treatments would have been effective. Instead, I continued going to my chiropractor, who also hurt, but much less, and continued icing and wrapping the ankle when it swelled. I also continued to run.

***

One afternoon, after lying on the floor during an Egoscue Skype session, my head spun with vertigo. Shaky and nauseous, I crawled into bed to let my stomach settle. In the days before I’d taken up running again, I would have easily fallen asleep. If I snuggled under the covers with the dog at my feet, dreamless slumber came quickly. This day, the thought came that I would feel less like a blight on the face of the earth if I ran instead. It was so odd that I sat up. The dog jumped down and looked up expectantly. I lay back, trying to push the foreign thought away.

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