CAUTION: In this article I am describing a therapeutic activity that works for me. I am not a licensed therapist or psychologist; the activity I describe is an adjunct of the therapy I received from a licensed mental health therapist. I am not suggesting that the therapeutic activity I describe is a substitute for therapy administered by a licensed therapist. Please, if you believe you are experiencing continuing symptoms or attachment disruptions from previous trauma, you should seek the help of a licensed therapist.
During an average 10-mile run I’ll take about 20,000 steps. Neuroscience indicates the left-right pattern of stepping engages both hemispheres of my brain in an alternating rhythm. This bilateral rhythmic stimulation gives my whole brain the opportunity for cross-hemisphere integration, affording greater emotional self-awareness. At 70 miles per week, that’s a lot of opportunity.
In the summer of 1978, in preparation for the upcoming college cross-country season, my teammates and I were doing two-a-day long runs mixed in with speed workouts for an average of 100 miles per week. I never gave a thought to neuroscience, bilateral stimulation, or even emotional self-awareness.
Back then, it was all about just running. The only thought I had was, “Go!” I may not have been aware of the brain health benefits of running, but I was aware of the proverbial “runner’s high” that I was getting every single time I went for a long run. Even after my cross-country days were over, I didn’t have technical terms for the mental and physical benefits I was experiencing, but there was no doubt that running was the source of freedom, calmness, and confidence I felt in both my mind and body.
Life and its eventual changes brought less opportunity for running but still, in my 20s and 30s, it would only take a week or two of returning to long runs to achieve that effortless gliding that I so desired. An ever-increasing self-generated wind, blowing across my face and body, was always the goal. But as the decades relentlessly rolled on, the momentum of decline could not be stopped. Long stretches of inactivity and trying to relive yesterday took their toll on my body as I spent more time nursing or preventing injury than I did running. By the time I reached my 50s, running was an on-and-(mostly) off activity with no consistency.
All that changed near the end of 2011 as my second marriage of nearly 18 years was not ending well. Whereas my first marriage ended rather amicably, this divorce was proving to be a physically, emotionally, and financially devastating disaster. At this time, I lacked adequate self-awareness tools to properly navigate the mental upheaval I experienced. I was very involved in church at this time and thankfully, my faith and my community of family and friends gave me some stability I could rely upon.
Instinctually, I returned to running in earnest. Fortunately, I had the clarity to listen to the physical feedback from my out-of-shape body. I heeded caution against any dreams of an easy return to the effortless gliding I had known in years previous. I struggled mightily at first but I didn’t stop. Although my stride was nowhere near what it used to be and my pace was considerably slower, my attitude had changed from the need for speed to the need for solace. I was greatly relieved to find out that the physical and mental calmness in spirit that I had always experienced was still there despite my reduced physical abilities.
Running fast had always been a given and now, it was no longer a long-term prospect. For the first time in my life, I was no longer running against a clock but against the past and present trauma that threatened my sanity. To gain any long-lasting benefits from running, I had to change my entire approach to the endeavor. Not only did I have to revamp the biomechanics of my running game, but more importantly I needed a whole new mindset in order to make running sustainably healthy.
Hi Steve, I’m not a runner but a swimmer, and I can identify with this through that lens. For me, swimming and other physical activity has always helped keep my mental illness manageable and also contributed to healing trauma. I didn’t learn to swim until my mid 30’s when my body had stopped (at that point anyway) letting me do anything else. It took awhile to get it down! And I’m still a slow swimmer. But it has been such a constant source of ground for me, as it sounds like running is for you.
“For the first time in my life, I was no longer running against a clock but against the past and present trauma that threatened my sanity”
This is so astute - and intriguing - I wonder what authentic conversations will be opened up among runners from this .....