Wednesday, November 1, 2017 // The Statement
7B
Personal Statement: Scio Church Road
A
rms
pumping
vigorously
in an attempt to match the
cadence of my legs, I begin
my ascent — my flushed
cheeks a stark contrast against the dismal
October sky of southeast Michigan. I am
no stranger to this momentous hill, lead-
ing up toward Scio Church Road from Pio-
neer High School, or this route, as I have
run it over 100 times since the fall of my
sophomore year. I have now reached the
point where I can run that 6-mile loop
with my eyes closed, pulled along by some
imaginary cord keeping me tethered to
the earth beneath my rapidly moving feet.
My mind is occupied, but not with dis-
heartening thoughts — rather the reassur-
ing rhythm of my breath leaving my chest,
the startling beauty of sunlight filtering
through concrete, and the remnants of
some song working its way through my
conscious. I focus so intently upon the
way my stride hits the pavement, and the
burning in my lungs, that I barely notice
the cars whizzing by or the fatigue set-
tling into my aching legs.
For once, I am not feverishly question-
ing whether I turned the stove off before
leaving the house.
So many people ask why I choose to run
the same route every single day, especially
in a city replete with verdant parks, forest
trails and bike paths. To truly understand
my self-imposed monotony is to grasp the
thought patterns of an anxious mind —
this seemingly fanatical routine did not
spring from nothingness. Rather, it devel-
oped from the multitude of attempts I
made to deal with my anxiety while main-
taining some semblance of normalcy. I
tried speaking with a therapist, yet strug-
gled with being completely vulnerable in
sharing the extent of my anxieties, so this
only lasted a few weeks. However, deter-
mined to quiet the thoughts clouding my
brain, I continued to run. Even today, I am
still running.
Some of my family members have dealt
with mental health struggles — most com-
monly,
obsessive-compulsive
disorder
and generalized anxiety — throughout
their lives. For so long, I harbored the
quiet thought that I had simply “missed”
the anxiety gene, choosing to completely
negate my immobilizing panic surround-
ing cross-country races, or intense fear
of public transportation. By ignoring my
anxiety, and failing to acknowledge it
for what it was, I prevented myself from
learning how to truly handle the obses-
sive thoughts invading my headspace.
I was confronted with the full effects
of this avoidance mindset last fall when
a combination of anxiety and depression
left me vulnerable and frightened in the
face of day-to-day life — panic attacks
were not uncommon. For someone who
has always prided herself on self-suf-
ficiency and independence, I felt over-
whelmed and unable to fully express the
thoughts churning inside my head. I ran,
but I felt so heavy. I knew something was
innately not right when I began crying
in the midst of what should have been an
easy 3 miles from a pressing feeling that
my chest was folding in on itself — trying
to wring me out from the inside.
The tears, mixed with sweat, stung my
eyes.
However, like the 40 million adults
throughout the United States dealing with
generalized anxiety, I could not dwell in
darkness forever. After taking medication
for a number of months, coupled with an
overwhelming determination to not let
my life be consumed by such irrational
thoughts, I slowly started to view life as
something to be celebrated rather than
feared.
During this time, I began to run this
same route every day, finding quiet solace
in not having to plan or actively antici-
pate new twists and turns in my path. For
45 minutes a day, I can simply just exist,
buoyed by adrenaline and a welcome rush
of endorphins, rather than nervously
anticipating whatever responsibility lies
ahead.
My mind must work constantly to prevent
itself from being completely consumed by fear
and dread, and sometimes I grow too weary of
this struggle to continually battle my thoughts.
Every single day, I obsessively worry that
somebody I know is going to die — potentially
even myself — due to some dire catastrophe
that seems incredibly implausible to any other
normal brain except my own. The thought is
always there, as persistent and vital as any other
basic life function. I worry about other things
too, like whether my friends will spontaneously
decide to dislike me, or if I will say something
that could be misconstrued as strange in any
conversation.
I used to enjoy public speaking, but now my
voice always trembles — no matter the size of
the crowd.
Yet, despite the internal noise, I have learned
to appreciate my brain for what it is — an amal-
gamation of infinite complexities capable of pro-
ducing beautiful, rather than dismal, thoughts.
Because of my anxiety, I am more perceptive of
the world around me and sensitive to emotional
nuances that sometimes go unnoticed. Only
after periods of darkness, when I feel a constant
tightness in my chest and dark lens obstructing
my vision, do the mundanities of life appear so
much more luminous.
More so than any medication or conver-
sation with a therapist, I will always have
running to quiet my reeling mind. From
putting on my well-worn running shoes
to tightening my ponytail, the consistency
of this routine provides me with a sense
of comfort and purpose unmatched by
any other activity in my life. Sometimes
I glide along with relative ease, while
other days, I feel as if my legs are being
anchored to the ground by some sort of
perverse gravitational pull. But regard-
less of the physical condition of my body,
my cherished route allows me to breathe
fully, unburdened by anxiety, for the first
time that day.
And as I crest the hill, for a single
moment, no matter how fleeting it may be,
my once chaos-filled brain is replete with
a quiet serenity. And from there, I move
forward into the uncertain future the
only way I know how — putting one foot
in from of the other, my eyes scanning the
horizon, until I reach home.
by Kaela Theut, Daily Staff Reporter
ILLUSTRATION BY HANNAH MYERS