There are perfectly good days when I could run outside, but I choose to relegate myself to the basement to pound out some km’s on my sturdy treadmill. Why? Anxiety with a touch of Agoraphobia. That’s my definition. Sometimes I don’t like to travel far from my house on foot. It’s hard to explain but it’s like being surrounded with a presence whispering, “This won’t turn out well. Something bad could happen.”
What would you do? It’s an awfully hard thing to fight against. So, I’ve learned that on those high-anxiety days it’s safer for my mental health to hit the treadmill. Okay…you armchair psychologists might think it’s better to face the anxiety head on. And sometimes I do. But there has to be a safety net before I’ll do that.
A) Mike, my spouse, has to be home with his cellphone turned on.
B) I might need a sliver of Ativan to take the edge off.
C) The sun has to be high in the sky, not starting to set. That’s a whole different anxiety that I’m not getting into right now.
D) I tell Mike exactly where I’m going and sometimes remind him how to track my phone in case I’m kidnapped.
E) Sometimes I’ll bring my pitbull mix, Coco, for protection.
F) I bring change in case. I don’t know why.
G) I stuff a snack in my hydration belt.
I could just NOT run, but the anxiety of not exercising is even worse. So, today I went out with Coco for 5k. Now I’m going to do the rest of the run on the treadmill.
PS: Ahhhhhhh. The 0.5mg of Ativan is kicking in. Still not enough to make me want to venture out.
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