I’ve been struggling with depression since Wednesday. Every Wednesday I give myself a shot in my stomach to delay the progression of Multiple Sclerosis. Last Wednesday my shot was incredibly painful and I didn’t get the full dose because I reacted and pulled the needle out of my stomach. I instantly broke down in tears. No amount of running endorphins could take away the instant pain and anger I felt. I’m angry at my body, I’m angry at my shot, I’m angry that the best form of medicine is sometimes painful and still isn’t good enough to stop this unpredictable disease, I’m angry that I can’t achieve certain goals because of my shots, and I’m angry that I sport these ugly red spots on my body.
As a female, I’ve never thought my body was good enough. I’ve always wanted to lose 10 more pounds, be taller or shorter, have a different-shaped face, be prettier, have better hair, etc. But on Wednesday I was reminded that this disease sucks and my body really isn’t good enough. It’s attacking itself. It’s not good enough. But today during my 4-miler I realized that when I run, my body does exactly what I want it to do. Sometimes it’s more of a struggle than others, but that’s true of every runner. Running is my therapy. It’s my sanity. It’s my hope. It’s how I cope. It’s when I think. It’s when I pray. It’s when I believe in myself the most, and most of all, it’s when I’m good enough.