Running has brought me back from the brink

For so many years I thought running had been ruined for me. But eight weeks ago all of that finally changed and I realised that even with the trauma, I could still find solace in this simple activity, writes Kerry Parnell.

I am literally running back to life.

Eight weeks ago, I fished out my old trainers from the back of the cupboard, dusted them off and ran down the road. And somewhere along that laborious but not-as-bad-as-I-thought jog, I found the old me again.

It has been six years since I last ran, or did any exercise. I had developed a passion for the sport in Sydney, running routes that took me through the Botanic Gardens, up and over the Harbour Bridge, or looping round Centennial Park. I did 10k races and ran half-marathons. I was young, I was fit, I was happy.

They say, of course, life is not a straight road and I didn’t know it, but I was about to follow a path that led straight off a cliff, which would plunge me into a canyon of grief and despair that would take years to find the way out of.

I got pregnant with my first child, welcomed my precious son into the world and then, over nine tortuous months fighting for him to survive, lost him in a hospital room on a hot summer’s day in Melbourne.

I tried to keep running — kind friends even sent me a care package to the hospital with trainers and a kit — but whereas once it was a way of switching my mind off, after his death it did the opposite. It caused a tsunami of tears — I would run around Centennial Park and have to double over because my sobs just would not stop.

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So I gave up, accepting that running, like a lot of things, would be part of the old me, packaged up and put away.

For a while there, running felt ruined for me, but I see that’s not the case at all. Picture: iStock

Six years and two children on from my last run, I realised it didn’t have to be so. And the only person stopping me was me. So I decided to open that cupboard. I eventually located my kit, put it on and … nobody reacted. No-one laughed or pointed in the street. And somewhere around the 3k mark, I caught sight of my old self and haven’t let her go since.

I can’t believe how happy I feel. There are no tears this time, just peace. It took eight weeks of going a little further, a little faster, until this week I jogged right to the top of a hill near my home and realised I have run out of that metaphorical canyon and left it for dust.

Everyone has heard of the “runner’s high,” but it’s true. It was almost instantaneous — I felt euphoric. I’m more positive and have more energy. My clothes fit better and my body feels stronger.

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It’s also addictive — the scientific explanation is that when you run your body pumps out endorphins and endocannabinoids, well-known for their happy effect. Exercise also produces an enzyme that specifically breaks down kynurenine, the stress-induced molecule that causes depression and anxiety.

The down side is it turns you into a running bore. I’m like an evangelical preacher, spreading the Book of Nike everywhere I go.

I’m particularly proud of the fact that me and my mum tum have inspired several friends to start running again, even if two of them have unfortunately sprained their ankles.

All that sadness, all that pain, can simply jog on. I’m going full speed into the future.

@KerryParnell

Originally published as Running has brought me back from the brink