Thoughts Of A Running Hypochondriac
Do you ever have those months in your life when you're paranoid about your health? Despite being a runner, this still happens to me at least once every year. I'm always blind sighted by it, and I never realize I'm in the middle of such a spell until it's way too late to pretend that's not what's happening. The most recent obsession has been varicose veins, venous thrombosis, and the risk of pulmonary embolisms. Of course, there is a chance that there is real danger around the corner, and I just don't see it yet, but often my paranoia is completely unprecedented, and the ailments I fantasize are all disconnected and unrelated. It's as if I'm playing Russian roulette with a medical encyclopedia.
Running, unsurprisingly, helps. When I run, I zone out, and all problems become irrelevant. I'm always amazed at how little I over-analyze when I run. Normally, over-thinking is such a common activity (that thing I said two weeks ago was so awkward... that time I was too demanding with my general contractor... how pathetic are my dreams of meaningfulness), it's such a relief when the "Crazy" fog lifts. When I see other runners on the road, I feel like they understand, and are possibly in the same boat. They all look relieved. Sometimes I imagine that some elusive epidemic is plaguing the entire human population, and the face of the runners I encounter is the face of a Vicodin pill taking a brief effect. That moment when your weariness and worldly tiredness rolls back and the world, just for a short moment, is freshly crisp.
My least favorite part of the running ritual is the drive or walk home. My sweat dries up, and I feel like I've been dipped in a sea of salt. The yucky sensation of tasting that salty powder as I put my lips around my water bottle spout.
Ugh. Only a nice hot shower can wash away my old skin that I managed to shed, but failed to shake off, during my moments of clarity.