Running With Asthma

It really bugged me when he said it was all in my head. His credentials came with a therapist certification, but he wasn’t a runner and he didn’t have asthma.  So as far as I was concerned, he didn’t know what he was talking about. I immediately dismissed his assessment by rolling my eyes, pursing my lips and refusing to look him in the eye for the rest of our time; which wasn’t hard because there were only ten minutes left. Ten, way-too-long minutes. When I arrived at home, I paced for a long time. How could he say such a ridiculous thing? How could he dismiss my symptoms, the diagnosis, all the medication? How could he so carelessly invalidate me, and the Doctor, and basically accuse me of lying? I was pissed.

He made the comment during his explanation of the mind-body connection in relation to illness.  When our minds are not in the right place, when we stuff our pain instead of dealing with it, the body takes it in and turns it into disease: tumors, cancer, acid reflux, gastrointestinal disorders, asthma, you name it. We swallow a lot of pain from life through divorce, death, abandonment, rejection, etc. and if we don’t purge it out of us in a healthy way it will stay in our body and reek havoc.  This was all fine until he said the asthma was all in my head. He laughed and insisted that I did not have exercised-induced asthma.

I did what any good rebellious woman would do. I went into the hills and ran. The dirt is my thinking ground. I did three loops on the cross country track, up and over, around and around.  Five miles later I was pooped and my lungs were burning. I couldn’t stop thinking about something else he said:  You need to set some boundaries and stop letting other people run your life. THIS I believed. I resolved to make it happen. I made an appointment with my mom and set the ground rules: no more men. One dad and two step dads is enough for me, I do not want anything to do with number four. Keep it to yourself. For the next year I had to practice keeping that boundary each time she pushed it.

Next I set boundaries with my husband. No more being responsible for his guilt and insecurities. Again, practice makes perfect to keep everyone on their own side of the fence. Once successful, I was gaining some self confidence. The half marathon was coming up and I was determined to run this one med free.  I wanted to be done with the twice-a-day Advair, the once-a-day Singulair and Alegra, and the just-before-a-run Albuterol  for a total of $150 per month.  The thought of running 13.1 miles med free was frightening, but I was determined so I pushed harder.

In another run through the hills, I started thinking about my mom and the more I thought the angrier I became. I had never been given permission to grieve the divorce, now 20 years in the past, because my anger made her feel guilty; so it was banned.  Running up the hill I felt my body begin to give out, I was running out of steam.  My breathing was labored.  My inhaler was back in the car. I allowed the anger and began to scream in my head, “She’s not my mother! She’s not my mother!” To this day, I do not know what I meant by that, but at  the time it worked as a release. As I came down the other side of the hill I was overcome with grief. For the record: it is physically impossible to run and cry at the same time. The lungs cannot multi-task. I stopped running, bent over and sobbed. Tears and snot ran from my eyes and nose. I let it all pour out of me and into the dirt. I stopped running away.

Sometime later I was forced to acknowledge that my asthma was getting better. There was no denying the relationship between my mental health and physical health; as the mental got better, so did my physical and vice versa.  I slowly weaned myself off of all the medication and ran the ½ marathon completely med free.  Then I came across some sort of spiritual book, which I can’t remember the name of, that listed all types of medical problems, from bladder infections to eye diseases, to cancer, to you guessed it…asthma. Each diagnosis had a corresponding reason to go with it. I flipped to the only one I cared about. “Asthma:  comes from not having a voice, feeling trapped.”

So I guess that annoying therapist who doesn’t run and who’s never had a breathing problem had a good point, much as I hate to admit it. My symptoms were real. My diagnosis was real. I failed the breathing diagnostic test at the hospital with flying colors. My disease was real. But the problem wasn’t in my lungs; the problem was in my soul. My mind, being the control freak that it is, and not knowing what to do with a soul feeling of being trapped, a feeling of not having a voice, sent the problem to my lungs. It was too much for them to bear;  they began to shut down and I couldn’t breathe.

I’ve run five ½ marathons so far, two of them med free and one full marathon, without so much as an inhaler. I feel free when I run; the wind blowing my hair, the music in my ears.  And my soul is happy with every deep and relaxing breath.

-Tara Schiro is the author of No Arms, No Legs, No Problem: When life happens, you can wish to die or choose to live NOW AVAILABLE http://www.amazon.com/No-Arms-Legs-Problem-happens/dp/0986305308 on Amazon and Barnes and Noble http://www.NoArmsNoLegsNoProblem.com