Fitness and Depression: The Defining Moments

“The world breaks everyone and afterward many are stronger in the broken places.” —Ernest Hemingway

We all have moments that, like workouts, make us stronger. I’ve experienced months of that type of strength training–amazing grace kinds of moments that scream, “I once was lost and now I’m found.” The reason why you haven’t heard from me for awhile is because I slipped into a serious depression, and it took the help of a terrific support group and a power deep inside me—that I didn’t know I had—to pull myself up and out of that hogwash.

This is my story. This is my version of how depression affected me and took the fit right out of my bottom. I decided to share it because I know there are a lot of other women out there experiencing similar challenges and I want you all to know you’re not alone.

I didn’t realize I had a situation until, surprisingly, I was months into a funk. I’m an active, crazy gal. I thrive off of energy. I like to get out and sweat. I like to try new things, and I love to move. I stopped feeling alive around March and that’s when the gym became my last priority. Moving was something I hid from. I would yawn in my total-body workout classes that I once adored, and I’d find myself unable to keep up with the ladies who didn’t work out nearly as often as I did. It would take forever for my body to recover from a simple run. Yet, I still didn’t have a clue what was really going on.

I had a chance to visit FBG Jenn in June, and that’s when I finally clued in. Jenn was so excited to share a new fitness find (The Fit Pit) with me, but I dreaded the minutes leading up to the workout. Within minutes of our run, I was walking. People began to pass me up, and I knew something was physically wrong with me. Usually competitive to a fault, I couldn’t even fake the funk and pretend like I was enjoying a workout that months ago would have had me screaming with glee. (I’m usually the girl who honks for getting outside and trying new workouts.)

I half-arsed my way through that workout and spent hours after wondering what the heck was wrong. I started Googling, wondering if I was anemic or lacking some vitamin…and that’s when I finally got a clue. Depression symptoms started popping up, and I became vigilant. Being fit is a priority for me. I don’t enjoy huffing up a flight or two of stairs because I’m out of shape. I don’t enjoy tuckering out when I’m playing with friends’ children on the beaches of Santa Monica. I vowed depression wasn’t going to take my joys away from me. This meant reaching out to friends immediately. I found someone who had gone through exactly what I was going through. She recommended a great therapist, and I got to work. (That included trying an anti-depressant that is working wonders for me.)

I still go and speak to a therapist every other week. I also see a psychiatrist who monitors the medication I’m on. Since starting, I’ve worked out once. This normally would freak me out, but I was more than thankful that I felt like running two miles! It’s a start. I’m taking baby steps. It’s about feeling fit, not punishing my body to get back to the fitness level I once was at. No scores, no numbers, no measurements—just plain old-fashioned feelings of wellness. I’m listening to my body like I never have before. Odd, but in a warped way, I have depression to thank for that.

If any of this story rings true for you, I recommend seeking help. I know for many, admitting you have depression in itself is difficult. Just remember, those baby steps you take add up…and it does get better.  —Tish