Warring Against Apathy

As we approach day forty of the stay-at-home (or quarantine or lockdown or whatever-you-want-to-call-it) era, I've noticed a bit of a shift. Maybe you've noticed it, too.

Remember a few weeks ago when you received regular text messages, phone calls, invitations to video chats, and the like? Maybe you even created a schedule for checking in with friends and family. This, of course, came after the initial panic subsided. Remember the panic days? The "oh crap, people are going to start rioting over toilet paper" days? When you probably started looking around your home to see what you could use as currency when cash or debit/credit stopped being an option? No, you moved beyond that and could start thinking outside of yourself, making sure your loved ones had what they needed, including some semblance of mental health.

So part of your routine included these check-ins. We've become familiar with Zoom, Google Hang-outs (or Meetings), Microsoft Teams, Skype, et cetera. My wife and I have participated in a couple virtual happy hours and even a virtual game night (thanks to Hollywood Paul, not Paul Hollywood).

My hobbit friend (you may remember him as the guy who called me at mile twenty of his first--and only--marathon, walking in circles, doubting he could finish) recently asked me how I was doing with the pandemic and staying at home. After a moment or two, I responded to his text with "warring against apathy."

On a family walk in our beloved Mill Creek Park, my teenage son and I were discussing this very thing, kind of reflecting on our mental states. As he tried to articulate his emotions, he looked at me and said, "Is 'apathy' the right word here?" "Exactly," I responded. (I'm regularly impressed with and proud of my kids, but sometimes they really get it.)

See, we're all--like, the entire world--working through the stages of grief here. Everyone is mourning a loss, after all, whether it's the loss of a loved one or simply the former way of life. And I believe most of us are currently in the depression stage, the place where we feel numb, exhausted, and certainly empty. Maybe you even feel hopeless, maybe helpless. It's the stage where people withdraw, hole up somewhere, and wonder whether or not it's worth charging ahead. (It's mile twenty when you call your friend from the marathon course.)

But I say charge ahead, friends! What you feel is not always true or reliable. Take up those text messages and phone calls again. Schedule another round of virtual game night. Take a walk or go for a run (by yourself or only with the people in your home). After all, when asked several years ago by a nascent runner what I do when I don't have the motivation to run, I answered, "Discipline is motivation."

The Recovery Run

Most runners, especially distance runners, are familiar with the recovery run. For those of you who have never tried it, it’s kind of self-explanatory: a slower run, usually after a hard workout. Some call it “conversational pace,” but recently it’s been dubbed “sexy pace.” Time to take in the scenery, have a chat, work out some work problem that’s had you stumped for a while. Maybe even craft and essay in your head.

And there are more and somewhat surprising benefits of sexy pace runs. It may sound counterintuitive, but recovery runs will actually help you run faster. First, the slower run keeps you in better aerobic (read: fat-burning) zone. And as you burn more fat, you drop more weight, you can run faster. Also, these paces enable your cardiovascular system to work more efficiently, so you’re able to—you guessed it!—run faster for longer periods of time.

Well, so what? What’s the point? I could continue explaining the research I’ve conducted (no matter how minimal) on the benefits of recovery runs. I could even offer some anecdotal evidence of the thousands of miles and fifteen (or is it sixteen?) marathons I’ve run. (Yeah, it’s sixteen.) Here’s the point: In the last week, I’ve discovered a new and different understanding of a “recovery run.”

I am not, by nature, and anxious person. Yes, I see the world through a morose lens, worrying here and there about my loved ones, but I generally scoff at the notion of “anxiety.” As a God-fearing Christian, I’m not even referencing the typical Scriptures about worry, fear, unease, or anxiety. (I will, however, encourage you to read Isaiah 41:8-10; Psalm 56:3; 1 John 4:18; and John 14:27. Or just google “God’s promises in the Bible.”) 

Like everyone else in the world, I’m talking about COVID-19, which is proving to cripple society at large, sending people into seclusion (an introvert’s dream), kids away from schools (proving why we don’t home-school our kids), shuttering amateur and professional sports (I miss you, Pittsburgh Pirates). It has the potential to shutter small businesses across America, handcuff the health care system, and delay—or at least shorten—the Presidential campaign. Ok, that last one seems pretty good.

Yet in the midst of all this doom and gloom (which is a decent, if not formulaic, Rolling Stones song), I’ve continued to train for my upcoming marathon as if it won’t get cancelled. (Update: It has! But I’ll keep running.) Since I started running more than ten years ago, I’ve always noted the psychological benefits of logging miles, thinking through issues, burning off stress. But with all the unknowns surrounding COVID-19, there are few things that have made me feel human the way running has. Elevating my heart rate, breathing the air outside, seeing a hawk swoop down in front of me, sweating, praying, talking with my running crew (no fist bumps & six feet apart!)—this practice continues to reap benefits. 

I wish I could say I’ve discovered some answers; that rarely happens. Running isn’t the solution to COVID-19. In fact, it’s not even the solution to the anxiety surrounding it. If that were the case, I’d like log thousands of miles between now and the “all clear” call. (Truthfully, I will likely log a lot of miles during that time. I’ll keep you posted.) What I do know is that being active is helpful; it’s a conduit and a healthy coping mechanism. I’m not always running the sexy pace; in fact, just yesterday it was more like a tempo run (non-runners, look it up). Running in the midst of a crisis: It’s my new recovery run.

(This is not a good example of social distancing, but it's Santa Claus! I KNOW him!)